Why is Starbucks’ pumpkin spice latte so enduringly popular?

There’s nothing I don’t like about autumn. From the beautiful hues of brown, yellow and orange, to the crisp air, one pot recipes and cosy jumpers; it is a feast for the senses and a season which no other holds a candle to.

Yes, at first it might be difficult waving goodbye to the summer (especially if you live in the UK and warm temperatures are ordinarily non-existent, leaving you cheated by all the promises of a “heatwave” that never arrives). But you soon relish the allure of wrapping up, kicking up fallen leaves, planning your Halloween costume and buying tickets to fireworks displays to celebrate an old, foiled terrorist attack.

As the weather turns, another draw for many is the arrival of Starbucks’ much-anticipated “fall” menu – after all, who doesn’t like a sugary-sweet concoction laden with whipped cream and syrup?

You’d be forgiven for thinking that I, with my penchant for the season, am a PSL (pumpkin spice latte) hype girl. That come September, I’m cracking out the cable knit, blasting Taylor Swift and strutting around town with a green and white cup. Because, well, you’d be 75 per cent right. But I’ve never really understood the fuss about PSLs.

That said, I still recall the first time I ever tried one. I was visiting the states for two months, and although in films and TV shows Americans claim to be obsessed with coffee (here’s looking at you, Gilmore Girls), they are actually terrible at making the stuff (don’t @ me). You see, for the most part, they have filter coffee that is so weak it tastes like gnats’ piss, and it just sits “brewing” in a glass jug all day – no wonder they offer free refills!

So, after about two weeks in the US I had these terrible caffeine withdrawal headaches, and found myself desperately entering a – *shudders* – Starbucks. I purused the menu and after getting several wafts of burnt beans, I decided to get a PSL. My thought process was that if the coffee tasted as bad as it smelled, at least the syrup would mask the flavour.

I felt myself physically recoiling as I made my order. I could see the judgement in the barista’s eyes. I contemplated giving a fake name so as to disassociate myself from all the other basic b****es. But truth is, I wasn’t above it all.

I took my first sip and winced ever so slightly. It tasted kind of nutmegy, kind of cinnamony and kind of like gone off milk. Still, I endured it (mostly because I’d spent $5 for the privilege). Eventually, I found myself growing accustomed to the taste – to the point I had several more throughout my trip.

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Although I don’t think my motives were superficial (i.e. I wasn’t buying pumpkin spice lattes for the ‘Gram), I can’t say I was completely immune to their gravitational pull. Even now, back in Blighty, I find myself toying with the idea of getting one. Why? Well, I don’t think it’s because I crave its... unique flavour. No, I think it’s based more on nostalgia; a connection to my travels, a sensory trigger of being on the road.

Thanks to nearly two decades of full-time education and the fact my birthday falls within the month, September ushers in a “new year” for me. I will forever associate it with new beginnings and opportunities.

I suppose, just as when I was a child, laying out my fresh stationary, sharpening my pencils and placing my polished school shoes by the door, ready for the new school year (yes, I was a nerd), there is something to be said about timed-honoured traditions and rituals.

Although I personally have only experienced the PSL in recent years, for many it is sort of the unofficial uniform of autumn; a beloved act to be cherished – even if the thing itself isn’t actually all that.