Since stepping foot onto campus just over two years ago, like clockwork, my Boston-bred instincts always begin to tingle around the end of September — hello, fall!

On the East Coast, the autumn equinox is practically sacred: The air sharpens, trees ignite in fiery gradients from red to golden, and I, of course, clutch onto my Dunkin’ iced butter pecan latte. It’s not just the change of a season — it’s the confirmation that we’ve survived another humid, mosquito-infested summer and are being gratified with the crisp, fleeting beauty of fall.

On the West Coast? It’s just another damn 80-degree day.

Though a mere 800-word article could never convey an East Coaster’s tried and true experience of the season, I will try my best as a small favor for the boring little “seems-it-never-rains-in-Southern-California” people.

The difference isn’t just nostalgia: What makes autumn so special in New England is the transformation itself. Leaf peepers — yes, there’s a name for tourists that visit the region in the fall — generate about $8 billion in New England each year, funneling into lodging, food, farms and craft shops.

Last year, the Vermont Department of Tourism and Marketing reported the fall transition draws about 2.5 million visitors annually, who spend roughly $500 million just to gawk at New England’s wondrous foliage.

Meanwhile, Californians try to convince me their “seasons” are obviously signaled by slightly cooler evenings in November. Forgive me if I’m unimpressed.

Seasons don’t just shape weather; they shape culture. Halloween on the East Coast feels authentic precisely because the weather matches the holiday’s atmosphere — brisk nights, glowing jack-o-lanterns and the faint smell of chimney smoke lingering in the air. Handing out candy to trick-or-treaters while wearing a hoodie feels right.

Out here in Los Angeles, kids sweat through polyester costumes while palm trees loom in the background. I’m sorry, but Dracula isn’t scary when he’s standing under a jacaranda.

Yes, apple picking, pumpkin patches and corn mazes are corny — no pun intended. But these aren’t just ironic fall Instagram activities for us; they were rites of passage for a reason.

Try layering a flannel over a waffle-knit thermal or a Carhartt jacket without sweating profusely in L.A. The aesthetic matches the reality, a seasonal culture that West Coasters could never feign.

Of course, let’s not forget: Autumn on the East Coast produced cultural icon “Christian Girl Autumn” herself, Caitlin Covington, an influencer-turned-unlikely LGBTQIA+ icon. In 2019, Covington rose to prominence through a viral tweet — from “Hot Girl Summer” to “Christian Girl Autumn” — by Blizzy McGuire, a transgender fashion influencer who Covington supported throughout her transition, both financially and emotionally.

Covington’s campy devotion to autumn with oversized scarves and pumpkin spice latte posts deserved their memeification, but her unexpected but sincere allyship is proof that the season is both earnest and ironic, yet traditional and queer-coded. L.A. is chock-full of influencers, but only East Coast fall has spawned a figurehead who embodies the season as both lifestyle and identity.

It’s not just fall itself: The East Coast is much more suited to seasonal rhythms. Boston’s walkability, robust public transportation and layers of history mean you can actually see the metamorphosis unfold — tight cobblestone streets blanketed in leaves, centuries-old churches framed by blazing maples. Compared to L.A., you need a car to get anywhere in a timely manner, and palm fronds don’t exactly change colors.

Admittedly, we East Coasters are a little brusque, but that’s because we don’t need to waste time on the niceties. The weather changes, so do we — you guys can keep your sunshine and frighteningly omnipresent smiles. I’ll take the honesty of someone shoving me to make the Green Line.

Additionally, this shift is psychological: Research shows that exposure to natural, seasonal environments helps regulate mood and time perception. Last year, a systematic review in Frontiers in Psychology found that contact with nature consistently decreases stress, anxiety and depression.

No wonder I always lose track of time while I’m at school — when it’s 72 degrees and sunny in February, time does feel rather unreal.

Sure, L.A. has its perks: I can’t argue against the wide availability of beaches and gorgeous sunsets, produce that can actually be locally sourced, and the general lack of shivering. But ask any East Coaster here, and they’ll probably tell you the same thing: We miss the crisp. I crave the first breath of cool air that hits in late September, when you can somewhat justify ordering a hot coffee.

I miss my fisherman-knit sweaters, and the way the air itself seems to signal that another chapter of the year has begun. Fall is a reset button, a reminder that time is moving forward and that you’re meant to savor it while it lasts.

So yes, my superiority complex is showing. East Coast autumn actually has character. It’s not just colder air — it’s the nature that draws millions, the holidays that feel made for the weather and the traditions that turn into culture. It changes you, grounds you and reminds you that time is passing.

Out here, Sept. 22 is just a date on a calendar. Back home, it’s a feeling.