The Summer Everything Turned Dark

Summer 2024 felt like watching dreams come true. After years of being underrated, Sabrina Carpenter finally struck gold with “Espresso,” the song we all couldn’t stop singing. Charli XCX, once embraced by a niche crowd, broke into the mainstream with BRAT, sparking a full-on “BRAT Summer.” Tinashe gave us a breakout anthem with “Nasty,” making us wonder who would “match our freaks,” while Chappell Roan had us chanting “HOT TO GO!” On Love Island Season 6, we rooted for love stories and powerful female friendships. And in the biggest cultural shift of all, our Black female vice president announced her historic run for the presidency. It was a summer defined by daring dreams and a sense of limitless possibility.

Love Island ©

Fast forward to the summer of 2025, and the tone felt strikingly different. Every summer usually has one defining anthem—or a cluster of songs—that instantly locks into our collective memory. This year, however, the musical landscape feels overwhelmingly safe compared to the boldness and cheekiness that defined 2024.

On paper, the song of the summer would be Alex Warren’s “Ordinary,” if we’re going strictly by metrics. But it almost feels wrong to say that. Yes, it’s a beautiful track with heartfelt, spiritual undertones, but it also feels stiff. It lacks the spark, edge, and attitude of last year’s anthems. Much of this summer’s soundtrack leaned acoustic—pleasant but safe, like something you’d hear at camp rather than the playful chaos of “Espresso” or “360.” Summer should sound like calling up your friends to dance, not sitting quietly around a campfire. The closest thing we’ve had to a true anthem is Zara Larsson’s “Midnight Sun,” which at least captures that shimmering, sun-on-the-water energy. Otherwise, I’ve found myself replaying 2024’s bangers far more than anything new.

Then came the Love Island Season 7 cast—the moment the internet pivoted, and honestly, for the worse. Season 6 had been lightning in a bottle: messy, twenty-somethings who often forgot the cameras were rolling, but who gave us real friendships and even real love.

Season 7, by contrast, felt different. Many Islanders were already influencers, a fact viewers critiqued heavily throughout the season. The season’s focal point was the relationship between Huda and Jeremiah, which flamed out as quickly as it began, sparking endless discourse about love-bombing and other therapy-speak terms that became misused throughout the show. Huda’s unraveling—dubbed a “crash out”—crossed a line.

It felt less like entertaining chaos and more like something uncomfortably personal, the kind of behavior that made you question whether you should even be watching. That unease peaked with the infamous “Stand on Business” challenge, where Islanders wrote anonymous critiques and the targets had to defend themselves on a podium. Designed to provoke, the challenge felt dark, almost cruel. Watching Amaya in tears as the boys ganged up on her was disturbing, not entertaining. The fallout only made things worse: discourse about “girls’ girls,” “accountability,” and—most heavily—racism dominated the season. Earlier, Huda faced attacks over her Palestinian heritage; later, Black contestants Olandria and Chelley were vilified as bullies and met with racial dog whistles after the challenge. The show became exhausting. At that point, I wondered: have fans lost the plot? Between the volatile situations producers continued to push and the online bullying disguised as opinion, laced with racism and misogyny, the finale felt less like reality TV and more like a reflection of America’s own anger and division boiling over.

And as if the division in America couldn’t get worse, American Eagle entered the chat. Rage bait became a theme this year—from casual social posts to album covers to brand ads. The formula seems to be: What’s the most outrageous thing we can do to spark conversation? Enter Sydney Sweeney, the face of multiple campaigns. American Eagle, a once-booming brand that had stalled in recent years, used Sweeney to reignite buzz. Its infamous ad began with a riff on genetics—hair color, eye color, personality—before pivoting to the pun: “my jeans are blue.” The wordplay on jeans/genes backfired instantly.

Outrage spread as some accused the ad of promoting eugenics and elevating white Americans, especially under the tagline: “Sydney Sweeney has great jeans.” Others mocked the criticism as “woke overreach” and celebrated the ad as proof that “America is back.” Sweeney was suddenly embraced as the face of a MAGA moment, praised by conservative commentators and even Donald Trump himself on Truth Social: “Sydney Sweeney, a registered Republican, has the HOTTEST ad out there. It’s for American Eagle, and the jeans are flying off the shelves. Go get ’em Sydney!”

I saw the ad as completely unnecessary. In a country already drowning in division, it only poured gasoline on the fire. Why not just sell the jeans on their quality? Why stir alienation among your own consumers? This summer especially, it felt like everything that was supposed to be fun—music, TV, even denim—was hijacked by outrage, hate, and division. Nothing felt safe.

Of course, 2024 wasn’t a perfect year—no year ever is. Tragedy will always exist in some form. But last summer reflected moments that actually brought people together, whether through music, a political candidate you believed in, or friendships formed on a dating show that unexpectedly moved you. Which makes me wonder: if this summer was any indication, what else are we in store for? Yet the hopeful part of me can’t help but think: if last summer showed us what’s possible, maybe we’ll get back to that again—music, TV, and culture that unite us instead of dividing us.