When the NFL season kicks off next month, millions of Americans will gather around their televisions to watch athletes of comic book proportions crash into each other at breathtaking speeds. Inevitably, those players’ heads will smash into each other, leaving them dazed on the field. And according to a major new study, these repeated head-on collisions may eventually lead to a degenerative brain disease for many — if not most — of the players long after they’ve left the field.
For years now, America has been reckoning with the tension between its love for football and the growing evidence of its dangers. Those concerns can be boiled down to three letters: CTE, or chronic traumatic encephalopathy, which is the progressive brain disease that can lead to dementia, depression, suicide, and other serious mental health problems.
One major question over the past 20 years has been: Exactly how often does playing football lead to CTE? What are the risks for peewee players versus pros? How quickly does the brain deteriorate once the disease takes hold? And new research, published this week in BMJ, has provided us with some staggering answers. After analyzing the death records for hundreds of former NFL players, the co-authors concluded that at least 25 percent of the former players who died between 2016 and 2021 had CTE at the time of their death.
And the actual prevalence could be much higher, but more players’ brains would have to be given over to scientists for a CTE assessment for us to know for sure. Because among the 338 players whose brains were donated and studied, the CTE rate was an astonishing 93 percent. The question is, according to the researchers: Is that percentage skewed because the players exhibiting CTE symptoms were more likely to offer up their brain for research? Or, as the authors suggest is possible, is the real CTE rate closer to 90 percent? Only further research will be able to tell us, but even the latest estimate — one in four — is cause for concern.
It’s a stark reminder of football’s risks, delivered right on the cusp of a new season for pro, college, and high school teams around the country. And according to the Aspen Institute’s annual State of Play report, there are signs that the game’s future may actually be at risk.
More and more American parents are steering their kids away from tackle football. How long can an elite league like the NFL last when the pool of players is getting smaller and smaller — at the same time the scientific evidence of its dangers is becoming clearer and clearer?
The youth football pipeline is drying up
Despite the latest research, the NFL is going to be fine in the short term. Professional football is the biggest TV show in the country: Last year, 83 of the top 100 rated TV shows were NFL games, up from 72 in 2024. The next Super Bowl will almost certainly attract more than 100 million viewers and end up the single most-watched TV program in the US for the whole year. Football is one thing that transcends politics in an increasingly polarized America.
But with each new piece of evidence about the physical and mental costs of playing football, football’s long-term dominance looks less and less certain. Already, if you dig into the trend lines for youth participation, they reveal a real threat to the sport’s future.
Let’s start with the good news for football enthusiasts: Flag football has become more and more popular among kids, supported by investments and promotion by the NFL itself and expert consensus that it’s much safer than tackle, especially when it comes to head injuries. According to the Aspen Institute’s State of Play survey, flag football participation among kids ages 6 to 12 grew by 13.6 percent from 2019 to 2024, while tackle football play dropped 7 percent among the same age group over that time.
But it’s participation among the next age group that may be most revealing. According to the Aspen Institute, tackle football participation rates among Americans ages 13 to 17 — the prime age for middle school and high school teams — decreased 9 percent from 2019 to 2024. It has even fallen behind tennis among the teenage cohort. Many of the tweens who play flag football may never strap on a helmet to play tackle.
Even if fewer kids play tackle football year over year, the sport may still subsist on its promises of upward mobility for people who come from poorer backgrounds. With the recent introduction of compensation for college players, elite athletes can make millions of dollars in income before they even reach the NFL. It may be no surprise, then, that the young people still playing tackle football are more likely to be lower-income and live in conservative states.
Another study found that Black and Hispanic parents, who on average earn less money than their white counterparts, are more likely to see football as a path to college scholarship or even a professional career; the Washington Post reported in 2023 that the proportion of white players at the college level is falling while the percentage of Black players is rising. Football players are often thought of as modern gladiators: participants disproportionately from lower classes aspiring to riches and glory in a violent game for the viewing pleasure of the general public. That’s becoming more and more true as we learn more about its dangers.
As the annual hoopla around the NFL kickoff makes clear, football’s cultural dominance remains unrivaled among professional sports. But this new study has left even me, a lifelong football fan, wondering how much longer it can, and should, last.
An anthropomorphized Pumpkin Spice Latte with a spooky black cat. | @TheRealPSL/Twitter
Editor’s note, August 25, 10:15 am ET: This article was originally published in 2018 and has been updated for the start of the new PSL season.
August 25is not a day that is particularly known for feeling especially crisp or autumnal in most parts of North America. And yet it’s the day this year — the earliest release date ever — that Starbucks, contending with a slowdown in sales, will unleash its annual run of pumpkin spice lattes upon its customers.
You’d be forgiven for mistaking this tone for one of disdain. Since its inception in 2003, the pumpkin spice latte has become something of a straw man for discussions about capitalism, seasonal creep, and the meaning of “basic,” resulting in widespread hatred for an otherwise innocuous beverage.
For example, back in 2014, at the height of pumpkin spice mania, this very website described the PSL as “an unctuous, pungent, saccharine brown liquid, equal parts dairy and diabetes, served in paper cups and guzzled down by the liter” — even though clearly the pumpkin spice latte is a highly delicious treat that pairs well with wearing vests and making dorky comments about how crisp the air feels today. Yes, it contains 380 calories; yes, it will make your coffee a rather unappetizing orange color; no, you should not “guzzle it down by the liter.”
But contempt for the PSL and other items of the seasonal pumpkin spice variety is often not really about the flavor itself. After all, there are plenty of other flavors we should all be way more furious about. (There is a shop in Scotland that serves mayonnaise ice cream, people!) Too frequently, it’s about sexism, class anxiety, and our collective skepticism of savvy marketing. After all, the PSL is doing something right: It’s Starbucks’ most popular seasonal beverage, with about 424 million sold worldwide. In 2019, the chain leaned in further with the introduction of the Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew, finally admitting to the world that late August is still iced coffee weather.
The history of the PSL
The pumpkin spice latte almost didn’t exist. As former Starbucks veteran Tim Kern told Quartz, “A number of us thought it was a beverage so dominated by a flavor other than coffee that it didn’t put Starbucks’ coffee in the best light.”
Fortunately for Starbucks, the Tim Kerns of the company were ultimately overruled, because within a decade of its launch in 2003, the PSL became its top-selling drink, with more than 200 million of them sold. In 2015, Forbes estimated the PSL brought in around $100 million in revenue over a single season.
2015 was also the year that Starbucks changed its decade-old formula to include actual pumpkin for the first time, rather than simply caramel coloring and pumpkin pie spices (like cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and cloves). By all accounts, it tasted pretty much the same, just, according to its inventor, “cleaner.”
At that point, the PSL wasn’t just a cash cow — it was a cultural phenomenon. In part, that’s thanks to its marketing: There is nothing inherently seasonal about the spices that go in pumpkin pie, but Starbucks is able to convince us that the drink should only be consumed during the fall months, thereby increasing demand.
But there’s another reason the PSL exploded so much over the past decade. Culinary food trend analyst Suzy Badaracco told Vox in 2014, “Pumpkin became recognized as part of the comfort food trend during the recession in 2008,” due to its association with Thanksgiving and the holidays. In tough times, we’re more likely to crave foods that bring back happy memories.
Surely, though, the reason we all began talking about PSLs to begin with was their prevalence on social media. It’s not that they’re inherently photogenic — a Starbucks cup is a Starbucks cup regardless of what’s inside it, and the PSL doesn’t get its own specially designed cup the way the holiday drinks do.
It’s because when you add a PSL to a photo of, say, your new fall boots standing atop crunchy-looking leaves or a selfie featuring a festive dark lip color, it adds to the autumnal aesthetic. It’s not a coincidence that Instagram — the epicenter of cutesy fall tableaus — happened to blow up in the early 2010s, which is the same time it became cool to claim you despised pumpkin spice.
But maybe that’s not the whole story.
The backlash is about our anxieties around capitalism
The fact that the pumpkin spice latte — which, to many, conjures the scents and imagery of Thanksgiving — is released in increasingly hot weather year after year is often touted as an ominous harbinger of the evil forces of seasonal creep. “It’s agricultural revisionism!” argue some, citing the fact that pumpkins aren’t actually in season until autumn proper.
A viral John Oliver clip from 2014 declares as much, noting that “that bottle of pumpkin-flavored science goo sits behind the counter of Starbucks, never aging, like Ryan Seacrest”:
Perhaps in response to such criticism, in 2019 Starbucks released its second pumpkin spice beverage since the PSL’s introduction, but this time, it’s cold. The Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew is a vanilla cold brew with pumpkin cold foam and topped with pumpkin spice, which CNBC describes as “less sweet and has a stronger coffee taste than a pumpkin spice latte.”
The success of the PSL is also largely responsible for the barrage of pumpkin spice-flavored everything else, including cream cheese, dog treats, Kahlua, and an especially wacky seasonal crossover, Peeps. There have also been air fresheners, deodorant, even Four Loko (okay, that one ended up being a joke), resulting in the expected amount of hand-wringing about a food trend “gone too far.” (Indeed, back in 2010, the spice brand McCormick forecast that pumpkin spice would be a popular flavor for the holiday season, which in turn likely exacerbated the rush.)
When a food trend is as in-your-face as pumpkin spice is — ever been to a Trader Joe’s in October? — it forces us to think about how the free market is essentially designed to create this kind of phenomenon. If a product like the pumpkin spice latte sells, it’s natural under capitalism for other companies to attempt to replicate that success. But it’s uncomfortable when we see it happening on such an exaggerated scale.
Actually, the backlash is about our contempt for women
Well, maybe, but maybe what pumpkin spice backlash is really about is our dismissal of trends that are coded as feminine. As Jaya Saxena wrote in Taste in 2017, in a piece titled “Women Aren’t Ruining Food,” “When men enjoy something, they elevate it. But when women enjoy something, they ruin it.”
She continues, on the topic of “girly” food crazes like açai bowls, rosé, and pumpkin spice versus “manly” ones like barbecue, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, and IPAs:
When those foods blow up, we judge women for falling for the marketing or trying to jump on the bandwagon, and we assume that because they like something other women like, they don’t have minds of their own. And on top of that, women are asked to reckon with, consciously or unconsciously, the perceived psycho-sexual symbolism attached to seemingly innocuous foods.
Plus, “masculine” foods are almost never chastised for being “basic,” the ever-nebulous term used to describe someone with average, predictable taste that’s usually reserved for women.
In the most stereotypical (and by now probably outdated) terms, a “basic bitch” wears North Face, leggings, and Uggs, and absolutely adores hashtag-PSLs, marking her as a woman with “a girlish interest in seasonal changes and an unsophisticated penchant for sweet,” as The Cut noted back in 2014.
There are often classist implications, too. In a 2014 BuzzFeed piece about “basic” and class anxiety, Anne Helen Peterson wrote:
Unique taste — and the capacity to avoid the basic — is a privilege. A privilege of location (usually urban), of education (exposure to other cultures and locales), and of parentage (who would introduce and exalt other tastes). To summarize the groundbreaking work of theorist Pierre Bourdieu: We don’t choose our tastes so much as the micro-specifics of our class determine them. To consume and perform online in a basic way is thus to reflect a highly American, capitalist upbringing. Basic girls love the things they do because nearly every part of American commercial media has told them that they should.
Essentially, hating pumpkin spice lattes is our way of othering those who drink them, and in the process, marking ourselves as decidedly un-basic.
Of course, this notion of what “basic” means is not the same way black people have been using it for decades, which, as Kara Brown explained in 2014 in Jezebel, pretty much just translates to “I think that the stuff you like is lame and I don’t really like you.”
“Rihanna could become the official spokesperson for Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes and nobody would think of her as basic,” she wrote. “You know why? Because Rihanna does what she wants and what she thinks is cool and doesn’t give a damn about anybody else.”
Or maybe nobody cares anymore
Even if Rihanna suddenly became the official spokesperson of PSLs, however, there is also the possibility that, quite frankly, nobody really cares that much anymore. We seemed to have hit peak “pumpkin spice hot take” in the year 2014, with searches for “pumpkin spice latte” peaking in 2015.
Maybe that’s because we’ve all been stricken with a case of seasonal beverage fatigue in general. Starbucks is constantly coming out with random gimmicky drinks, from the Unicorn Frappuccino to the so-called secret menu.
We also aren’t seeing the same kind of anger directed at what is arguably replacing pumpkin spice as autumn’s de facto flavor. In 2017, both Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts released maple pecan lattes. And according to restaurant menu data from that year, “mentions of maple as a flavor in nonalcoholic beverages on menus are up 86 percent this year over last. … Pumpkin mentions, on the other hand, are down 20 percent.” Yet nobody’s complaining about how stupid maple syrup is.
And these days, tweets about PSLs are way more in the vein of “Screw you and let me enjoy my shitty drink in peace, because everything is terrible.”
Pumpkin Spice Latte comes back tomorrow and I am 100% getting one in 91 degree weather because this world is a shitshow and I take joy where I can get it, like in delicious flavored coffee drinks.
People have also expressed exhaustion about the “actually-ing” over what pumpkin spice even is, as if anyone really wants to talk about it.
"pumpkin spice refers to the spices used in pumpkin pie and doesn't actually taste like pumpkins" is the "Frankenstein was the name of the doctor" of this decade
There are even ironic tweets poking fun at the automation of feminist responses to the anti-pumpkin spice brigade:
Women's unabashed enjoyment of a thing has always led to wholesale dismissal of said thing as frivolous and/or bad. From early examples like needlework to more current cases like pumpkin spice and romance novels, we can track this trend throughout history. In this paper I will –
Anyway, this is all to say that maybe by now pumpkin spice has finally returned to signifying the autumnal blend of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves, and nothing more: not basic, not everything wrong with capitalism, and not gross. Because it’s not! It’s delicious.
Update, August 26, 2026, 10 am ET: This story was originally published in 2018 and has been updated multiple times, most recently with the 2026 PSL return date.
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