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The New Yorker’s Best Summer Covers: Vintage Magazine Art That Celebrates the Season
I’ve always loved summertime. Growing up just a couple of blocks from the Long Island Sound, the beach was my second home. Every summer day meant barefoot walks down to the shore, where the hot sand toughened the soles of my feet until I had what I called “summer feet.” Those beach days were endless and sun-soaked, and the highlight was always the moment I could settle in with a book.
One summer (I was probably 14 or 15), I discovered The New Yorker, and it was a game-changer. The pages would inevitably get crinkled and salt-stained from long afternoons by the water, but those stories stayed with me forever. The New Yorker’s fiction writers became my summer companions, their words as much a part of my summers as the sound of the waves. By the end of the season, my copies were weathered and worn, but the memories and stories? Timeless.
The Best New Yorker Summer Covers
Let’s take a look at some of The New Yorker’s most memorable summer covers. Each one is a snapshot of those lazy, hazy days, capturing everything from the joy of ice cream trucks to the serenity of sunbathers in Central Park. These covers serve as a time capsule of summer in the city, filled with whimsy, humor, and a touch of nostalgia.
Did You Know?
A few fun facts to tuck in your beach tote:
Summer Got Two Bonus Months Thanks to the Romans
The Roman calendar originally had ten months. July and August were added by Julius Caesar and Augustus Caesar, stretching out the season and giving us a little more sunshine.
The ‘Dog Days’ of Summer Come From the Stars
The phrase dates back to ancient Rome. They believed the rising of Sirius—the Dog Star—added to the sun’s heat during late July and early August, making those days feel extra sweltering.
Yes, Midsommar Is Real (And It’s Fun, Not Scary)
In Sweden, Midsommar is a joyful celebration (on the Friday between June 19 and June 25—whichever falls closest to the summer solstice) filled with flower crowns, dancing, and feasts. No creepy cults in sight—just summer revelry under the midnight sun.
Salt-Stained Pages and Timeless Covers
So here we are, at the end of another sun-drenched scroll through The New Yorker’s summer covers. Just like those salt-stained pages from my beach days by the Long Island Sound, these illustrations hold stories and memories that stick with you long after summer fades.
Here’s to more barefoot days, dog-eared issues, and long weekends spent doing absolutely nothing—except maybe flipping through a few more covers.
