The South is Tipsy

Hey honeys and hustlers,

Summer in the South has a certain kind of soul to it: sweat on your collarbone, ice clinking in a cocktail glass, bass from a DJ drifting down a brick street, and somebody’s auntie fanning themselves with a flyer for an event that starts right now. It’s the season where the air feels like a warm hand on your back—nudging you outside, into community, into motion. It’s also the season where creators quietly panic.

Summer can be weird for reach. People are out living. They’re not sitting inside, scrolling on their phones or computers as hard. Impressions and engagement dip. The algorithm feels like it took a vacation, too, without telling you. But lower reach doesn’t mean lower momentum. It might mean it’s the best time to build something that isn’t dependent on constant performance. A summer project. A series. A creative reboot. A love letter to the place you live, are from, or just love—even if the algorithm doesn’t love it back.

Summer is for showing up even when the numbers don’t. Summer invites you to make work that can’t be fully captured on a screen. No, that shouldn’t only be captured on a cell phone screen. Not because media doesn’t matter, but because your creative fuel matters more.

If your views are down right now, this isn’t the time to panic. It’s not just you, and it’s okay. When fewer people are watching, you get a little more freedom. You get to experiment. You get to play. You get to create without performing. Think of this as a seasonal creative container. A time to also indulge in life and broaden your perspective so that your work and business benefit. The South (and other places) have so much to offer creators. Museums may have after-hours event series. My favorite is Art on the Rocks by the Birmingham Museum of Art. They’re basically proof that culture doesn’t have to be quiet. People show up dressed like it’s an occasion. The lighting is soft. The drinks are cold. There’s typically a music artist. The art is still the art, but the energy changes when it’s shared. These nights exist all over the place. They’re local. They’re accessible. They’re community in motion. You can experience art with other people or even have your art featured.

Art walks in downtown streets are one of my favorite kinds of Southern gatherings. You’re moving, but slowly. You’re people-watching, but gently. You’re stepping into tiny galleries, popping into tents, noticing murals you never noticed, even though you’ve driven past them a hundred times. Maybe you dip into a local restaurant on main street after browsing. It’s slow. It’s intentional. It’s a great place to show your art.

Not every summer story or series has to be loud. Some of it is slow and tender:

The South is not only fireworks and football. It’s also porch light intimacy. It’s the permission to linger. It’s a conversation that stretches until the bonfire leaves you smelling like smoke.

Yes, the South is complicated and confronting its history in a very public way. But it is also:

This is not about denying what’s real. It’s about refusing to let one perspective be the only perspective. Because living here, building a life here, creating something meaningful here, means you learn how to hold contradiction. You learn how to make beauty while still telling the truth.

The goal isn’t to “win” summer. It’s to let it feed you. Go outside. Document what you love. Make a series that feels like a love letter. Because the South is more than a headline, and so are you.

If you’re doing a summer creative project, reply and tell me what you’re making—or send me your favorite local art walk/museum night/outdoor movie series or the like and I’ll start a running list. I wanna know what’s happening in your neck of the woods!