Sizzling in the City (and Slightly Spiraling)

Serving Existential Crisis in SPF 30

It’s officially too hot to function in Zürich — which, as we all know, is when the real entertainment begins.

Suddenly, the city of quiet trams and functional shoes turns into a chaotic mood board of sweaty finance bros, chaotic lake energy, and people complaining that they miss the rain like we’re not collectively melting into the pavement like half-priced raclette.

And in the midst of it all? Me.
Unemployed, under-hydrated, and sitting lakeside in a heatwave, pretending my lukewarm iced coffee is an intentional lifestyle choice.

You can always tell who’s not from here. The tourists swarm to Zürich’s Badi like it’s Coachella: towels on towels, zero personal space, sunscreen in the air, inflatable flamingos taking up more room than a studio apartment.

But the Swiss? They know better. They bring you — quietly, smugly — to secret little stretches along the lake that feel like they’ve been blessed by some neutrality-protecting forest spirit. Water clear, shade guaranteed, and just enough space between you and the next person to contemplate life without catching a stranger’s elbow sweat.

And while you're there, you hear everything.

People talking about pop-up stores, new diets (this week: dairy-free Mediterranean paleo fusion), how to get a designer chair for half the price on Ricardo, and which European country is worth investing in after they finish renovating their second property. Everyone’s suddenly a lifestyle guru, a start-up mentor, or a part-time crypto philosopher.

One group debates climate change over frozen grapes. Another complains about how hot it is — and how unfair it is that bike lanes are both too narrow and too full of other cyclists.
Zürich people love bikes — unless they’re not the ones riding them.

Meanwhile, someone’s planning their next bike tour in Tuscany and casually ranting about how “Switzerland really isn’t designed for serious cyclists,” like it’s not the most organized place on Earth. I hear the words “custom gravel tires” and suddenly I miss the simplicity of flip-flops.

A child nearby yells, “ROBLOX IS GLITCHING!” like it’s a medical emergency, while another is live-streaming their sunburn. I sit there thinking about how my childhood involved slapping each other with grass and inventing rules to made-up games that ended in laughter or tears — sometimes both. These kids would never survive ‘outside until sunset with a stick.’

Somewhere, a golden retriever is baking in the sun, barking at absolutely everyone, living its best chaotic golden retriever life. We make eye contact. I relate.

Then comes the daily ritual: the lake commute.
Zürich’s 5 p.m. rush to the water. People in silk blouses and loafers walk straight from their office jobs into the shallows like corporate mermaids, trying to shed responsibility and sweat in one go.

And just when you think the scene can’t get more cinematic, a rich guy cruises by on his Veilchen-blue motorboat. In the back: his immaculate trophy wife, reclining with a glass of cold white wine, smiling like she’s never checked her bank balance or packed her own sunscreen. He waves. I raise my lukewarm coffee and try not to hate him.

Meanwhile, someone jogs by — effortlessly, tan, glistening — like the heat doesn’t apply to them. And suddenly, everyone’s talking about working out.
Running schedules, swim circuits, strength training routines.

And there I am. Sizzling.
Lying flat like a croissant in the sun ( or more like a Gipfeli), unsure if I’m living my best life or just very slowly overcooking.

Part of me feels guilty — like I should at least pretend to want a green smoothie.
But I don’t. I want carbs. I want cold drinks. I want to stop wondering if I’m allowed to enjoy summer when I haven’t “earned” the right to exist in a bikini.

And of course, that little voice in my head pipes up: "You’ve gained 20 kilos in the last ten years — how dare you not hate yourself for it?"
Cute. Helpful. Thanks, brain.

But here’s the plot twist: the thought comes… and then it goes.
Because I do feel comfortable. At least more than I used to. I’m not pretending to be the fittest, the fliest, or the most “hot girl walk” version of myself. I’m just here. Tired. Soft. Present.

And that’s the thing no one says about summer in Zürich: you don’t have to earn the sun. You just have to show up.

So yes, I’m still writing resumes — from under a tree, in between people-watching and half-hearted tanning. My iced coffee is room temp. My skin is sticky. My life is uncertain.

And yet…
I’ve never felt more like myself.