It was billed as a show for teenagers, but you would be hard pressed to find a millennial woman who has not watched – and become mildly obsessed with – The Summer I Turned Pretty.
The coming-of-age drama, based on Jenny Han’s novel trilogy of the same name, has quietly grown into a global phenomenon for Prime Video. The first two episodes of its third and final season drew 25 million viewers, triple the audience of its debut.
As it approaches its highly anticipated finale on Wednesday, the show’s main audience is not teenagers but women over 25, and they cannot stop talking about it.
“Why Every Millennial Woman You Know Is Suddenly Watching The Summer I Turned Pretty”, ran a headline in Vogue. “Why Almost Every Woman You Know Is Obsessed With The Summer I Turned Pretty,” said another in Elle.
So fervent is the fandom that Amazon even asked viewers to start “acting normal online” after cast members were targeted with abuse in the buildup to the climax.
To understand why the show has enthralled so many women, look no further than its premise. It is centred on Isabel “Belly” Conklin (played by Lola Tung), who spends her summers in the fictional US east coast beach town of Cousins with the Fisher brothers: the brooding and brilliant Conrad (Christopher Briney), and the outgoing and dependable Jeremiah (Gavin Casalegno).
When Belly approaches her 16th birthday, she goes from being overlooked to the centre of the brothers’ romantic attention. Across three seasons, the show leans into the full sweep of adolescent feeling: Belly’s decade-long crush on Conrad and the slow burn of first love, her ricocheting affections between the brothers (sparking a messy love triangle), and the devastating loss of the boys’ mother to cancer. By the end, the core characters have all but graduated from university and are grappling with the sharper edges of adulthood.
Fans have split into two entrenched camps: Team Conrad or Team Jeremiah. TikTok is awash with close readings of glances and gestures, while themed hen dos, watch parties and Cousins-style dinners recreate the show’s atmosphere.
Part of the appeal lies in nostalgia. Han’s books were first published between 2009 and 2011, and the adaptation retains a distinctly noughties feel. The dynamics echo the teen dramas and romances millennials grew up with, when aligning with characters became a way of signalling who you were – Twilight’s Team Edward v Team Jacob, The OC’s Team Seth v Team Ryan, One Tree Hill’s Team Lucas v Team Nathan.
The show also leans into the booming “sad girl” soundtrack that has become a genre in its own right. It has deployed more than 20 Taylor Swift songs, alongside Olivia Rodrigo, Phoebe Bridgers and Gracie Abrams. YouTube is full of fan-made compilations set against Swift’s most emotional songs, while some theories even posit that Swift may drop the first single from her upcoming album in the finale.
“I think millennials are so enthralled by TSITP because it reminds us of so many great romance stories that we watched growing up,” said Emma Lymar, a 32-year-old business owner and content creator who posts about the show on TikTok.
“It isn’t just a teen romance; it’s a reminder of our first crushes, heartbreaks and summers full of hope and possibilities. With only one episode a week, the anticipation and post-episode debriefs in the group chat create a sense of community and nostalgia, reminiscent of how we used to watch our favourite shows in the 90s and 00s.”
Kate Mansfield, a dating and relationship coach, agreed. For older viewers, she said, the obsession was not just escapism but “a form of emotional time travel”. “Many women’s own adolescent dating lives were a landscape of confusing signals, unrequited feelings and messy breakups. This show offers a unique opportunity for a ‘dating do-over’ in a controlled, safe environment. It allows them to revisit the intense, all-consuming emotions of first love without the real-world consequences or heartache.”
Hayley Quinn, another dating coach, said the show struck a nerve because it recalled a “more untainted era” of romance. “Recalling your formative sexual experiences, and first noticing you’re being noticed, feels a lot more emotionally rewarding than the carousel of dating apps and ‘situationships’ that defines the dating lives of many women. And for those already in relationships, TSITP may also create nostalgia for a time when they felt younger, freer and full of opportunities.”
On TikTok, one mother filmed herself waking “extra early” to watch the latest episode before her children were up. Another posted: “Me every Wednesday: someone’s actual mum sprinting to watch a bunch of teenagers in some love triangle and crying over it.” A third fan posted: “I’m 30. I pay taxes. And I’m fully invested.”
Many point to Han’s undeniable knack for writing swoonworthy guys, who are emotionally articulate, deeply feeling, and usually have tousled hair. Conrad’s combination of curtains, collared shirts and pained silences has been compared to the 90s-era Leo DiCaprio.
“Chris Briney’s performance will go down in history alongside Jack Dawson, Noah Calhoun and Mr Darcy,” Lymar said, referring to DiCaprio’s character in Titanic, Ryan Gosling in The Notebook and the Jane Austen character. “It feels like we haven’t had a character like this in so long – someone who yearns for a woman over time, rather than chasing instant gratification.”
Mansfield added: “It’s a fantasy of being pursued by men who are not only attractive but also emotionally intelligent, which is an incredibly compelling narrative for women at any age.”
Whether the finale brings the curtain down on the TSITP universe remains uncertain. What is not in doubt is the show’s impact: a cross-generational reminder of the power of nostalgia.
