“i’m going to have a hot girl summer.”
this from a colleague who was explaining her decision to head back to the gym. she made reference to her dissatisfaction with her body, saying that the pandemic of overindulgence had come to an end for her. jokes ensued, as well as wishes for good workouts and encouragement for body positivity.
i didn’t realize that the phrase “hot girl summer” was a real thing — a hashtag meme, in fact — until dinner with my kids that evening. since they have become teenagers, mealtime has become joyously (for me, anyway) filled with enlightenment and deep learning as they uncomfortably explain various references that i come across during the day working with people younger than me.
words like “cap” (lie), “lettuce” (hair) and “gnarf” (eat fast — although they may have been tricking me with this one) are recent additions to my lingo. but what did they think about “hot girl summer”?
“oh ya,” said my 14-year-old son, with a smirk. “it means when all the girls go crazy before the summer — like with exercise and stuff.”
i might have rolled my eyes.
when i was in high school, the “hot girl” many of us hoped to be was a someone with big breasts and blond hair — neither of which i had. i got some help with the first from my mom, who — equally small-chested — discreetly left a well-padded wonder bra on my bed one afternoon while i was at school (thanks, mom). the second i attempted myself with (gasp) bleach, and various drugstore hair colouring kits. it never looked good — and certainly not like the shiny yellow waist-length wonderfulness that the girl who sat in front of me in geography class had. (she also had a pony, and in the winter, she sported at least two faded ski lift tags on her coat zipper at all times. my immigrant parents understood neither ponies as pets nor paying good money to freeze on a hill. sigh.)