Over the weekend, I opened my Saturday New York Times email blast (are you impressed?) to find an inquisitive blurb from culture editor Melissa Kirsch wondering how we’ll collectively brand the summer of 2023 in this modern era of eras.
Summer offers the rare opportunity for us normie civilians to temporarily live our lives like reality stars; to be the hero in our own movie; to “step out” versus simply walk around. So whatever we land on, maximizing drama is paramount.
While the horny, post-quarantine “hot girl summer” has come and gone, what new proclamation will take its place? Appletini summer? Asbestos summer??!
Here are my official pitches for the theme of summer 2023:
Christine Quinn Summer
She may have disappeared from Selling Sunset, but Christine Quinn still lives rent-free in our hearts and minds.
A Christine Quinn summer is all about excess. We’ll finally embrace the latent gauche, gaudy, and greedy tendencies we routinely suppress in pursuit of pious minimalism or “quiet luxury.”
It’s wearing six-inch Jimmy Choos when you pick up toilet paper from the corner store. It’s smearing caviar on your bacon, egg, and cheese. It’s throwing a party just because, and the theme is sluts.
Good Chat Summer
If Love Island contestants have taught us anything about how to summer, it’s that hydration is key and flirty ban-tah with your fuckbuddy is non-negosh.
A good chat summer is all about ditching the smalltalk and living for the bit. Instead of asking “What do you do for work?” or “How do you know the host?”, you’re holding court with:
- What do you think happens to us when we die?
- Which of your parents do you love more?
- Would you chop off your non-dominant hand if it meant the rest of your face and body looked like Margot Robbie?
I’m Leaving At 4 P.M. and I Don’t Care What Anyone Says Summer
Sometimes the simple act of setting boundaries can cause the biggest blowouts, as we learned when the world shifted on its axis following Kourtney and Kim’s infamous Christmas Card Debacle of 2018.
This summer, we’re walking out on first dates when the guy orders his steak medium well. We’re bouncing outta wedding receptions when the DJ plays too much Ed Sheeran. We’re not even deigning to attend the office happy hour because we have an important botox appointment that simply can’t be moved.
Jealousy is a disease, and these betches can get well soon!
You’ve Got Mail Summer
If I see one more guy on Hinge with the profile prompt “I’ll fall for you if you trip me,” I may have to hang up my SKIMS lingerie for good and resign myself to a humble life of ruminative solitude.
Maybe the secret is to take a page from Meg Ryan’s book and make an anonymous internet friend. If he turns out to be Tom Hanks, great. If he turns out to be an organ harvester, you get to meet Nev Schulman and how main character is that?!
Cabin In The Woods Summer
You know the heart stopping fear of discovering a gnarly centipede hiding in your shower? You swing your left UGG slipper at it and miss, and your only thought is, “Omg, I guess I have to move now?”
That same chaos is multiplied by a trillion when a demonic poltergeist infiltrates your home.
And I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out:
Imagine calling a priest to your Brooklyn apartment. He looks you and your two roommates squarely in the eye and stoically murmurs, “This one-bedroom flex belongs to Satan now.”
Forget a basic GRWM or tired Zara haul — a haunted hype house with a viral insta-exorcism would be the most scroll-stopping social content of the season. Rolling Stone is calling you the spookiest creator of the millennium. UTA and WME are duking it out to represent you. You’re the new face of The Vatican.
No matter which of these brilliant themes we choose, we’re guaranteed one hell of an end of summer reunion. I call dibs on the seat next to Andy.