I've taken to using a fan.

And I encourage you to do the same.

Five years ago, our family spent Memorial Day weekend in New Jersey, in the area my father in law is from. We were hanging out with some of my husband’s relatives as well as a group of families that are active in supporting, preserving, and researching two historic Black cemeteries in the area. (I wrote more about the experience here.)

On our first afternoon there, we went to a backyard barbecue. It was a hot day— hotter than normal for that time of year—with temperatures in the high eighties and no wind. I was intrigued and weirdly delighted to see that several of the women in attendance were using folding fans to stir up a bit of a breeze for themselves.

I don’t know what things are like where you’re from. But here in New England—in the circles I tend to travel in, anyway—people are not big fan users. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because we like suffering. Or maybe it’s because too many of us believe that thing science teachers and parents and other spoilsports like say about fans: that the effort of fanning yourself cancels out the cooling effect. Which, I’m sorry, is bullshit. Does it cancel out THE FEELING OF WIND ON YOUR FACE? No, no it does not.

Anyway, shortly after we returned from our trip to New Jersey, I bought a folding fan in Boston’s Chinatown, and now I carry it in my purse. I hate the heat. HATE it. So it is just so delightful to be able to whip out my little fan and wave it languidly in front of my overheated face. (And let me tell you, my friends: my face is overheated much more often these days, even when it’s not hot out, as my fluctuating hormones wreak havoc on my hypothalmic system. #ThisIsPerimenopause.)

Sometimes while I’m languidly fanning myself, I like to say things like, “Well, I do declare!” or “Why, I never!” in an old-timey southern accent. Other times, I like to imagine I am in the drawing room of an English manor house, or on the balcony of a 19th century brothel in New Orleans.

I feel like a slightly different verison of myself when I’m using my fan—an older, more eccentric, and slightly secretive version. There’s something about holding a fan that makes me feel like the cat that ate the canary. (Which is ironic, since cats don’t have opposable thumbs.) It’s fun. Meanwhile, I think my fan embarrasses my husband a little. Also fun.

I encourage you to join me in the land of the fan. It’s cheap, eco-friendly, charming, and effective. Men, don’t be shy; you can do it too. If you feel using a fan is emasculating, you can, like, flex your forearm or whatever while you do it. Or, here, buy a manly black fan with a terrifying T-rex DJ on it:

Still not convinced? Here are a few more of the benefits of #FanLife.

1. In social situations, a fan makes it more difficult to mindlessly shove food in your face. (As I am wont to do.) Like, if there’s a cheese platter, and you’re holding your fan in one hand and a drink in the other, you have no hands left to pick up crackers, let alone spread Boursin on them.

2. It’s a good conversation starter. People will be like, “Huh, that’s interesting. You don’t see that many people using fans.” And you can be like, “I know. I got the idea from this writer, Jane Roper. Have you heard of her? Her new novel is EXCELLENT! Let me tell you all about it while I languidly fan myself.” That sort of thing.

3. A fan is the perfect fidget toy. In addition to using it for its intended purpose, you can open and close it (which makes a fun little thrum-thrum sound), smack it (in its closed state) against your palm, or—if you’re really confident—do that dramatic thing where you open it with a little flip of your wrist. I recommend saying something like “We shall see,” right before you do this.

4. Fans don’t only benefit you, the fan holder. People next to you will get a little bit of refreshing second-hand air from your efforts. And if you really want to make someone happy, you can fan them for a little while. It’s a tender and generous thing to do.

5. If someone asks you how you’re doing while you happen to be using your fan, you can wink and say, “FAN-tastic!” But…don’t. It’s probably best that you don’t.

Look, summers are going to keep getting hotter, thanks to the mess we humans have made of things. We have no choice but to adapt—ideally in ways that don’t do further damage to the planet. So, next time you’re tempted to crank the AC up even higher, or buy one of those hats with a little electric fan built into it, ask yourself: wouldn’t it be more responsible, elegant, and downright fun for me to use a folding fan in this situation?

I think you’ll find that the answer is a resounding yes.

All posts on Jane’s Calamity are free and publicly available, but writing is how I make my living. If you’d like to support my work, and keep me in fans, please consider upgrading to paid. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I’ve been having a blast visiting book clubs recently. If you’ve got a book club, or your mom has a book club, or you just want to pull together a bunch of your pals for a one-time pop-up book club to read The Society of Shame, I would LOVE to say hi and/or do a Q&A via Zoom or (in the Greater Boston area) in person. You can reach me at janeroper (at) gmail.com. Get your free book club discussion guide + themed cocktail recipe here.

I’ll be extra excited to come to your club if there’s a photo of Beaker on the wall.

P.P.S. Speaking of book clubs: The Society of Shame is the August selection for Zibby’s Book Club. (woohoo!) I’ll be doing a virtual Q&A for that on August 8 at 2pm ET. Sign up and get more info here. Don’t forget your fan.

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