More than a season, autumn marks the arrival of the fall aesthetic. Yes, I think we all know what that means. Whether it’s rewatching “Harry Potter” or “Gilmore Girls,” ordering a pumpkin spiced latte or switching up your wardrobe for cozy hues of orange, tan and brown, most of us — myself included — have been, in one way or another, participants in this unspoken ritual.
And so there I was, watching “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” warm coffee in one hand, blanket in the other, thinking: I love these rituals, and unapologetically so, but why do we keep coming back to them? Why are they unspoken yet so faithfully followed? No one sends me a reminder to rewatch my comfort series or to trade iced coffee for pumpkin spice, and yet, as fall rolls in, I and many others do it instinctively.
As if obeying some collective rhythm, fall feels less like a trend and more like a shared agreement — a subtle understanding that when the leaves begin to turn, so do we.
At Notre Dame, that shift is impossible to miss. One morning, the lakes start to look like they’ve been painted in gold, the walk to DeBart suddenly feels cinematic, the Dome glows a little earlier each day, you begin seeing people holding warm beverages instead of iced coffees and holding their jackets a little tighter on the quad. Campus, as if mimicking our same rhythms, slows down — like it’s exhaling at once after the chaos of midterms and break.
In a more technical perspective, I think it’s worth wondering: Is our love for fall so deep that brands have capitalized on it, or is it so deep because of their own promotion? Are our fall rituals self-imposed or market driven?
Between the pumpkin candles and the overpriced pumpkin spiced lattes, it’s hard to tell where nostalgia ends and marketing begins. But then maybe that’s the point: It doesn’t really matter whether these trends are incentivized or not, because deep down, we return to these little rituals willingly. In one sense or another, they make time feel more stable, reminding us that even when everything else changes — our classes, our friendships or our plans — some things will always stay the same.
I think maybe this is what empowers these quiet trends: They are markers of time passing, yes, but also reminders of life’s circularity and stability. Unlike other seasons that demand we reinvent ourselves or act fast — draft your new year’s resolutions, buy your partner a proper Valentine's gift, host a perfect Christmas dinner — fall calls us to embrace change gently — light the candles, smell the coffee, walk by the lakes and rewatch the movies that feel like home.
These are the months that let us slow down without feeling guilty, the season that romanticizes routine instead of novelty — calm over chaos.
And maybe that’s why these rituals matter. Rewatching nostalgic TV shows and ordering hot coffee are somehow our small acts of resistance against our ever-accelerating lives. Ultimately, fall is there to remind us to live gently, to emphasize that there’s meaning in the mundane; some things are worth repeating, again and again, every year.
