When October hits, the temptation to hibernate beckons, soup hits differently, and leaving your apartment can feel like an Olympic-level feat. While we need to embrace moments of slowing down, sometimes they can turn into a rot, and any semblance of productivity and basic acts of self-care get neglected. If you’ve been personally victimized by autumn burnout or the winter rut, TikTok may have the solution for you. The Winter Arc is the “90 days before the end of the year where you can get ahead of the ‘New Year, new me’ crowd and hit your goals,” TikToker Jessica Agbolade explained in a video. Could the challenge be an early New Year’s resolution, giving you motivation to set healthy habits in motion for the rest of the year? Here’s everything you need to know about the Winter Arc challenge, including how to try it for yourself.

What is The Winter Arc Challenge?

Popularized by TikTok creator and life coach Carly Berges, the idea behind the Winter Arc Challenge is using the last 90 days of the year (AKA the colder, darker, and slower season) where we want to “hibernate” anyway to start new habits to recommit to your goals and go into 2025 as your best self—physically, mentally, and emotionally. TL;DR: October is the new January.

Berges explained in her video that October through December is the time when a lot of people tend to slow down, have the mentality that they’ll start come January 1, and “let their foot off the gas.” But her argument is that there are still three months left in the year to take action and identify the areas of your life that you can intentionally change to align with your best self. “The winter arc is all about just dialing TF in and getting super laser-focused on your goals, on your personal development, on your growth, so that way by the time the first of January rolls around, you are already coming out a whole other beast.”

Maybe you want to pay off your debt, change careers, or foster stronger friendships. Or, perhaps you’re looking to eat more protein, go to bed at 10 p.m., or remove toxic people from your life. The bottom line is a lot can change (for the better) in three months if you consistently show up for yourself. Here’s what Berges’ goals are by the end of the winter arc challenge: wake up at 5:30 a.m., follow a workout and meal plan, journal two times a day, finish four books, reprogram her mind to be in alignment with the version of herself she wants to become (what she refers to as “identify framework”), and be more consistent creating content. “If you’re ready to go into the new year a whole brand new, better, up-leveled version of yourself, then get to planning your Winter Arc right now,” she said.

Is It Worth Trying?

Phrases like “put your head down and grind” or “become unrecognizable in three months” typically have me throwing red flags like confetti, but I think the Winter Arc can be a positive way to jumpstart winter wellness. Ultimately, the end goal is to adopt daily habits and routines that help you become the best version of yourself and that you can stick to for not only the remainder of the year but in the long run. But sometimes we need a little push to figure out what those things are. During a time when it’s getting darker earlier, we’re spending more time indoors and we have less energy to make plans, so setting intentions for the next three months can feel more attainable and give you a framework to stay on track. If you have your sights set on sustainable, long-term lifestyle changes, the winter arc challenge can help fight the “I’ll start in January” urge and putting off prioritizing you (because we know how that goes!) and be the impetus to start implementing the habits that make you your best self now.

“If you’re ready to go into the new year a better, up-leveled version of yourself, then get to planning your Winter Arc right now.”

How to Try It

Step 1: Choose your goals wisely

The first rule of thumb when starting any kind of challenge is to make sure your goals are realistic and attainable. Otherwise, you can aim too high, burn out, and end up feeling defeated. So pick three to four goals that you can realistically commit to. Maybe you feel good about your existing fitness routine and eating habits, so look to setting financial, social, or mental health goals (because, yes, wellness extends beyond workouts and the way you fuel your body). Maybe you aim to pay off debt, develop stronger friendships, or try TikTok’s “dopamine menu.” 

Step 2: Break down your goals into daily or weekly habits 

Consistency is key to nailing the Winter Arc Challenge, so make it as easy for yourself as possible to show up every day. Take your big goal and break it down into daily and weekly tasks you can check off as you go. This keeps you accountable and gives you a little motivational boost every time you accomplish something. For example, say your goal is to develop closer relationships with female friends. Your daily goal could be texting one friend to check in, and your weekly goals may look like scheduling one coffee date with a new friend or catching up with an old one, hosting a casual get-together, or calling a long-distance friend. 

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Step 3: Remove obstacles

The last step in making your winter arc goals attainable is making sure your environment supports them. This could look like creating a daily schedule to make sure you can fit in quality time with your friends or partner. It may be joining a gym that’s closer to your work or signing up for a meal prep service to keep up with your healthy eating habits and make eating more protein a little easier. Sometimes, it’s setting boundaries with toxic people who don’t have your best interest at heart, whether at work or in your personal life. Whatever your goals may be, think about how you can reduce any obstacles that can get in the way of you checking off those small, actionable steps and hitting your goals before the new year. 

MEET THE AUTHOR

Abigail Moseman, Social Media Assistant

As the Social Media Assistant, Abi works with the Social Media Editors to ideate and create content, and build community across all of The Everygirl’s social channels. She is also a group fitness instructor at Equinox.

If you haven’t reached your 30s yet, I’ll let you in on a little secret: They’re pretty great. Gone are the days of petty drama and lackluster friend groups, replaced by solid and steady friendships that rival the hype level of Rory and Lane in Gilmore Girls.

At 31 years old, I cherish the handful of strong women who are in my life. A few of us have a history that predates group chats and Instagram reel sharing—our origins date back to landline calls and flip phones. Others I met in college or had the unique experience of living with in a bustling city during our early 20s. These tight-knit friendships originate from all walks of life, and at this point, I know we are in it for the long haul.

Between growing careers, growing families, and everything in between, your 30s can feel like a free-for-all; every friend is living in a different life stage. Hangouts are more difficult to schedule. Free time becomes more limited. And for whatever reason, who we surround ourselves with feels far more life-giving or soul-sucking than it did before. Weekends together might turn into the occasional brunch, and weekly couch-rotting sessions might be hindered by hundreds of miles.

While it can be easy to mourn friendships shifting, I am in the process of learning how to grow and continue the relationships that are important in my life. From being more intentional with my free time to recognizing ways I can be a better friend, here is everything I am learning so far about having friends in your 30s.

1. Being mindful of your time and energy can help friendships grow

There are a ton of clichés about entering your 30s, and my favorite one rings exceptionally true these days: It’s not worth wasting time on people who don’t fill your cup. To explain this realization, I first must share that I am an Enneagram Type 9, also known as ‘The Peacemaker.’ For a long time, I found myself tending to every single friendship in my life with equal vigor. This meant constantly scheduling plans and always saying yes to social commitments. While this might not sound like a bad thing, it ultimately led to burnout, leaving me emotionally drained and resentful toward lackluster friends who weren’t bringing anything into my life.

The fact of the matter is that certain friendships shift or become more distant as time goes on, while others bloom. Realizing that not every relationship requires the same amount of care was a game changer for me. I discovered that it’s OK to have friends you catch up with once in a blue moon because that time spent together can still be worthwhile. It’s also OK to free yourself of friendships that no longer feel healthy or authentic, as that time is usually not well spent. (If only I had realized this sooner!)

“Part of sustaining a friendship is accepting the other person’s flaws.”

Being mindful of how I use my free time is something that has enriched my life. I’m able to determine when it’s better to say no to a social commitment, which allows me to give my time, energy, and brain space to friendships I would like to nurture instead.

2. Healthy boundaries are the key to happiness

While choosing who you spend time with might require setting boundaries, sometimes it’s healthy to practice boundaries even with our closest friends. You can say no! Even to friends! Really! Your true friends won’t be mad at you for putting yourself first. But as a recovering people pleaser, saying no hasn’t come naturally to me. I can be easily pressured by bigger, bolder personality types—so much so that a dear friend once jokingly told me that I “respond well to bullying.” This comment caused me to reflect on my introverted “nice girl” energy, and I decided from that point on that I would fully permit myself to say no when I wanted to.

For example, I once almost committed to a camping trip that I was dreading—tents are simply not for me!—because I was afraid to hurt my friends’ feelings. This camping trip wasn’t some big, important affair (such as a birthday or a milestone celebration), yet I was plagued by the gnawing thought that if I said no to this one thing, my friends would be upset.

I should note that 99.9 percent of the time, I want to spend time with my best friends… and I do! I soon realized that fretting over something this minuscule was a me problem and not a reflection of them. In the end, I did opt out and was truthful about why. Plot twist: My friends know me and figured it wasn’t my cup of tea anyway. They understood my decision and respected this small but pivotal boundary.

3. Everyone’s financial priorities differ

Part of being an adult is not only being financially responsible but also honoring your own needs. This might look like saying no to that concert you don’t want to go to or being honest when something is truly out of your budget. The opposite sentiment is also very true: If there is a trip or hobby that your friends aren’t interested in pursuing, go and do that thing anyway! As we get older, financial priorities shift and change: one friend might be saving for a house, one might be a travel bug, while another might be putting away money for their kids.

“A true friend understands and accepts all of your personality traits—good and bad—and is willing to work through difficult seasons together.”

In these economic times, we all have to be choosy about how we’re spending our hard-earned money. If differing life stages or financial situations are impacting a friendship, it can be helpful to plan something you’re both excited about. Maybe it’s a much-needed staycation instead of a getaway, or maybe it’s pursuing a shared interest or hobby together.

4. Being a good friend means accepting flaws—and being mindful of your own

Someone once told me that part of sustaining a friendship is accepting the other person’s flaws. Long-term friends know the best and worst parts of each other, and it’s likely the good qualities that keep the friendship going. Like any relationship, conflict is bound to rear its ugly head at some point, and that is OK… healthy even!

A true friend understands and accepts all of your personality traits—good and bad—and is willing to work through difficult seasons together. On the flip side, a good friend is also willing to take ownership of their mistakes and note their own flaws. For example, as someone who has always been conflict-avoidant (remember the whole Type 9 ‘Peacemaker’ thing?), I realized that this can come across as diminishing friends’ feelings when they are upset or angry. By understanding and accepting my own flaws, I can work on being a better friend.

5. A listening ear is one of the best gifts you can give in a friendship

Female friendships are truly the best, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without the incredible women in my life. I have come to realize that sometimes the best way to be a good friend is to simply be there, even in situations where you don’t have advice. The best moments in a friendship can be the belly laughs shared while remembering that hilarious thing that happened four years ago. They can also be the moments you cry together and remind the other that you are there to be a listening ear without judgment.

As life continues to evolve, the way we look at friendships will too. My friends and I have had countless conversations about how we feel less pressure to maintain a big group of friends as we get older. Certain friends come and go, and it’s not always a personal or negative thing when friendships end. The quality-over-quantity mindset has been one of the most important lessons we’ve all learned lately about having friends in your 30s.

As my friends and I navigate this new decade together, vulnerability has become the name of the game. We are sharing our lives, our families, our hardships, and our free time—and that means so much to me, no matter how often we forget to text each other back.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kailey Hansen, Contributing Writer

Kailey is a Chicago-based freelance writer and communications specialist with a B.A. in English/Journalism from Elmhurst College. When she’s not writing for The Everygirl, you can find her geeking about TV shows at BuzzFeed or covering pet news for Rover.

“I have no one to talk to about this,” I thought while I sat nauseous in the back of the bus, blasting “Red Wine Supernova” in my AirPods on my way to a pottery class that I would never return to. It was late September of 2023. After moving to a city where I knew no one after college, I had promptly engaged in a devastating gay situationship, discovered I had no real hobbies, and realized it was probably a mistake to move away from all of my closest friends. I had no one to talk to about my problems. But I also had no one to talk to about how obsessed I was with Chappell Roan.

Since then, the feeling of being directly spoken to by Chappell Roan’s lyrics has become a distinctly less solitary experience. When I was listening to The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess on the bus, Roan had 3 million monthly listeners on Spotify. Now, there are 42 million more. Her astronomical rise to fame has been analyzed by data journalists, podcasters, and cultural critics alike. Right now, she has four songs in the Billboard Top 100.

But the numbers weren’t the only thing making me feel less lonely. Right around when Roan started touring with Olivia Rodrigo, I made my first two queer friends in my new city. Around the time of her NPR Tiny Desk Concert, I had connected with two more. By the drop of “Good Luck Babe!”—two more. And by the time her set at Gov Ball was exploding the internet, we were a tight-knit friend group, waiting impatiently in line for Chappell Roan-themed nights at a Chicago lesbian bar. I finally had someone to talk to about this.

At its best, fandom has delivered me some of the most important and valuable personal connections in my life. But at its worst, fandom has thrust me into a devoted parasocial relationship, keeping me committed to a woman I don’t even know. One year into my adult life, managing the intensity of my own fandom—my own Chappell Roan fandom, specifically—feels like the modern emotional burden I didn’t ask for. Roan’s rapid rise to fame, alongside more than a few controversies, has left me grappling with the idea that my fandom has gone too far. Now what do I do?

Who is Chappell Roan?

Hello, elder millennials. Allow me to introduce you to my Taylor Swift. Kayleigh Amstutz, known publicly as Chappell Roan, is a 26-year-old queer pop artist who has exploded to mainstream success this year. Onstage, she takes on a drag persona, capturing massive live audiences and millions of online views with her big voice, out-there outfits, and easily replicable dances.

You might recognize Chappell Roan from one of her viral performances. There was her first late-night appearance on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert last February, when she sang “Red Wine Supernova” in a wedding dress. There was her viral Coachella performance, where she dressed up as a butterfly in the colors of the lesbian pride flag and told the audience, “I’m your favorite artist’s favorite artist.” And, most recently, she performed her hit single “Good Luck, Babe!” at the 2024 VMAs. She’s been on a fast track to pop stardom this summer—until the past month gave some fans pause.

Why are Chappell Roan’s fans so mad at her?

In June, at a concert in Raleigh, Roan got emotional as she addressed the gigantic crowd. “I think my career is going really fast, and it’s hard to keep up,” she said. This was the first indication that she was overwhelmed by how rapidly she had been thrust into the spotlight.

In mid-August, Roan posted two consecutive TikToks sharing how she had been putting up with abuse and stalking from her fanbase, effectively calling them off. “I don’t care that abuse, harassment, stalking, whatever, are normal things to do to people who are famous,” she said. “I don’t care that this crazy type of behavior comes along with the job, that doesn’t make it okay. That doesn’t make it normal.” Some fans bristled at her calling out her fanbase so soon after acquiring them, while others cheered her on for boundary-setting.

Then came the election questions. In September, Roan—who had already publicly declined an invitation to perform at the White House under the Biden administration—said in a Rolling Stone interview that she felt no pressure to endorse a political candidate. “I don’t have a side because I hate both sides, and I’m so embarrassed about everything going on right now,” she said.

This set many fans, who were expecting a Harris endorsement from Roan, off. “Chappell roan is an embarrassment to lesbians” wrote one user on Twitter. All of the backlash resulted in her posting a frazzled explanation on TikTok and canceling her performances in NYC and DC at the All Things Go music festival. There have been a lot of angry TikToks, a lot of fans announcing their departures, and many, many indications from Roan that this is all a bit much for a 26-year-old who was virtually nameless two years ago.

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If we’re always so disappointed in the artists we love, what is the point of being a fan?

Watching Chappell Roan rise to fame was like a mirror of watching myself enter my first year of adulthood as a queer, Gen Z, creative woman. I thought I was the only one who was sick of going on dates with boring guys, convinced a “feminininomenon” would save me from future suburban blues. And then there was Roan, who felt the same way. And then, suddenly, miraculously, there was everyone else along with her. Watching the TikToks and tweets multiply, I understood that I was becoming part of a fandom for the first time. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be 23 when 1989 dropped.

“At its worst, fandom has thrust me into a devoted parasocial relationship, keeping me committed to a woman I don’t even know.”

Superfans treat standom like they’ve been handed a precious, breakable gift. I understand the impulse. What could I possibly feel besides gratitude toward the woman who made me feel so seen during a breakup that I couldn’t even really call a breakup? Why wouldn’t I cling to the songs that I was dissecting with new friends who meant so much to me? There was a pit in my stomach, though, when I watched my Swiftie friends and coworkers cheer Taylor on after she cringily sucked the air out of the room at the 2023 Grammys with her Tortured Poet’s Department announcement. If calling myself a fan meant being unable to recognize when my favorite artist was being totally annoying, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a fan at all.

To be clear, I don’t personally disagree with anything Roan has done or said. I’m grateful to her for advocating for stronger boundaries between fans and public figures and proud of her for taking a break for her health. I do (begrudgingly) understand why she doesn’t want to endorse a Presidential candidate in the midst of the current political climate.

But the past few weeks have shown me that one day, inevitably, my fav will disappoint me. I’m going to have to figure out how to graciously admit when Chappell Roan is wrong without accidentally sliding too far in the opposite direction and sending her hate mail via Instagram comments. One day—not now, but soon—I will need to detach my fandom from Roan as an artist and attach it to the memories I’ve made of her music, instead. Maybe it’s just part of growing up.

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How I’m reframing my Chappell Roan fandom

I have this eight-second video on my phone from July 31st this year. It’s a video of the inside of my favorite gay bar in the city, on a Chappell Roan theme night. Purple lights flash in the foreground, and there’s a neon sign that has the lyrics to “Femininomenon” lit up in the back: “Can you play a song with a fucking beat?” None of my friends are in the video, but the strangers are just as joyful. They are—and I am—the queer kids in the Midwest that Roan spoke to in her VMA Best New Artist acceptance speech. When I’m having a hard day, I watch this video and wish I could crawl inside it.

“One day—not now, but soon—I will need to detach my fandom from Roan as an artist and attach it to the memories I’ve made to her music, instead.”

Chappell Roan has been the soundtrack to my life for the past year, filling my mind up with beautiful, gay, pink-cowgirl-hatted memories. Blasting “HOT TO GO” in the car with my college best friends on our first reunion trip. Walking along the shore of Lake Michigan in the middle of winter, playing “California” and missing my closest friends and family. Alternating “Pink Pony Club” and “Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince” the morning before a big work event. Crying in the mirror to “Kaleidoscope” when ex-situationship summer reared its head. They’re memories, most of which involve my love for other people, that I could have hardly dreamed up a year ago on the bus ride to pottery.

“Fan culture and love poems have taught us to put the object of our adoration on a pedestal or an altar or a stage, to see ourselves as always looking upwards, always in a state of praise. But in the act of loving, you are the centre, you are the maker of meaning,” wrote Ismene Ormonde for Byline earlier this year, in an essay on Taylor Swift. As my parasocial relationship with Chappell Roan grows increasingly complex, I like to remind myself of this position. I am a fan who loves her, and so I get to decide how I want to love her—even if, someday, that means loving her as a kind critic. And in my love, I get to make meaning. I always have the power to look to the left and right, at the people singing along with me, instead of up at the star.

MEET THE AUTHOR

Emma Ginsberg, Associate Editor

Emma is a writer, editor, and podcast producer who has been creating at The Everygirl since 2021. She writes for all sections on the site, edits the Entertainment and Community sections, and helps produce The Everygirl Podcast. With a degree in American Studies, Emma is especially passionate about evaluating the impact that pop culture and internet culture have on the day-to-day lives of real women.

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