Party in the U.S.A
Written By : Hannah Corbett
For most of my early twenties, the Fourth of July meant one thing: chaos. Beach coolers packed with white claws, the backyard of someone’s house crowded with a slip and slide and foldable table. Group texts buzzing with logistics that no one ever really followed, sunburns forming and jello shots. Fidgeting with my bikini that was always in the wrong places, someone crying by 6 p.m., and the kind of hangover that made you question every life decision you’d ever made. It was fun. Kind of.
But this year feels different.
Maybe it’s because I live at the beach now, not just a summer visitor, but someone who gets to see the tide come in on a random Tuesday. Maybe it’s because I’m turning 26 and suddenly value hydration and emotional stability. Maybe it’s because I’m going to a cookout the next day with 20 people and can already feel what a hangover in the South Carolina heat would do to me. (Spoiler: nothing good.)
So here’s what I want this year.
I want a calm morning. Maybe I’ll walk the beach before it gets crowded, watching the early risers set up their umbrellas like little flags of peace. Watch the towns parade and go to the fair. I want to tan—no makeup, no fuss, with Jersey Mike’s in my bag and SPF 50 on my face. I want to actually swim, not just wear a bikini to have one on in a random backyard, but to actually jump in the pool or the ocean. Just enough to feel salty, then head home and get ready for dinner. The best feeling in the world. Getting ready with a sunburn is like a form of self care.
I want to put on something cute, a white linen skirt and a red tank top. Sip on a crisp glass of white sangria curated by me, for me. Maybe I’ll make a little snack board. For sure having a hot dog ( or two ).
And when the fireworks start, I want to sit with people I actually like, who I don’t have to try and fit in with, people who don’t need drinking games to really have a good time, and watch them light up the sky without thinking about what I’ll regret tomorrow.
It’s not that I think getting plastered on the Fourth is bad at all. Have a shot. Feel the buzz. It’s just not my vibe anymore, not this year. I don’t want to sound like a grandma, but the older I get, the more I realize that the best version of this holiday isn’t loud or messy or wild.
It’s easy. It’s warm. It’s sitting in the sand and being around people who let you be exactly who you are.
And of course listening to Party in the U.S.A