From August to Cruel summer

Why some women evolve while others remain "August" forever

I used to write a lot as a child—poems, fantasies, imagined lives, inner monologues for characters in books and films. As a teenager, I started dismantling stories, songs, book and movies characters piece by piece . Some songs were never just songs to me; they were blueprints. Emotional architecture. I pulled them apart line by line, searching for motive, deeper meaning and truth.

Then life got busy at some point. Ambition took over. Noise replaced stillness. Writing went quiet for years—not lost, just dormant.

This summer, in the California mountains of Lake Arrowhead, it came back. Maybe it was the absence of distraction. Maybe it was the clarity that comes when you’re finally building something of your own—my short-term rental business and my long-term vision. Or maybe it returned because I was preparing for the interviews and was pulled back into memories I hadn't touched since childhood and my teenage years. Writing resurfaced not as a potential future career (I already have too many ideas/projects and things that require my attention going on) but as a hobby. A way of observing the world—and myself—again.

That’s how I found myself circling back to two Taylor Swift songs I’ve lived inside for years: August and Cruel Summer.

I always knew those two songs were interconnected. They explore the tension of a secret, forbidden summer romance yet each carries a different energy and frequency.

When I looked closely, I realized they were telling a story of the same girl — but at different stages of her becoming.

August is softness. Longing. The ache of possibility without power. She hopes more than she decides. She waits. She dreams someone or something will save her. Some August girls stay there forever—suspended in almosts—rushing into predefined roles or even motherhood to feel anchored, hiding inside safety or behind someone's back because figuring out who they are feels too dangerous.

I was that August girl in my early twenties. I wasn't weak but I was definitely softer, sweeter. More hopeful. There is tenderness in that phase—but also danger. When longing replaces authorship, life happens to you instead of through you.

Cruel Summer is what comes after the burn and pain.

Taylor Swift once said she wrote Cruel Summer during one of the darkest emotional periods of her life. What matters isn’t the darkness—it’s the decision she made inside it. Instead of writing a sad song, she chose intensity. Compression. Voltage. The song doesn’t mourn pain; it weaponizes honesty.

“I’m drunk on the back of the car and I cry like a baby coming home from the bar…” — is not recklessness, but life lived.

“If I bleed, you’ll be the last to know.” — she understands the cost now. She won’t lose herself. And she won’t perform her pain.

Cruel Summer might seem chaotic or even reckless on the surface but when you look closely you realize that it isn’t chaos. It’s consciousness under pressure. The girl knows the risk. She’s been burned before. She understands secrecy, desire, consequence—and she still chooses to step forward. Not because she’s naïve and hopeful, but because she’s sovereign and she won't lose herself this time.

Some women remain Augusts forever, some deliberately chose to grow while others are forced to evolve—by loss, heartbreak, ambition, or life’s uncompromising lessons. Many of the softer August women—especially those who were hurt, who became single mothers, who gave before they knew how to choose—gravitate toward me. They come for advice, for perspective, for navigation. Maybe because they sense I’ve been there. And I came back.

Cruel Summer women don’t disappear. Some become mothers too—but it’s never the entirety of who they are. They keep building. Creating. Wanting. They refuse to collapse themselves into one single dimension. Because when identity narrows to one role and growth is deferred, the woman underneath can quietly dissolve.

Taylor’s music resonates with me so deeply because we share a similar archetype—one that’s rarely named. Tall (both 5'11), blond, visibly feminine and highly intelligent. We are deep thinkers in bodies that many men try to objectify, sexualize or judge before we even speak. We are often measured by appearance before intelligence.

I love both songs. But Cruel Summer is who I am now. I can step into risk and intensity without losing myself. I no longer bleed or wait to be saved. I write my own story.

August teaches you how it feels to want.

Cruel Summer teaches you how it feels to choose—fully aware of the cost, and willing to pay it without getting burnt or losing yourself.

That’s the difference.

And once you cross that bridge, there’s no going back.