In my eyes the red, white and blue might be better off swapped for red, yellow, orange. One thing about Americans is that they don’t play about Autumn, which you will be expected to refer to as Fall, despite your European protestations. Fall in America is an industry, one that kicks off long before there is any change in the colour of the trees. Since coming to America, I have seen it in its full Christian Girl Autumn glory. What it has made me realise, aside from the fact I don’t own any plaid, is that Ireland could do with more of this festive spirit. America outdoes us at celebrating Irish-born occasions from Halloween to St Patrick’s Day each year. As well as pointing out our inability to have fun, it highlights the distinct lack of collectivism and enthusiasm we muster up comparatively. Perhaps we should forget our intrinsic Irish shame about celebrations and be more like them?
This semester I found myself on exchange in Chicago: home of the Cubs, deep dish pizza and a remarkable amount of gun violence. I was still wearing my shorts when Trader Joe’s replaced all their produce with pumpkin spice alternatives. Aisles are lined with products ranging from pumpkin spiced liqueur, pumpkin spice whipped cream, pumpkin spice cream cheese, to pumpkin spiced pasta sauce (not joking). Stacks upon stacks of spiced apple cider block the cash registers. More generally, Chicago neighbourhoods have been kitted out with cobweb and pumpkins since September.
Students at my university, whilst holed up in the library pretty much 24/7, carve out time specifically for fall activities. As part of my inquiry into American culture and anthropological research, I went apple picking with my roommates. This is something of an annual tradition for them. They were eager to aid my cultural immersion having fallen victim to constant ‘this is so American’ remarks from me. So we wrapped up in our best scarves and beanies (our poor attempt at Christian Girl Autumn), piled into the car and drove an hour and a half to rural Illinois.
After subjecting my roommates to my autumn playlist the whole journey (lots of Nick Drake and Arlo Parks if you’re wondering), we forked out an eye-watering 17 dollars each, for a bag barely the size of your hand to collect apples. We were subsequently commanded to hop into what I can only describe as a wagon, filled with families, to be brought precisely a 5 minute walking distance to the orchard. In typical American fashion, they banned us from walking there. We joined countless families, couples, groups of friends in the bonding act of trying to salvage apples from trees. This turned out to be a lot more difficult than you’d think. To make the American experience even more authentic, there was a military shooting range next door that accompanied our activity with the reassuring soundtrack of gunshots.
Despite my reservations about becoming a fully-fledged American, I found this festive spirit infectious. There was something unmistakably appealing about becoming part of this tradition. As much as Irish people slag Americans off for their obsession with fall (myself included) we have to hand it to them: they know how to have fun. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy that my roommates get to experience the novelty of this every year. As the weather gets worse and assignments start piling up, small things like apple picking and pumpkin spice biscuit baking, make a difference. Seasonal depression can be lessened through engaging with these collective activities. I can barely think of any Irish attempts at festivities to compare, aside from the occasional pumpkin carving.
Of course, I will be fair and say that you can’t talk about fall as an industry without acknowledging first that it is a capitalist project (I mean obviously, this is America). However, if we’re already going to be force-fed consumerism we might as well get some benefits out of it. I think it’s time Irish people got over the weird second-hand embarrassment we feel towards Americans and their unwavering enthusiasm. Maybe it’s time we admitted that Irish people can be kill-joys for no good reason and that perhaps we could take a maple leaf out of the Americans’ book? Let’s start with reducing the price of pumpkin spice lattes at Starbucks and maybe we can get somewhere…
WORDS: Eva Layte
