Limited Time Only: Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino

Someone shared an interesting interpretation of grief with me recently, one that spoke beyond the rudimentary experience of feeling sad: it’s the processing and acceptance of losing the life you once anticipated. No one has died and I am no longer lamenting a big love, but as I lay awake in the home I am about to lose I realise the pervasive dread I’ve been experiencing lately is simply the manifestation of overwhelming uncertainty. Tomorrow is no longer exciting, but scary. This isn’t anxiety, this is a dead end. It’s a painful conjecture my optimism cannot override. So maybe I should drink something fun.

Could this Starbucks Limited Time Only Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino®, an object of unbridled marketing defiance (it’s not Autumn here!), act as a worthy distraction from this ubiquitous unease? A transient beverage for this transient time in my life? Right now I would give anything to feel basic – empty head, no thoughts, daddy’s inheritance, etc.

I’m curious as to what I’ll be dissecting beyond the propaganda so I investigate the ingredients of this iconic seasonal sip: Stabiliser 415, Regulator 330, Preservative 202 – god, I want it all. Please, Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino®, bless me with stability, anoint me with regulation, and most importantly, please preserve the exuberance I once embodied before I fell into this mess. I can probably pass on Thickener 422.

Rarely do I order a drink with cream on top, the kind illustrated as an impeccable swirl but arrives crammed within a domed plastic lid – undesired and distorted beneath a glass ceiling, I feel you bro. I have a little sip, it’s all pretty milky and conventionally sweet. There’s an artificial aftertaste, as expected. If you look past the chemical imbalance of multiple syrups (I assume) trying to make Autumn happen, it’s fine. Strange at first, but familiar once you’ve sucked down half of it. Sugared pumpkin is an Americanism I’m yet to partake in so perhaps my tastebuds require some acclimatisation.

I need that dopamine hit, no matter how sugary or creamy, and unfortunately evaluating an OK beverage is not the distraction nor the delight I hoped it would be. I scramble for any nice thought in this moment, at least they spelt my name correctly. But my wobbly sentiments cannot be contained. I’M CRYING INSIDE!, I want to shout, but I instead smile politely and say I’m doing well, thanks. It’s nice of you to ask! Things have been different lately (I’m struggling), I try to keep busy (every morning I wake feeling like a failure) but it’s a period of adjustment (the future is for other people, not for me). I should have tempered my expectations. Keep it together!! I take another coy sip, my strength feels as fictitious as the legitimate pumpkin flavour this drink claims to possess.

As I stand in the Sydney humidity before the rain I make only one assessment of this silly anachronism: Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino®, you’re trying so hard to be real in these inappropriate warmer months. You’re agreeable, but wrong. Pleasant enough, but you don’t belong. People really like you and seem so happy when you arrive – but you were never destined for permanency. We all know cinnamon doesn’t suit the springtime. Come November you’ll no longer be around.

This half empty cup in my hand is all too relatable. The future is for other people, but not for us, I repeat to myself.

Oh no.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe it has always been me. After almost a decade of writing these Limited Time Only reviews I now realise… that perhaps… have I been the Limited Time Only special all along? Is the precarious situation I’ve found myself in a karmic response to all of my prior, needlessly theatrical reviews? Melodrama’s revenge? Is my entire existence a feigned zest, or rather spice, for life? Has it always been me?! Am I in fact the temporary amusement with a November deadline I’ve been sneering at all afternoon?

Please say it isn’t so, people tell me things will get better. But this rationale is difficult to refute when my pain is truly… Grande.