Trump’s Tariffs Just Ruined My Teenage Hot Girl Summer

Okay, so like… I didn’t think one man could personally torch an entire generation’s sense of identity and my summer wardrobe, but apparently all it takes is a bad spray tan, a Twitter addiction, and an unquenchable thirst for chaos. Enter: Donald J. Trump, the man who looked at global trade and said, “Let’s light it on fire and then blame China.”

Thanks to his genius idea of slapping tariffs on anything remotely cute or functional, Triangl- aka the only swimsuit brand that makes me feel more like a sunlit goddess than a boiled ham—is going offline. As in: closed, shuttered, RIP to every hot girl with a vision. Apparently they “can’t keep up with the import costs.” So now I’ll be showing up to the beach in last year’s sad, overstretched bikini, looking like a lost camp counselor with unresolved issues.

And Shein? My holy grail of unhinged accessories and dangerously short skirts? Half the site is marked “delayed indefinitely,” which is basically customer service code for “lol, good luck.” My cart used to be my happy place! Now it’s just a digital graveyard filled with stuff that never even got the chance to disappoint me in person.

And don’t even get me started on the açaí bowl situation. Used to be I could grab one for like, $9. Now it’s $17. Seventeen! For blended fruit and vibes. At this rate, I’m going to have to start foraging through Trader Joe’s produce aisles in something called sensible sneakers, or just hope that emotionally eating frozen peas starts trending on Instagram.

Meanwhile, my parents say all is well, but they are unraveling faster than a coupon book in a hurricane. My dad refers to frozen chicken as a "strategic asset.”  My mom has started saying things like "we're just going to simplify this year" while stockpiling toilet paper and sipping Chardonnay from a Yeti tumbler. The other day, she rage-subscribed to 4 capsule wardrobe Apps until I held her hand. It has to stop.   

And of course, Trump is out here yelling “We're bringing jobs back!” while dragging the economy into a burning dumpster behind an abandoned TJ Maxx. Does he really expect me to clap while I mourn the death of affordable sunglasses and my instagram haul?  Facts: I've worked hard all year, and the only job I want right now is that of a professional beach hottie.   

So yeah, my hot girl summer is ruined. No Triangl, no Shein, no affordable açaí bowls, and now I have to listen to my mom explain the politics of cotton every time I ask for new cropped tank. This was supposed to be my era. My glow-up. My coastal granddaughter soft launch. Now, instead of floating in the ocean like a sea angel, I'll be wearing my back up one-piece that reeks of PE class and chlorine.  It's a vibe apocalypse.  

Anyway, I’m forming a resistance. It’s called Teens Against Tariff-Induced Emotional Collapse. We meet weekly at Sephora, Aisle 3, and cry over discontinued lip oil while sharing a single overpriced matcha. Our platform is simple: abolish tariffs, restore the cart, and exile the orange cartoon to a basement full of expired Drunk Elephant bronzing drops.  

Thanks a lot, tariffs. You didn’t just mess with trade—you messed with me, my aesthetic, my açaí intake, and the delicate emotional ecosystem that was holding my summer together. Hope it was worth it.