Two years ago, my boyfriend casually decided to stop being my boyfriend a few weeks shy of Memorial Day—as one does, apparently. My effortlessly cool roommate’s effortlessly chill response to the news? “Wow, No Man Summer.”
Immediately recognizing that wiser words have never been spoken before or since, I proceeded to post a bikini pic on Instagram, caption it “No Man Summer,” and go on to have literally the best summer of my life to date. I landed my dream job! (Hi, still here.) I looked hot! I banged my friend on the couch in his office, took a bath with a stranger, and generally did whatever the hell I wanted! Why? Because I didn’t have to worry about some man’s bullshit!
Flash-forward two years, and I had somehow forgotten the unimpeachable wisdom of No Man Summer. Yes, the rumors are true—forgive me father, for I have sinned: I was trying to get wifed up this spring. I know this news may come as a shock, but I feel it is my duty to be transparent with the public about my lapses in judgment.
Who can say for sure how I found myself craving the committed companionship of a man who repeatedly asked me condescending questions like, “I forget, do you read much?” when I do, in fact, have a literal degree in reading from an accredited institution of higher education. Maybe there’s a gas leak in my apartment! Or maybe my most recent life-altering situationship resulted in such complete emotional annihilation that the subsequent ego death left me desperately grasping for some form of stable ground on which to rebuild my sense of self. Oops!
In any event, I was mercifully saved from the brink of compulsory monogamy the second the weather hit 80 degrees, my incredibly sexy freckles popped, and I remembered that men do not usually bring stability to your life but rather various degrees of emotional and sometimes gynecological distress—neither of which are on my summer bucket list.
All of this to say, hello and welcome to No Man Summer. Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything.
The first rule of No Man Summer is there are no rules. And also no men. JK, I’m not proposing anything drastic here. The men can continue to exist—although I would prefer they limit the extent to which they do it in my vicinity. I’m not even calling for some kind of sex strike. No Man Summer is not about what you do or don’t do with men. Fuck ’em—literally and/or figuratively—or don’t!
Rather, No Man Summer is a mindset, one perhaps best embodied by none other than the songstress of the damn season herself, one Ms. Sabrina Carpenter. Like it or not, that catchy little earworm “Espresso” is the song of the summer, and it is also the song of No Man Summer.
Embracing the true meaning of No Man Summer is all about remembering that you are that bitch—that me espresso, if you will! The boys? They come and they go. They can hang out if they want, but we are not catering to their needs. We are not worrying about what they think. We are not letting them make their insecurities our goddamn problem. In short, we are not inconveniencing ourselves for a man, and god knows we are not yearning for one. The Yearning Time is not now. There will be plenty of time to yearn in the fall. Right now we are vibing, we are thirst-trapping, we are being less attached to men than they are to us, and we are not letting them get away with failing to deserve the privilege of our presence. Got it? You got it.
Happy No Man Summer to all who celebrate. Now go forth and decenter that man from your life.
Kayla Kibbe (she/her) is the Associate Sex and Relationships Editor at Cosmopolitan US, where she covers all things sex, love, dating and relationships. She lives in Astoria, Queens and probably won’t stop talking about how great it is if you bring it up. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram.
