Pumpkin Spice Has Gone Too Far

When did autumn become a full-time marketing campaign?

Every year, somewhere between the last watermelon of summer and the first genuinely chilly morning, something happens.

Pumpkin spice returns.

It starts innocently enough. A latte here. A muffin there. Maybe a scented candle that makes the house smell like somebody's grandmother has been baking since Tuesday.

Lovely.

Then things get a little ambitious.

Suddenly, pumpkin spice is everywhere. Coffee, cookies, cereal, cream cheese, protein shakes, and products that have absolutely no business being involved with a pumpkin.

I'm still waiting for pumpkin-spice-flavored dental floss.

Although, knowing how things work, somebody probably already has a patent.

When Autumn Became an Experience

I like fall.

The cooler mornings. The changing leaves. The pleasure of pulling out a favorite sweater and finding it still fits.

There's something comforting about the season. The days feel a little different, and familiar things begin to take on a new rhythm.

But somewhere along the way, autumn became more than just a season.

It became an experience we're apparently supposed to create.

There are porch decorations, matching throw pillows, pumpkin patches, seasonal drinks, and carefully arranged photos of things we used to simply enjoy.

Even the humble pumpkin has transformed.

It used to sit on the porch until someone carved a face into it.

Now it has a supporting cast.

Miniature pumpkins. Decorative gourds. Lanterns. Hay bales. And a wreath that probably cost more than the pumpkin did.

I'm not criticizing. Some of those displays are beautiful.

But I do find it interesting how easily something we once enjoyed without much thought becomes something we're encouraged to organize, coordinate, and occasionally purchase in three different sizes.

The Business of Making Things Special

Of course, businesses understand something about us.

We like traditions.

We enjoy anticipation.

And there's something appealing about a favorite experience returning each year at a particular time.

That's part of the pleasure of the seasons. They give us things to look forward to.

But marketing has become remarkably good at turning that anticipation into urgency.

A familiar product returns in orange packaging, and suddenly it's a limited-time offer.

The same cinnamon we could buy in February becomes an October event.

And we respond.

Sometimes because we genuinely love the product.

Sometimes because it's fun to participate.

And sometimes, I suspect, it's because everyone else seems to be enjoying something and we don't want to miss out.

There's nothing particularly wrong with that.

But I occasionally wonder whether we're enjoying the season or the idea of how it's supposed to look.

Those aren't necessarily the same thing.

The Fall I Remember

I remember when fall seemed to arrive with much less preparation.

The weather changed.

The leaves turned.

Someone brought out a sweater that had been in the closet since March.

And before long, pumpkins began appearing on porches.

There were traditions, of course: apple picking, hayrides, Halloween decorations, and the first batch of something warm from the oven.

But I don't remember feeling that we had to participate in everything.

Perhaps that's simply nostalgia talking.

Or perhaps we've become so good at turning ordinary experiences into occasions that we've forgotten they were already occasions in their own right.

A walk on a cool afternoon doesn't need a destination.

A pretty arrangement of leaves doesn't need a photograph.

And a cup of coffee doesn't become more enjoyable simply because someone has sprinkled cinnamon on it and charged an extra dollar.

Although I suppose that depends on how much you like cinnamon.

A Season Worth Enjoying

I don't think we need to declare war on pumpkin spice.

If you love it, enjoy it.

If decorating your porch brings you pleasure, decorate away.

And if you've been waiting since July for your favorite seasonal latte, I hope it's as good as you remembered.

What I find amusing is how thoroughly we've embraced the idea that a season needs accessories.

Fall was doing a perfectly good job long before anyone invented pumpkin-spice coffee creamer.

The leaves will change whether or not we photograph them.

The mornings will get cooler, whether or not we've bought the appropriate sweater.

And somewhere, someone will carve a pumpkin with a crooked smile that looks absolutely nothing like the picture they had in mind.

That might be my favorite part.

Because for all the carefully arranged decorations and seasonal promotions, autumn still has a way of being lovely without our assistance.

And I think that's worth remembering.

Preferably over a good cup of coffee.

Pumpkin spice optional.