Okay, so I need to talk about the pumpkin spice takeover

It starts before summer is even over. I’ll be standing in Target in late August, still sweating through my shirt, and there it is — a whole endcap of orange and brown, a fake leaf display, and seventeen different pumpkin spice products staring me down like I owe them something.

I don’t hate fall. I actually love fall. Sweaters, actual cool air, the smell of something baking — all of that is genuinely great. What I don’t love is the way pumpkin spice has elbowed its way into every single corner of the season until it doesn’t feel like a season anymore. It feels like a brand.

And look, I know I’m not alone in this. I also know that for every person rolling their eyes next to me at the Starbucks menu, there are three people absolutely losing their minds with excitement and pre-ordering their PSL before the calendar hits September. I get it. I’m not here to take that away from anyone. I just need to talk about this.

How did pumpkin spice get this out of control?

Pumpkin spice as a flavor combination — cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, clove — has been around forever. Your grandmother put it in a pie. It was fine. It was good, actually. Then Starbucks launched the Pumpkin Spice Latte in 2003, and something in the cultural atmosphere cracked open.

According to Business Insider, the PSL has generated over $600 million in sales. Six hundred million dollars. From one seasonal drink. So of course every single brand on earth looked at that number and said, “We want some of that.”

The result is that pumpkin spice is no longer a flavor. It’s a seasonal content strategy.

Is there actually pumpkin in any of this stuff?

For years, the Starbucks PSL didn’t contain a single drop of real pumpkin. They quietly added it in 2015 — after enough people pointed out the absurdity — but the damage to my trust was already done.

And that’s kind of the thing. “Pumpkin spice” doesn’t even mean pumpkin. It means the spices you put IN a pumpkin pie. So when a candle says pumpkin spice, it smells like cinnamon and nutmeg. When a protein bar says pumpkin spice, it tastes like cinnamon and nutmeg. It’s just cinnamon and nutmeg wearing a Halloween costume.

I don’t know why that bothers me as much as it does, but it really, truly does.

What’s actually in a pumpkin spice product list now?

I did some light research — which is to say I walked through a grocery store in September with my phone — and here is a partial list of things that were pumpkin spice: cream cheese, Oreos, Greek yogurt, hummus, cream of wheat, protein powder, dog treats, deodorant, and a scented trash bag.

A scented trash bag.

I understand that brands are trying to make their mark and capitalize on seasonal demand. That’s just marketing, and I don’t begrudge anyone their job. But a pumpkin spice trash bag isn’t autumn charm. It’s a cry for help.

The sheer volume of it is what tips it from “fun seasonal thing” into “cultural waterboarding.”

Okay but some people really do love it — and they’re not wrong

Here’s the thing I want to be honest about: the people who go all-in on pumpkin spice season aren’t wrong for loving it. There’s actual research suggesting that seasonal rituals — including something as simple as a specific flavor you associate with a time of year — provide genuine psychological comfort. The American Psychological Association has written about how sensory cues tied to memory can reduce stress and create a sense of grounding.

So when someone says their pumpkin spice candle makes them feel like everything is going to be okay? I actually believe them. That’s real. Scent and memory are deeply connected, and if cinnamon-nutmeg smells like your grandma’s kitchen or your favorite October, that’s not silly at all.

What I’d push back on is the idea that the brands flooding the market actually care about that emotional connection. They’re renting it. They’re borrowing the warmth of a genuine feeling and slapping it on a deodorant stick.

Why does the early rollout make it worse every year?

The August pumpkin spice shelf is the thing that kills me the most. Fall doesn’t start in August. August is still very much summer — hot, humid, unapologetic summer.

But the stores have decided that consumer anticipation is more valuable than actual seasonal relevance, so we get fall decor before back-to-school shopping is even finished. By the time actual fall arrives — when the air is cool and the leaves are doing their thing — you’re already tired of it. You’ve been marinading in pumpkin spice for six weeks.

It’s like if someone played Christmas music starting in October and then acted surprised that everyone was burnt out by December 20th. Oh wait.

So what do we actually do with this information?

Nothing, probably. This is not a call to action. Pumpkin spice is not going anywhere — in fact, I’d bet money the product list gets longer every year, not shorter. Pumpkin spice sparkling water is probably already in development somewhere.

What I do think is worth saying is this: you’re allowed to love it AND be a little tired of it at the same time. Those aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ve been writing about stuff like this — including my whole thing about how seasonal marketing has basically eaten every holiday — for a while, and the throughline is always the same. The thing was good. Then it got big. Then it got exhausting.

Fall is genuinely one of the best times of year. The real version of it — the actual crisp air and the actual apple orchards and the actual pies made by actual people — is wonderful. It doesn’t need to be a branded experience to be worth loving.

You don’t need a pumpkin spice trash bag to feel the season. I promise you the season is right there, outside, for free.

And if you need me, I’ll be in Target in August, sighing at an endcap, already knowing exactly how this is going to go.

I’m not anti-fall. I’m not even anti-pumpkin spice, really. I’m anti-inescapable. There’s a version of this where the PSL comes out in October, stays for six weeks, and everyone moves on with their lives. That version sounds great.

Instead we get the full September-through-November pumpkin spice industrial complex, and by the time Thanksgiving actually rolls around, I’m already exhausted by the aesthetic of my own favorite season.

I’ve said what I said. Go enjoy your latte. I’m not judging you — I’m judging the trash bag.

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