My Dearest PSL,
Pumpkin Spice Latte. PSL. Whatever you want me to call you…I’m sorry. I’ve tried you over and over again, but… uh… I just don’t think this is gonna work out. It’s not you! Really! It’s me. And I mean it when I say that. This is not an attempt to be cliché. I’m being sincere. I just really don’t like you. I don’t like the way you have managed to capture “fall in a cup,” or taste just like the pie grandma’s been working on for the last six hours – all the way down to the whipped cream. I don’t like how I am somehow missing out on the most wonderful time of the year, just because I enjoy your taste. (Also you’re not a spice?) (You’re a gourd.)
I don’t like how for something to be considered fall-y, it has to be pumpkin. What about all those girls that don’t like pumpkin? What are we supposed to do? Am I missing out because I can’t tote my PSL from Starbucks and my pumpkin flavored donut from Dunkin’ all day? Am I the worst roommate ever because I don’t want my kitchen to smell like that fat, stinky, orange, pulpy, thing? Am I wrong for always making my dad scoop out the seeds of pumpkin before I turn him into a Halloween staple?
No – I am not wrong. And PSL, this isn’t all your fault! You did nothing wrong. Who knew that your creation would start an entire movement?
But all that being said – I like what you stand for. I like how you symbolize the beginning of my favorite season, fall. I like how you are able to change with our insane weather. We are able to match you hot with our sweater and leggings in the morning and over ice in our Daisy Dukes in the afternoon.
I like how you are able to be the center of an Instagram post. You are a moment that is worth capturing.
I like how you have been able to start a revolution – the basic white girl. (Stick with me here on this one, Internet). I like how you have given girls the power to outwardly enjoy what they like. I am amazed how you have given girls the power to throw up the middle finger when they walk in the room in an oversized shirt, leggings, Ugg Boots, and their PSL and someone has the audacity to call them “basic”. They may have been fifteen minutes late, but they were late because they were spending a moment on themselves. Something that girls are not encouraged to do anymore.
I just really enjoy how you lowkey stand for girl-power, and high key represent fall.
So PSL – really, it’s not you, it’s me. I hope after all this, we can still be friends.
