Connie, you’re so annoying. Belly, you’re the problem. And Jeremiah… How do you care more about the girlfriend you cheated on then your dead mom? 

That’s pretty much where my brain was at the entire summer. Not because I was in love with the characters or the plot, but because “The Summer I Turned Pretty” managed to keep me, and basically everyone I know, glued to our screens every Wednesday night, waiting for the next episode to drop. 

By now, it’s obvious: The third and final season of Jenny Han’s pastel-toned, beachy love triangle saga, streaming on Amazon Prime, is a cultural phenomenon. And it’s not just about the plot twists, but also the chaos that somehow feels safe, addictive and maybe even necessary.

At its core, it’s unhinged. A girl who’s been in love with one brother her entire life gets rejected by him, rebounds with his brother, gets engaged after four or five years of dating and then ditches him to run away to Paris — only then to circle back to brother number one. Meanwhile, we’re forced to watch Steven and Denise’s intense chemistry, thinking that they might get together, before half a season of tension gets solved over ice cream.

This ridiculousness is what keeps us coming back. The push and pull, the constant fake-outs and the way we finally think we know what to expect only to get whiplash — it’s pure rage-bait. All the screaming at our screens, edits and heated debates in comment sections end the same way: with us pressing play on the next episode. “The Summer I Turned Pretty” plot is so unfeasible but that’s what makes it so captivating to watch. 

“I think it’s the anticipation,” said Summit junior Emily Bella, “It’s [also] not realistic, you’re not going to be in a love triangle with two brothers.”  

For others, the appeal is the opposite. Alexis Cathcart, another Summit junior, said, “Because I don’t really like the characters, I don’t get sad when things go badly for them… It makes it fun to watch.” 

In a world where everything is so stressful — with high schoolers concerned about college, adults anxious about jobs and everyone just plain stressed — we just need something silly to freak out about. It’s escapism, but also a community formed through shallow and entertaining drama. 

Teen dramas have always featured love triangles and over-the-top emotions. Just look at “Twilight,” “The Vampire Diaries,” “Gossip Girl” and even “The OC.”  The difference now is that entertainment companies have exaggerated everything and figured out a way to profit directly from our attention spans. 

Amazon didn’t just drop Season 3 — it came out in a steady trickle with new drops every Wednesday night. Each episode became an event with three days of content centered around the show. That wasn’t an accident: It was a business model. 

Beyond the obvious — like a whole episode as an AirTag ad, red Gatorade being the perfect cure all hangover drink and Coach bags being carried by the entire cast — the ability to shop directly from the show was unreal. Belly’s engagement ring, for example, appeared available for purchase on Catbird’s website as part of a special edition “The Summer I Turned Pretty” collection. 

As Bella put it, all these duets and videos commenting on the show are, “mostly for TikTok. People want engagement. The comments blow up and everyone argues. It’s just for fun.” 

In this economy, we all know that views equal money, and that “just for fun” also happens to be highly profitable.

Yet, in all this fanfare, there are still some real moments. For example, Bella mentioned the insecurity and depression that Conrad feels, and specifically how people overlook it. Additionally, Cathcart talked about how it’s relatable that Belly still chooses to return to the person she loves even though they cheated on her. This balance of drama with bits of authenticity holds the story together. We’re drawn in by the drama and theatrics, and every once in a while, the little bit of realness makes us stay.

The show is ridiculous, but that’s exactly why it became the obsession of the summer of 2025. It gave us space to be unserious, to let out some of our rage at the world and to remember that sometimes, the point of a story isn’t whether it’s believable, but whether it makes the audience feel something. Its chaos reflects less on the characters than on the audience itself. It gave us a collective excuse to scream, to laugh and to let out some frustration. That’s why it’s so easy to connect with Connie, Belly and Jeremiah’s conflict — it gives viewers a release from their own.