The Belly Problem: The Summer I Turned Pretty Undermines Its Lead to Chase an Endgame

Can I be honest with everyone? It’s sheer will and a desire to see the story through that is keeping me tuned into The Summer I Turned Pretty every week.

The third season has been rough for a plethora of reasons, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to process each installment and where the narrative is taking us.

But one of the season’s most glaring flaws is that Belly doesn’t feel like the lead in her own story anymore

Whether it was the book series or the television one, part of the appeal was that it was a coming-of-age story that centered on Belly.

Her love life is the primary focus, but the series had so much more to offer beyond that.

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But now, three seasons into the series, as it hurtles near its sendoff, it feels like we’ve lost sight of Belly in the narrative rather than learned more about her.

How is it that she’s somehow regressed as a character rather than improved over time?

Each season, it feels like we have a new version of her, but ironically, with a puzzling four-year time-jump and a series of ridiculous plot points, somehow, Belly feels more immature than she was as a teenager when we met her.

I didn’t think that was possible.

But the primary issue in that is that Belly’s character development (much like that of most of the characters) falls victim to the love story.

Essentially, it’s the concept of Belly and Conrad’s endgame love that takes precedent in the narrative. Belly, the actual lead, whose story this is about, takes a backseat to that.

It’s a puzzling choice for the show, yet they’ve been leaning so heavily into it for the past six installments with no signs of slowing down, and it’s evident at this point in the season that’s all we’re getting.

The Summer I Turned Pretty has always had a love triangle problem. The first season had a compelling balance of storytelling that made the story feel well-rounded, but that slipped away by the sophomore season.

Now? The entire season structures itself around pivotal moments that are crucial to the love story. Whether things make sense or not, that’s where we are.

Every episode can feel radically different than the previous one, disjointed and disconnected in many ways, but most glaringly with the characterization of the characters.

But what’s upsetting is that the season completely shafts Belly in her own story. At every turn, the narrative and other characters undermine her and her agency.

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Her characterization? It’s virtually down the loo. We know almost nothing about her and who she is as a young woman now.

The series glosses over the fact that she injured herself, and suddenly, volleyball, something she was passionate about, is no longer part of her life. The notion that she chose sports psychology?

The season reduces it to a throwaway line without ever considering giving us any insight or flashbacks to this critical point in her life.

Her friendship with Anika? Pretty much non-existent onscreen. Her dynamic with the rest of her family? It’s mostly underbaked rather than prioritized.

Belly’s motivations fall by the wayside in her own narrative. Instead, even in college, even as an adult woman now, her entire life seems to revolve around the Fisher boys.

That doesn’t fall on either of those men. It falls squarely on her; it’s a Belly problem.

Is it safe to say that her motivations for studying abroad may have been partially due to Susannah importing Parisian wallpaper for her room?

Maybe it’s because of her love of old movies. We don’t know — because the narrative doesn’t think it’s essential to show us why Belly is passionate about this endeavor.

We’re near the conclusion of the season and series, and whatever appeal Belly had before, the series has treated her like a prize to be won and little else.

Which Fisher boy deserves her comes down to some of the most regressive things ever, based on what they’re choosing to focus on to sell their respective points: “Who can take care of Belly?”

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And they’ve coupled that with Belly somehow coming across as her most childish yet in behavior, and her most inconsistent.

Sometimes, she’s the girl cognizant of class issues and money, and other times she’s almost as privileged and clueless as the boys because of her proximity to their wealth and the benefits she’s benefited from it for all of her life, presumably.

One moment, she’s responsible enough to handle some of her affairs; the next, she’s that houseguest from hell with no social awareness. Belly herself is giving me almost as much whiplash as the season’s plots.

And thus, Belly’s own characterization and development are sacrificed by TSITP, as it overcorrects Conrad and scrambles to revive their love story, regardless of whether it unfolds organically.

The series leans so heavily into selling Conrad as the romantic hero — the guy who looks after and takes care of Belly, that her unusual regression, no matter who she’s onscreen with (the Fishers, her parents, her brother, hell, freaking Taylor), even undermines their romance.

Now, Conrad feels oddly paternalistic with Belly, and the narrative gives her no space to rise to the level they’ve catapulted Conrad to (offscreen, another sacrifice).

I can’t quite envision how she’ll be suddenly ready for a serious, healthy, adult forever relationship by the end of the season, if that’s the plan, and that’s what Conrad represents.

And the argument is that this entire point is to showcase how Belly isn’t with the right guy, and that when she’s with him, it’ll click into place, and she’ll be better.

In response, what is the exact message they’re sending then? If being with the right guy is what it takes for Belly to become her best self, then they’re really sacrificing her growth for the sake of the love story.

Is that satisfying? We’re swapping one form of Belly’s random codependency with Jeremiah for a different version with Conrad.

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They’ve spent much of the season particularly framing Belly as someone who needs to be taken care of —

The idea of her and Jeremiah marrying each other is primarily a problem because he’s not in a position to take care of or look after her.

Laurel still babies her. We don’t even know what her father feels, since they have barely given John screen time. Steven also babies her.

What’s supposed to present as Conrad being noble, protective, and looking after her with his gestures doesn’t work as well as the likely intent — because everyone and everything strips her of her agency and accountability along the way.

We’ve spent the entire season witnessing Belly make active choices while the other characters and the narrative behave as if she’s a passive participant in her own life.

The series strips genuinely strong moments that should center on Belly, somehow, from her every bit as much as her agency.

The narrative’s transparent attempt to establish Conrad as a romantic hero resulted in his having a sit-down with Laurel and convincing her to support her daughter.

John couldn’t do it. Belly couldn’t do it, but Conrad, of course, did.

But wouldn’t that have been a more satisfying scene, especially in establishing Belly as a young woman, if she were able to do that on her own?

It’s almost a rite of passage for most young women when they can finally have a sit-down and talk to their mother: woman to woman, and yet the series happily sacrifices that critical moment that could elevate Belly’s journey for, you guessed it, the love story.

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Imagine for a moment if they considered the other love stories at play: Belly and her mother or Belly and herself. But I guess I’m asking for too much.

The season had the opportunity to add more depth to Belly — round her out well so that even though she’s in her twenties, still juggling the hearts of two brothers, she doesn’t come across as a fickle, naive, young girl.

But it completely blows past that opportunity, fumbles it even. And it’s mostly because the series overcorrects to the point of frustration in its attempt to establish Conrad’s apparent growth.

It regresses and undermines Belly at every turn, which isn’t narratively satisfying given it’s her story.

And Jeremiah? I don’t have the bandwidth to unpack whatever they’re doing there.

Sadly, it’s evident the series has spent the entire season sacrificing genuine character development, continuity, and growth for its endgame, and it’s particularly unfortunate for how that affects Belly.

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Yes, it’s me again, writing more analytical thinkpieces about that silly summer romance show. I sustain myself on Earl Grey tea, sweets, and respectful comments.

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