It’s the difference between glowing and “girl, are you okay?”
Do you know what kills the vibe for me when I’m dining outside in the summer? Well, second to the smell of hot trash languishing on city sidewalks, which dampens the mood no matter how cute the outdoor table setup is. It’s the knowledge that the person seated across from me is also too aware of the beads of sweat gathering on my nose and forming into an unflattering sweat stache on my upper lip, belying my desire to appear cool and chill. Instead of impressing with my nonchalance, or radiating the allure of a person unaffected by the constant inconveniences of city life, I’m melting into an overheated mess.
I’d grown up with an appreciation for the Spanish fan my mother would unfurl in hot churches or summer park trips with a poised and satisfying flick of the wrist. The confident clack of the fan made it clear her comfort was non-negotiable and needed no justification. At fairs and festivals as a kid, I’d tote around a battery-operated misting fan. These were easier than my mom’s fans and effective, sure, but they’re way too clunky for regular life. I needed a higher-tech, less conspicuous option I could bring to a variety of venues. Last summer, I found a solution: a USB-chargeable, folding handheld fan, which I likely first saw on TikTok, the source of all endorsements for sub-$20 plastic gadgets. The one I have is listed by the brand JISULIFE, and it currently goes for just $15. Long and pill-shaped, the fan has two rounded nubs on one end that, in combination with a decal on the side, make it look like a bear. I have the pink one, but the visual effect is clearest on the brown one. There are other, non-folding fan designs, but I like how sleek it feels when stored in my bag, with no risk of pens or balled-up old receipts falling into the blades. Just look past the appearance when it’s folded up — a few people have given me weird looks when I’ve pulled it out of my tote in public.
Unfold it and one half becomes a handle, while the other exposes the fan’s blades. Tap the power button and you find two surprisingly effective speeds. You can hold the fan as-is, as I do while waiting in the humid bowels of the subway in July. Or, you can push the handle back horizontally to act as a stand so you can set the fan on a table, as I did at an inadequately air-conditioned Jersey Shore bar last summer. After a day full of the season’s indignities — I was sweaty, sandy, sunburned, and had just gotten pooped on, right in the center of my face, by a seagull. (I declined my editor’s suggestion to call this a seagullseye.) A cold beer and some concentrated fan time kept me out of meltdown territory. The motor is powerful enough to create a comfortable breeze but weak enough to not create intrusive sounds (sometimes I even set the fan on my desk, out of frame during microphone-on meetings).
Do I need to say more? The fan is a multitasker too. Tap the power button while it’s folded up, and it’s a flashlight, or unfold it and use it as a portable charger (I wouldn’t rely too heavily on the latter, but it’s helped me eke past scary-low battery levels in order to get home). I thought it would be disposable garbage, the kind of thing I’d give up on after a few uses and then feel guilty about, but it exceeded my expectations.
I charge the fan every few days through the USB-C cord that connects to my computer, and it has yet to die on me when I need it. It comes to my rescue at picnics, beach days, and outdoor dinners. It shoos away bugs, allows me to keep some composure while commuting, and helps me feel less self-conscious about the face-sweat situation. Having it in my bag feels like reassurance that comfort is close at hand; it’s a sentiment that sometimes eludes me in the summer. Every time I pull it out on the train, I hope I inspire someone else to carry a fan of their own.
Just as my mom, the Filipino woman that she is, always carried either her Spanish fan or a native heart-shaped, woven palm fan, I bring my bear-shaped device everywhere. The discomfort of summer, and the anxieties it creates, can’t be avoided entirely. But with the right tools, it can be mitigated — lesson learned. We become our mothers, just modernized (and hopefully less sweaty).
I’ve yet to find a solution for dealing with the garbage smells, however.
