I'll admit: I was drawn in by nostalgia. A friend described it as “summer, teenage love, and perfect music all tangled together,” and I couldn't resist. Based on Jenny Han’s beloved trilogy, the show carried the promise of first loves, beach sunsets, and emotional awakenings. When I discovered Jenny Han herself served as showrunner—and that Belly, the lead, was envisioned as an Asian-American protagonist, I was even more invested. I tuned in right at the start of summer, hoping for an emotional escape from real life—and I got exactly that.
What follows through the series is a comfortable yet captivating story: Isabel Belly Conklin goes back to the Cousins Beach every summer with her family and friends and every year her life as well as her heart changes. Belly finds herself on a road to discovering who she is as she negotiates family relationships, loss, and the attractive yet problematic Conrad and the down-to-earth, good-looking Jeremiah.
I liked the debutante ball arc, which is entirely new to the adaptation, as a signifier of a rite of passage, adding the visual effects and emotional gravity to the story. The development of Belly, the girl who always felt unnoticed, into a person who has discovered her strength and has learned to use it, turned out to be a symbol of what summer change is like.
It has a drunken quality to the cinematic light of the show, the beaches in the sun, the evening swimming, the soft golden hour glow all to the backing track that seems to be pulled out of my own memories of being a youth in the 2020s. It includes Taylor Swift with her song of the same title This Love (Taylor Version), Olivia Rodrigo, Phoebe Bridgers, and so on, who do not simply accompany the scenes, but become their voice.
The role of Belly is a victory for Lola Tung. She brings vulnerability, confusion and budding confidence with her in an endearing and sincere way. Christopher Briney as Conrad and Gavin Casalegno as Jeremiah breathe emotional life into the archetypal love triangle on the other side, but it is the subtle relationship between them, and Agnes (played in Season 3 by Zoé de Grand Maison) that gives the emotional underpinnings real depth. Agnes, who turns into the confidante and emotional mirror of Conrad, enabled the brooding character to demonstrate emotional maturity in more than cliched romance.
The book is in essence a story of lost time, loss of identity and lost love in the world of teenage romance. Belly does not merely turn into someone different, but it is a process of learning how to be worthy of oneself. There are several lines that I remembered: Girls are not allowed to know whether we are pretty or not. We are left to wait until somebody can tell us.” That pierced home- it resonated with the rise of Belly as an invisible person to a person bearing her beauty.
The friendship between Susannah and Laurel (mother of Belly) were particularly heartfelt subplots: divorce, motherhood, and reflection were the core of the teen drama, giving it a realistic foundation.
Although the show is admittedly gorgeous, it is not flawless. The pacing has been said by some viewers- and critics- to drag in the middle. Interesting as the love triangle was, it was strained at times. In some instances, the decisions that Belly makes are impulsive and critics have pointed out that the adaptation skims the inner depth of the books- some of the character arcs feel too fast or shallow.
Nevertheless, its heartfelt sincerity, escapist quality, and chemistry-focused plotting were accepted by several fans, despite how much it embraced YA tropes.
After seeing the entire 3 seasons, particularly the last episodes of Season 3, it seemed to me that I was bidding farewell to a long-time friend. The fact that Belly went through the process of growing up as an insecure teen and then identifying herself as the author of her story touched me in a way I would not have otherwise anticipated. Her errors, love hurts, and her maturity were tangible- not smooth, yet natural.
The last dance of the debutante ball, set to the song The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift, was an ideal culmination of the teenage longing, nostalgia, and the sweet and sour burden of first love. I laughed and felt a tear at how Belly and Conrad danced so dreamily and translucently, an instance that was so cinematic and at the same time, very intimate.
More than the romance, though, the show gave me space to remember summers of freedom, the ache of transitions, and the joy of being seen. It danced through grief, agency, and the cost of growing up, and left me wanting more of Cousins Beach in my memory.
Rating: ~85% overall. Strong first season, a mixed second with talented moments, and an emotionally satisfying final season.
Despite pacing issues and YA clichés, The Summer I Turned Pretty stands out for its sun-drenched visual palette, a soundtrack that captures generational emotion, and performances that bring warmth and sincerity to an age-old love story.
As I watched the last episode, I thought to myself something: the show didn't just tell Belly's story—it allowed me to live mine. What makes it beautiful isn't about rewriting the play book on YA romance, but about making us remember why we fell in love—or fell under the spell of being seen in the first place. Watching Belly grow, stumble, and rise tall with sunset light wrapped around it, felt like reclaiming part of my own teenage years.
If you’re ready to get the heat of summer back—and see a teenager transform into her own woman—let this series be your getaway. Close your eyes after the last credits and you might just smell the salt from Cousins Beach in the air.
Thumbnail is designed by me on pixelLab and other images are screenshot from the movie