Season three of “The Summer I Turned Pretty” debuted on July 16, and Amazon Prime reported 25 million viewers within the first week of streaming alone. It’s the most attention the show has ever received, and it seems fitting considering this is the final season.
In terms of quality, however, the show is decisively bad.
The dialogue is strange and stilted, most of the actors aren’t exactly winning awards and the costuming department loves putting the characters in unflattering outfits. Not to mention, the premise of the show is a love triangle between two brothers, a trope that is very 2010s.
It’s a mess. I love it.
I don’t open Amazon Prime every Wednesday morning because I’m expecting good quality television. I do it because this show entertains me. There’s something deeply comforting about watching a show that doesn’t try to be perfect. “The Summer I Turned Pretty” doesn’t aim for prestige— it leads into melodrama, plays pop songs every five minutes, and the dialogue feels like it was written by someone trying to remember what teenagers sound like.
That’s the point of the show.
In a media landscape filled with critically acclaimed, emotionally taxing shows, sometimes I just want to turn my brain off. Bad TV gives us that kind of emotional reprieve. This is the kind of show you watch with friends just to make fun of it.
The show is adapted from a book series originally written by Jenny Han, who is also a showrunner, and she is heavily involved in the production. The show stands out because it’s a teen drama told from the female gaze.
Many iconic teen shows like “Gossip Girl” or “The OC” have been either created or heavily influenced by men, and it shows. Whether it’s the over-sexualization of teenage girls, hollow female friendships, or the way storylines revolve entirely around male approval, these shows often reflect what men think teen girls are like, not what they actually are.
The female protagonist, Belly, is far from a perfect person, but there is something relatable about her. Her feelings are messy and complicated and the show allows her to struggle. The camera doesn’t leer at her, it sits with her.
Most importantly, “The Summer I Turned Pretty” is fun to experience with other people. Thanks to its episodic release schedule, every week my social media is filled with people talking about the newest episode. Criticizing it, looking for easter eggs, or just showing their reactions. It’s the same energy that made “Twilight” and “The Hunger Games” cultural touchstones. It’s not because they were flawless pieces of art, but because people just had fun experiencing it together.
Honestly, sometimes my favorite part of the episode is going online after I’ve finished watching to see what people are saying.
Shows like this don’t have to be good to be meaningful. Whether people are hate-watching, genuinely invested, or somewhere in between, people still have something to look forward to. Sometimes that’s more important than perfect writing or logical plotlines.
“The Summer I Turned Pretty” probably won’t end up on a list of the greatest shows of the decade, but it doesn’t need to. It’s horrible, and I will be sat for every episode until the finale in September.
