Although it is still early in the year, I can hardly wait for summer. The frigid winds are traded in for cooling breezes, long days spent in classrooms turn into beach days that extend from sunrise to sunset, and the television series that stream year–round are replaced by seasonally topical content. One of the most anticipated releases this summer happens to be Season Three of the guilty–pleasure romantic comedy show The Summer I Turned Pretty: a show about friendship, coming of age, and a teenage love triangle that leaves audience members on the edges of their seats.
The love triangle—a romance trope where two people compete for the love of one person—is found within many popular television shows such as My Life With the Walter Boys, Gossip Girl, Never Have I Ever, and Vampire Diaries, and films like Twilight, Challengers, The Hunger Games, and Little Women. Within the genre, both of the main character’s options (who also tend to have completely different character tropes) are portrayed to be favorable in their own ways because they bring out different aspects of the protagonist’s personality. As opposed to a normal romantic arc, audience members are given a choice for who they want the main character to end up with, creating a more immersive experience for the viewers. The constant prevalence of the love triangle within film and television may have critics questioning why they’re so popular. Are they pure entertainment, or a marketing tactic? Do they function as a deeper reflection of our society? They might do all of the above.
The Summer I Turned Pretty is a television series based on the book series by New York Times best–selling author Jenny Han. The show follows Belly Conklin (Lola Tung) during her family’s annual trip to Cousins Beach. There, she reunites with her mother’s (Jackie Chung) best friend Susannah Fisher (Rachel Blanchard) and her two sons: mysterious and quiet Conrad (Christopher Briney) and extroverted and outgoing Jeremiah (Gavin Casalegno). Although Belly has always had a crush on Conrad, this summer is different. She begins to see Jeremiah (who she originally viewed as a best friend) as a romantic interest and suddenly finds herself stuck in a love triangle between the two brothers.
When the last season of The Summer I Turned Pretty was released two years ago, I was in a completely different stage of life, worrying about state testing and the SAT exams. As a first year at Penn, I now worry, similarly, about my course load and midterms. However, I still escape my stress by sitting down, turning on Amazon Prime Video, and getting lost at Cousins Beach.
At the beginning of the school year, my new friends and I were sitting in the dining hall of Kings Court English House. A conversation about the heartthrob Fisher brothers slowly turned into a deep–dive analysis of fan–made TikTok edits, and before we knew it, we were in a heated argument over, of all things, The Summer I Turned Pretty. To other people sitting around us, this may have appeared to be an actual fight born out of frustration and anger. But as I finished my salad and got up from my seat to grab ice cream, I discovered we had just had a debate that had not only served as an engaging conversation surrounding the show, but also as a bonding experience.
Producers and directors choose to produce media similar to film and television that have faced success in the past. In this regard, incorporating a love triangle into your story not only guarantees an audience who already enjoys this particular romantic trope; it also draws out certain passions in the fandom. Depending on which team viewers are on, they can buy merch of their preferred love interest, watch related content on TikTok, and talk to their friends about love triangles in the shows and movies they are watching. More excited audience members will stream the show and advertise what they like about it, and as a result, more press and publicity will gain enough revenue for the show to continue for more seasons.
Every couple of months, I find myself heading to Netflix to watch the To All The Boys trilogy in one sitting, which also happens to be based on a book series by love triangle master Jenny Han. In the film, high schooler Lara Jean (Lana Condor) has secretly written love letters to all of the boys she’s ever had a crush on. One day, the letters are mysteriously sent out. In an effort to hide her feelings for her sister’s ex–boyfriend, who received a letter, Lara Jean starts a fake relationship with an alternative recipient, heartthrob Peter Kavinsky (Noah Centineo). In the second movie of the trilogy, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before: P.S. I Still Love You, Lara Jean—who is now officially dating Peter—reunites with her childhood crush John Ambrose (Jordan Fisher) and a love triangle forms between the three of them.
There’s an argument to be made that John Ambrose offers Lara Jean a version of love built off of small, simple actions, rather than big romantic gestures; something that is more likely to be seen in real life. But, considering how Lara Jean ultimately ends up with fan–favorite Peter Kavinsky, this may not be what the audience wants to see when watching a movie. Did my change in heart towards Lara Jean’s love interests mirror how society views love? Maybe. This might be because, at their core, love triangles are a form of escapism. Viewers are thrown into an imaginary world, so they may advocate for the protagonist to choose the character whom they wouldn’t typically see in the real world.
Even though the winds are still frigid and my days are still spent in the classroom, you’ll find me watching a feel–good rom–com with that very same friend group with whom I first bonded over dining hall dinner and The Summer I Turned Pretty. Love triangles are powerful ways to drive audience members together, entertain, market, and portray society’s view on love. And even though they very well could happen in real life, these fictional affairs are the key to a hopeless romantic fantasy inside of consumers’ hearts.
