Pumpkin lattes, knitted sweaters and sobbing while listening to Phoebe Bridgers? Hot Girl Summer’s gloomy older sister, Sad Girl Autumn, is upon us.
Coined in 2019 as an antithesis to “Hot Girl Summer,” “Sad Girl Autumn” originated as a community of young women coping with seasonal depression. Those who didn’t fit the mold of outgoing summer party girl flocked to become something more attainable. Sad Girl Autumn is all about chai lattes, listening to calm indie music, journaling and yearning. It centers on emotional regulation and processing. In 2021, the term took the internet by storm following Taylor Swift’s release of “All Too Well (Ten Minute Version) (Sad Girl Autumn Version).” What began as a community coping with a common illness became a watered-down, romanticized hashtag labeling videos of rainy cityscapes and young women in thick scarves looking wistfully out of windows.
Seasonal affective disorder (SAD), more commonly known as seasonal depression, impacts 5% of the US population. A staggering 80% of those affected by seasonal depression are women. The issue with Sad Girl Autumn isn’t rooted in those genuinely suffering, nor in the components of the aesthetic. What’s problematic is the rhetoric surrounding it. For a generation with depression rates twice that of their predecessors, turning mental illness into an aspiration does more harm than good.
Social media algorithms create harmful echo chambers. If a teenage girl becomes stuck in the virtual loop of “Sad Girl Autumn,” in which everyone recommended to her on TikTok seems to be suffering from seasonal depression, she will be likely to adopt the label for herself. In doing so, she may begin to immerse herself in typical sad girl media: breakup songs, books told from the point of view of characters suffering from mental illness. Consistently putting oneself in the perspective of those experiencing negative emotions can be detrimental. While sad music has been proven to improve symptoms of depression, it worsens mood for those who aren’t already experiencing negative emotions.
With hits like “Funeral” and “Waiting Room,” Phoebe Bridgers has been hailed as the internet’s favorite “Sad Girl.” However, she outright rejects the label. In a 2018 interview with exclaim, Bridgers cites the Sad Girl movement as “so romanticized and so kitschy.” Too often, sadness is equated with profoundness. Fans crown Bridgers the “Sad Girl” to differentiate her from the “shallowness” elicited by bubbly pop music. We celebrate the emotional depth of sad music, but romanticizing it is harmful. Depression should not be an aspiration. Making it so hurts people who placebo themselves into seasonal depression, as well as minimizes the issues faced by those who genuinely suffer from SAD.
Emotion sells. Creating an entire subculture around a negative emotion meant it was only a matter of time before companies and influencers swooped in. Fabricating issues to sell a product is a surefire way to success, especially in our digital age. Once a young woman sharing her favorite teas and journaling prompts to spread comfort, the “Sad Girl” is now an influencer screeching at her followers to buy the product of the week to “heal.” The commodification of SAD furthers the negative impacts on those experiencing it. Oftentimes, the “quick fixes” advertised by influencers are no more than a temporary dopamine boost and a way for them to make money. Overconsumption is no substitute for proper emotional regulation. Those experiencing symptoms of seasonal depression should turn to professionals for help, rather than salespeople and influencers selling lies to supposedly solve their problems.
As a former “Sad Girl Autumn” warrior, I was initially drawn in by the normalization of emotional processing through journaling and engaging with media that echoed my negative experiences. It was an appropriate coping mechanism at the time, but I’ve slowly let go of the label for my own well-being. Currently, I enjoy myself a lot more knowing I can romanticize autumn without the guise of sadness. I can read The Bell Jar and simultaneously understand that I’m allowed to engage with it without putting myself in the same mental state as the protagonist. Next time you find yourself too immersed in a certain kind of media, remember that it doesn’t have to become a lifestyle.
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