Hot Girl Summer Is Over and All of Us Are Finally Free and No One Ever Has to Be Hot Again
griefbacon.substack.com
There's too much to say about back to school season and everyone is expected to care too much about it, but at least we don’t have to be hot anymore. On the way home the subway is full of people in plunging necklines and glittery shoes. A woman in a lime green chiffon mini dresses chews on her lip and cranes her neck around to look at the upcoming stations. I wonder where they’re all going. I watch people get on and off the train and I remember being very young and changing my clothes in the elevator of students’ buildings, on my way from being a teacher to being a party, the chill in the air calling for new clothes, calling for reinvention. My friends and I would text each other “formal for fall,” as though we could put on heels or a cheap suit and be remade wholly new. On the street in Soho, everyone is in boots and short skirts and glossy lacquered faces already. “What are you doing,” I want to say, “don’t you know that summer is over and we don’t have to try to be hot anymore? Aren’t you relieved?” But they aren’t relieved. Nobody ever really stops trying. Fall is here and we’re free of the burden of our own skin, but we’re on to other things. Halloween is still far off, but this whole season is about costumes.
Hot Girl Summer Is Over and All of Us Are Finally Free and No One Ever Has to Be Hot Again
Hot Girl Summer Is Over and All of Us Are…
Hot Girl Summer Is Over and All of Us Are Finally Free and No One Ever Has to Be Hot Again
There's too much to say about back to school season and everyone is expected to care too much about it, but at least we don’t have to be hot anymore. On the way home the subway is full of people in plunging necklines and glittery shoes. A woman in a lime green chiffon mini dresses chews on her lip and cranes her neck around to look at the upcoming stations. I wonder where they’re all going. I watch people get on and off the train and I remember being very young and changing my clothes in the elevator of students’ buildings, on my way from being a teacher to being a party, the chill in the air calling for new clothes, calling for reinvention. My friends and I would text each other “formal for fall,” as though we could put on heels or a cheap suit and be remade wholly new. On the street in Soho, everyone is in boots and short skirts and glossy lacquered faces already. “What are you doing,” I want to say, “don’t you know that summer is over and we don’t have to try to be hot anymore? Aren’t you relieved?” But they aren’t relieved. Nobody ever really stops trying. Fall is here and we’re free of the burden of our own skin, but we’re on to other things. Halloween is still far off, but this whole season is about costumes.