The days are now a little longer, the nights a little warmer — subtle signs of an approaching summer. Not that we need those signs. With only a month left in the semester, countdown calendars are popping up everywhere. With daydreams of a golden summer full of concerts, cookouts and romance filling our thoughts, and flouncy dresses and tank tops filling the pages of our magazines, it's hard to not lose concentration. As anticipation builds, I wonder — what is it about summer romance in particular that drives how we shop for clothing? Cute red espadrilles might make us smile, but love makes us glow. There is something about summer love in particular that is almost mysterious, unyielding and captivating. And somewhere in the back of our minds we come up with the idea that if we play the part, we too can reflect the same image — without the romance component. We replace men with clothing, a feeling with an association and a glow with make-up. But where did we get this crazy idea that a great pair of sandals could give us the same feeling of butterflies in our stomach? The answer is simple, even to a point of being obvious, although coincidently overlooked. It's the media. Because truth be told, who projected the ideal of "summer love" in the first place? They did. The movies, the television shows, the magazine advertisers, the musicians… They are all to blame. We have immersed ourselves in a consumer culture where we not only expect "true summer love," but we have even learned to combat the idea of it with material goods. We want our lives to reflect that which we see and hear. We want that love story to be our story. We want to be Allie, and we want him (whoever he might be) to be Noah. We want to be able to hear a love song and relate to it. Somewhere along the line, we have learned to assume that fitting the profile is enough. Getting lost in a labyrinth of assumptions, expectations and ideals, when things don't turn out as expected, we search for something, anything, to fill a void that we ourselves created. We form this contrived image in our minds that if we follow the blueprints of teenage romance, our outcome will be the same. There are no blueprints, though — only moments, carried away imaginations and fleeting hope. There are only photographs of sunken sunsets, eyelet skirts and ticket stubs, preserved memories that stay with us long after the feeling of July and the desire for unobtainable love are gone. Clothing may not be able to replace love, and frankly we should never expect or want it to. Displaced emotion is never healthy –unlike summer romances, however, material goods remain after the season has passed. And unlike love, we can store clothing in the back of the closet to be pulled out next year. There are no disappointments with bathing suits, and no broken hearts with sunglasses. Likewise, there are no racing heartbeats with flip-flops, longing stares with bangles or breathtaking kisses with sundresses. So, we might have created the idea of "summer love," framed it as an ideal and solidified it as pure, untouched, happiness. And it might be our own fault that we now have a void that needs to be filled; but would we have wanted it any other way? When placed next to each other, isn't the feeling of obtaining it far greater than the loss of not being able to? Maybe a headband can't serve as a substitute for love, but who says it can't still put a smile on your face? Clothing was created to accentuate the positive, define a persona and enlighten a spirit, not to simply act as a place filler. Maybe you will find true love this summer, or maybe you won't. Either way, it should not affect the way you shop for yourself. Summertime is about embracing life and heightening the senses, soaking up the warmth, the smells and the sounds. It captures the feeling of happiness in unforgettable moments and illustrates pure relaxation. The love that we find in summer becomes embedded in our souls, immeasurable in a sense and undefined. The media might be at fault for placing the idea in our heads, but only we are to blame for embracing it within our hearts. A blame, I imagine, most of us are willing to take responsibility for and accept the consequences. Sydney Burdick is a freshman intending to major in fashion journalism. Do you love your red espadrilles, but you're not in love with them? Direct your fashion questions or comments to [email protected].