It’s no longer summer, but the teen show “The Summer I Turned Pretty” is still taking over screens across the world. 

Since the premiere, chatter about the drama-filled Prime Video exclusive has only grown louder. While it remains to be seen how author Jenny Han closes the book on the fictional Cousins Beach world, one thing is certain: the Team Conrad versus Team Jeremiah debate won’t be ending anytime soon. 

The problem with the love triangle is that when it becomes the heartbeat of a story, it risks glamorizing unhealthy dynamics. On the surface, the beachside nostalgia and binge-worthy drama are harmless, but, beneath the classic teen drama, “The Summer I Turned Pretty” normalizes toxic relationship practices.  

Take this season’s central storyline for example. Team Conrad fans are essentially rooting for Belly to cheat on her fiancé to fulfill what they see as the “right ending.” At every turn, Conrad supporters are yelling at their screens for Belly to leave Jeremiah. But, for better or worse, Belly is engaged to Jeremiah, and that storyline should be at the forefront.  

Instead, though, the show dangles the possibility of Conrad in front of viewers and builds suspense around whether Belly will betray her commitment. In doing so, the series flirts with promoting a double standard: Jeremiah’s cheating is treated as a scandal, but the idea of Belly doing the same is framed as romantic wish fulfillment. 

And this isn’t just a one-off problem fostered by the triangle — it’s part of a larger pattern. Time and again, “The Summer I Turned Pretty” treats cheating as routine and commonplace. Think for a moment about the baffling moment when Belly accepts Jeremiah’s proposal soon after learning he cheated on her. Days before, Belly had a major freakout when she discovered Jeremiah cheated on her, but days later, she’s ready to marry him. Since when did cheating become an easily forgivable mistake, like forgetting to take the trash out?  

Even secondary storylines lean into this message. For example, Steven, Belly’s brother, and Taylor, Belly’s best friend, are both dating other people while seeing each other. Instead of grappling with this very real issue of unfaithfulness, the show trivializes it, treating cheating as background noise to other plot points. Neither Steven nor Taylor faces any ramifications for cheating on their partners, and instead, this “minor inconvenience” is quickly glossed over to focus on the more entertaining push-and-pull of Steven and Taylor’s “will they, won’t they” relationship. This downplays the emotional weight of betrayal, reinforcing the show’s tendency to romanticize rather than realistically address complex relationship dynamics. 

Thus, by making cheating seem forgivable and even desire-driven, the show normalizes double standards and dodges accountability, turning unhealthy relationship practices into mainstream entertainment. Summer is officially at its end, and if this is the version of love we’re celebrating, maybe it’s time for the obsession with “The Summer I Turned Pretty” to end too.