It started like a slow burn — soft waves lapping at the shore, a girl's voiceover whispering about how one summer changed everything. But soon, The Summer I Turned Pretty turned into a full-on cultural wave.
Back in 2009, author Jenny Han quietly released The Summer I Turned Pretty, a YA novel about Belly Conklin — an awkward, sweet girl who finds herself caught between two brothers during a transformative summer in Cousins Beach. For over a decade, the book remained a beloved, if relatively niche, entry in the young adult literary canon.
Then came 2022.
Amazon Prime Video adapted the novel into a TV series, with Jenny Han herself as co-showrunner — a rarity that allowed the original emotional blueprint to stay intact. The series launched with little fanfare but quickly exploded across social media. Within weeks, TikTok was flooded with edits of Jeremiah’s golden smile, Conrad’s brooding stares, and Belly’s glow-up transformation. The show climbed Amazon's most-watched charts and cemented itself as the show of the summer.
More than just another teenage drama, The Summer I Turned Pretty hit a nerve with a generation still unpacking lockdown-era adolescence. It wasn’t loud or edgy like Euphoria. It wasn’t absurdist like Riverdale. It was soft, wistful, and aching with nostalgia — exactly the emotional register young people craved.
And then there’s the soundtrack. A blend of Taylor Swift deep cuts, 2000s hits, and indie summer ballads crafted a kind of musical time capsule. It’s not just a show you watch — it’s a vibe you live in. A warm, sun-dappled filter over the messiness of growing up.
Coming-of-Age Tropes Reimagined
At its heart, The Summer I Turned Pretty is a story about transition — from child to adult, from invisible to seen, from "just one of the boys" to the object of their affection. But what makes it different is how these familiar tropes are reworked.
Belly’s transformation isn’t just physical. Yes, she gets contact lenses and starts wearing sundresses. But the emotional transformation — growing into her desires, feeling the ache of grief, confronting heartbreak — is what makes her relatable. She’s not the Manic Pixie Dream Girl of past YA fiction. She’s unsure. Sometimes selfish. Often wrong. And that makes her real.
The love triangle between Conrad and Jeremiah, the two brothers, doesn’t feel like a gimmick — it feels like a genuine emotional tangle. Conrad, reserved and grieving the slow death of his mother. Jeremiah, bright, open, and desperate to be chosen. Both reflect parts of Belly’s journey, both challenge her sense of self.
The show also tackles loss and grief with unusual tenderness. Susannah’s illness hangs like mist over the sunniest moments. The contrast — beach parties one moment, hospital visits the next — gives the show emotional weight, reminding us that summer, like life, is always tinged with impermanence.
This blend of sweetness and sadness is rare. It invites young viewers to sit with complexity instead of escaping it.
The Aesthetic of Nostalgia and Summer
Visually, The Summer I Turned Pretty is a love letter to the idealized summer of our dreams — even if we’ve never actually lived it. Think coastal grandma meets Abercrombie & Fitch circa 2007. Linen shirts, soft lighting, bare feet on sand. Everything feels sun-bleached and slow.
The show’s aesthetic choices aren't just pretty — they’re deliberate. Every beach bonfire and backyard volleyball scene triggers a kind of collective nostalgia. It’s not just for Gen Z. Millennials watching the show are transported back to their own teenage summers, reliving the heady rush of first love and lost innocence.
Music plays a huge role in that nostalgia engine. When Taylor Swift’s This Love swells during a pivotal scene, it’s not just background music. It’s a memory activator. Suddenly you’re 17 again, heartbroken on your bedroom floor.
Even the pacing contributes to the vibe. Episodes unfold like journal entries. You’re not rushed from plot point to plot point — you linger. In the quiet. In the blush of embarrassment. In the yearning.
It’s the kind of show that understands the emotional architecture of a summer crush and lets it breathe.
Why Gen Z Claimed This Show as Their Own
What makes The Summer I Turned Pretty unique isn’t just its story — it’s the ownership Gen Z has taken over it. From fancams to fancasts, aesthetic moodboards to “team Conrad vs. team Jeremiah” debates, the show lives far beyond the screen.
It’s more than entertainment — it’s identity play.
In an era where young people are constantly curating and broadcasting their inner lives, The Summer I Turned Pretty gives them a language for their own transformations. It makes growing up feel sacred, not cringe. Belly doesn’t apologize for wanting to be seen as beautiful. She embraces it.
There’s also representation that feels fresh. Jenny Han’s influence is clear in the way the show centers an Asian-American protagonist without exoticizing her. Belly’s identity isn’t “about” being Asian, but it’s also not erased. It just is — and for many viewers, that normalization is quietly revolutionary.
Then there’s the masculinity. Jeremiah cries. Conrad withdraws. Neither is a one-note jock. The show’s portrayal of young men allows for softness, contradiction, and vulnerability — a counterpoint to the toxic archetypes often celebrated.
And maybe most importantly? The show gives viewers permission to romanticize their own lives. To believe that your first kiss, your summer trip, your heartbreak — they all matter. They shape who you become.
The Business Behind the Pretty
What happens when a quiet YA novel becomes a full-blown streaming franchise? The answer lies in the intricate business engine powering The Summer I Turned Pretty — and it's just as layered as the drama on screen.
Amazon Prime Video didn’t just adapt a book — it banked on Jenny Han as a brand. After the massive success of Netflix’s To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, which was also written by Han, Amazon smartly secured the rights to The Summer I Turned Pretty trilogy. But they did more than just produce it — they let Han run the show. This kind of authorial control is rare in Hollywood, and it paid off.
Jenny Han’s intimate involvement as co-showrunner helped maintain narrative authenticity while ensuring the adaptation resonated with her fiercely loyal fanbase. She was able to update certain cultural references, diversify casting, and expand character arcs without alienating the original story’s emotional core. This created something that felt both classic and fresh — an irresistible combo in the age of content saturation.
From a strategic standpoint, The Summer I Turned Pretty was Amazon’s answer to Netflix’s youth-dominated catalog. Prime Video, often associated with prestige dramas and adult-centric series, needed a foothold in the teen and Gen Z market. Belly’s love triangle — and the endless “Team Jeremiah” vs. “Team Conrad” wars — gave them just that.
But it didn’t stop with the screen.
Amazon quickly leveraged the show's success with branded merchandise, soundtrack vinyls, and influencer marketing campaigns. TikTok creators were invited to exclusive events, while Instagram flooded with #CousinsBeach outfit lookbooks. The show became a lifestyle — a beachy, bittersweet vibe Gen Z wanted to wear, decorate their rooms with, and live inside.
And here's the genius part: Jenny Han didn’t just sell a show — she sold a universe. With The Summer I Turned Pretty already greenlit for multiple seasons, and with whispers of spin-offs and new projects, Amazon is essentially building its own soft-powered teen cinematic universe — one that rivals even Netflix’s most beloved YA franchises.
This kind of brand expansion isn’t accidental. It reflects a growing industry trend: turning books into multi-format experiences. The Summer I Turned Pretty isn’t just a story anymore. It’s a moodboard, a streaming tentpole, a marketing juggernaut — and a sign of where entertainment is headed.
Conclusion
So, why did The Summer I Turned Pretty become the defining teen drama of its time?
Because it understood something timeless yet often overlooked: coming-of-age isn’t just about what happens — it’s about how it feels. The show bottled that strange, luminous ache of growing up — of first kisses, final summers, and the slow letting-go of childhood.
In an age of endless reboots, gritty reimaginings, and high-concept dramas, The Summer I Turned Pretty did something radical: it chose softness. It chose stillness. It chose heart over hype.
And in doing so, it gave an entire generation the gift of seeing themselves — messy, yearning, complicated — in the golden light of summer.
It may have started with a simple story. But it grew into a phenomenon, a feeling, and a fandom that isn't going away anytime soon.
FAQs
1. Is The Summer I Turned Pretty based on a true story?
No, the story is fictional. However, Jenny Han has said that it draws on the emotional truths of her own adolescence — especially the feeling of being invisible, then suddenly seen.
2. Where was The Summer I Turned Pretty filmed?
The series was filmed primarily in Wilmington, North Carolina, and other beach towns along the East Coast to capture the dreamy, coastal vibe of Cousins Beach.
3. Will there be a Season 3 of The Summer I Turned Pretty?
Yes, Amazon Prime Video has confirmed that a third season is in development, continuing the adaptation of Jenny Han’s book trilogy.
4. Who does Belly end up with in the books?
(Spoiler alert!) In the original books, Belly ends up with Conrad. However, the show may take creative liberties, so the ending could differ on-screen.
5. What is the significance of the show's soundtrack?
The soundtrack plays a huge role in setting the emotional tone of the series. Songs from Taylor Swift, Phoebe Bridgers, and Olivia Rodrigo help express characters’ inner emotions and amplify the show's nostalgic feel.
6. Is The Summer I Turned Pretty appropriate for all ages?
The show is rated TV-14. It contains themes like grief, romantic relationships, and some mild language, so it’s best suited for teens and older audiences.
