How The Summer I Turned Pretty is Reviving the Art of Crushing

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There’s something perversely satisfying in the pain of a crush. All-consuming. Embarrassing. When was the last time you let yourself feel the drug of wanting someone? In an age of gamified dating - where desire is flattened into swipes - the slow-burn ache of a crush feels almost extinct.

Then along comes Belly Conklin (Lola Tung), the protagonist of hit YA series The Summer I Turned Pretty, yearning, and crushing, like no other. Suddenly yearning is back. Whether you enjoy the show or not, the impact is undeniable. Fans - men and women alike - are engaged in heavy breathing over the graze of the hand, a stolen glance. Not to mention the steamed-up finale that had us grasping our couch cushions. 

So what does it mean? Are we clinging to a childhood fantasy of love, or is longing an innate part of human nature that’s been suppressed by modern dating standards?

Professor Stephanie Ortigue from Syracuse University revealed that the brain’s reaction to love is incredibly similar to its reaction to cocaine - a rush of dopamine and adrenaline. The uncertainty keeps dopamine drip-fed. Will they text back? Will they look your way? The answer rarely matters. The suspense itself is intoxicating. Crushing is delusional by design - and that’s why it’s fun.

Modern dating, by contrast, limits the bandwidth for delusion. With the rise of dating apps, we’ve lost the art of crushing because we’ve engineered it out of our systems. Connection is now admin. But as The Summer I Turned Pretty proves, we miss it.

Enter Belly.

Writer and producer Jenny Han’s world isn’t a glittering, drug-fueled fever dream. It’s ordinary teenagers navigating grief, love, and family dysfunction. The only high on offer is Belly’s obsession - she isn’t casual, she isn’t detached, and she doesn’t have the capacity to play it cool. Every look from Conrad Fisher (Christopher Briney) hits like a dose of adrenaline. Every misunderstanding feels cataclysmic.

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In an era overtaken with speed and efficiency, watching someone wallow in longing feels radical. It reminds us that the ache was always the point.

Zoom out, and you’ll see that TSITP doesn’t stand alone. Pop culture has been quietly making space for yearning again through the resurgence of rom-coms, Anyone But You, and heartbreak pop-music, Sabrina, Taylor, Gracie, Olivia, the list goes on.

In a time of chaos (politics, climate, cost of living, sense of impending doom), maybe the irrationality of a crush feels grounding.

So what do we take from Belly’s love triangle, and our collective obsession with it? Maybe that yearning isn’t a childish phase we should grow out of, but a muscle worth flexing. 

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Maybe there’s something deeply human about letting yourself want - with no guarantee it’ll be returned.

Because yes, crushing is masochistic. It’s humiliating, delusional, and entirely unproductive. But it’s also electric. And in a world optimised for efficiency, maybe the most radical thing you can do is let yourself want.