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Content Warning: This section of the guide references sexual harassment, and sexual content.
In The Chase, Kennedy critiques the misogynistic tendency to conflate traditionally feminine-coded interests with superficiality. Through Kennedy’s characterization of her protagonist, Summer, the novel argues that a passion for fashion, sorority life, and social extroversion can coexist with intelligence, loyalty, and emotional depth, challenging reductive stereotypes. Summer’s journey forces those around her, and even Summer herself, to confront the sexism inherent in a perspective that equates femininity with a lack of substance.
The narrative establishes this gendered prejudice through the initial judgments Summer receives from others, most notably, Fitz. On New Year’s Eve, Fitz inventories everything he perceives as a flaw in Summer to convince himself not to pursue her: “she got kicked out of Brown for partying too hard. She’s a party girl. She’s in a sorority […] She’s...fluff […] not serious about anything. She’s surface level” (27). His assessment is based on stereotypes associated with her background and interests. Fitz assumes her family’s wealth and her penchant for designer clothing signify a lack of depth, judging her interests and personality without seeking to understand the person behind them. These initial reactions—echoed by her Kappa Nu sorority sisters and her classmates—create a context in which Summer is constantly presumed to be less than she is simply because she embodies a bright, sociable, and style-conscious femininity.
Kennedy systematically dismantles these superficial judgments by revealing Summer’s intelligence and values across the novel. In Summer’s History of Fashion class, she demonstrates a sophisticated understanding of her chosen field. During a class discussion about Coco Chanel, she enters into a nuanced debate with Nora about Coco Chanel that touches on the challenges of separating the art from the artist: “People accused her of being too conservative, but […] she revolutionized the industry. She showed the world that fashion [is] a way of life […] fashion is everywhere—‘It’s in the sky and in the streets, it’s in how we live and what we do.’ That’s a philosophy I believe in” (122). This intellectual engagement surprises her peers and challenges the appearance and personality-based assumptions of those around her.
Kennedy reinforces Summer’s loyalty and emotional depth through her actions. She fiercely defends her friends, such as when she confronts a woman calling Brenna derogatory names in a bar, insisting that “We’ve spent years fighting to not be viewed as sexual objects or be judged and shamed […] It’s bad enough that men still do this to us. When you do it too, it sends the message that it’s fair game for women to be treated this way” (186), directly challenging systemic and internalized misogyny. Kennedy’s novel illustrates that Summer’s extroverted personality and traditionally feminine-coded interests do not preclude a capacity for deep loyalty and courage.
Across her arc, Summer’s personal reckoning with these stereotypes highlights her own insecurities. Overhearing Fitz’s comments deeply wounds her. Her confrontation with him allows her to assert her own worth. She defends her identity, arguing that her interests do not negate her substance and acknowledging the ways these assumptions cause pain: “I’m not fluff […] Yes, I have a stupid amount of energy […] I’m obsessed with clothes. Yes, I was in a sorority, and yes, I like to dance and have fun with my friends […] That doesn’t make me superficial, Fitz. […] you just assumed there was nothing more to me than parties and shopping. I’m a loyal friend. I’m a good daughter, a good sister. You’d spent, what? Ninety minutes in my presence? And you think you know the whole story?” (138). The pain Fitz’s misjudgments cause force him to re-evaluate his biases, and his eventual admiration for Summer’s intelligence and artistic talent—particularly her fashion sketches—provides a complete reversal of his initial assessment. Through Summer’s resilience, the novel makes a clear case that judging a woman’s depth based on her embrace of traditionally feminine pursuits is a fundamental misreading of her character.
Kennedy’s elite, academic setting, with its rigid structures and emphasis on traditional forms of expression, presents a formidable obstacle course for those who struggle with learning differences. The novel explores the academic and emotional challenges faced by students with ADHD, using Summer’s journey to illustrate how the pressure to conform can lead to intense anxiety and self-doubt. Kennedy demonstrates that success for a neurodivergent student often depends less on institutional procedure and more on empathetic, personalized support that validates their unique learning process.
The institutional barriers and stigma at Briar University are evident from Summer’s first meeting with Assistant Dean Richmond. Her ADHD is treated as a personal failing to be managed rather than a different way of learning. Richmond reviews her file, questions her about medication, and approaches her with an air of suspicion, reinforcing her own feelings of embarrassment: “Other people have learning disabilities, I know that. But when your parents and two older brothers all got into Harvard Law and you’re the fashion major who has trouble writing one measly paragraph, it’s a little hard not to feel...less than” (36). While her professors acknowledge accommodations like oral exams, they are presented within a system that views her neurodivergence as a deficit. This lack of genuine empathy from academic authority figures creates an environment where Summer feels isolated and perpetually on the verge of failure, emphasizing a sense of inadequacy that haunts her academic life.
The narrative dramatizes this pressure by emphasizing the toll it takes on Summer physically and emotionally. When Summer attempts to outline her midterm essay, she is quickly overwhelmed by the task of organizing her thoughts, and the sea of sticky notes on her floor becomes “evidence of my stupidity.” (157) This moment culminates in a panic attack, revealing the deep-seated anxiety tied to her academic performance. Her confession to Fitz about the real reason for her expulsion from Brown University reinforces the ways her neurodivergence impacts her self-worth. Summer intentionally sets fire to her unintentionally plagiarized paper to destroy the evidence of her academic struggles. She explains that she would rather people see her as a “drunk party girl” than “the village idiot” (260), a choice that highlights the deep shame she carries and the extreme measures she takes to conceal what she perceives as intellectual failure.
However, the novel contrasts these institutional and internal struggles with the transformative power of non-judgmental support. Fitz’s intervention during her panic attack acts as a turning point in their relationship. Instead of offering clinical advice or judgment, he simply asks, “What can I do to help?” (158). He sits with her and helps her talk through her ideas, a method that aligns with her way of processing information. This act of empathy and collaboration stands in stark contrast to her professors and academic advisors that view her as a problem to be managed. Fitz’s belief in her ability and his practical assistance empower Summer not only to complete the essay but also to gain the confidence to challenge Professor Laurie’s unfair grade. This resolution suggests that true academic accommodation is rooted in understanding and respect, not just procedural checklists.
Summer’s interactions with Professor Laurie provide a critique of how academic institutions can enable and protect predatory faculty members, prioritizing reputation and internal power structures over the safety and well-being of students. Through Summer’s escalating conflict with Laurie, the novel demonstrates a pattern in which initial warnings from students are dismissed, allowing harmful behavior to continue unchecked. It argues that such institutions often only take decisive action when confronted with irrefutable evidence or external pressure from powerful figures who pose a greater threat to the university’s image.
The administration’s initial response to concerns about Professor Laurie reveals a systemic tendency to protect its own and discredit student complaints. Summer reports Laurie’s behavior to Assistant Dean Richmond using clear, specific language: “He’s a bit creepy, if I’m being honest […] He touches my hand a lot, and my shoulders, and his gaze stays on me a little too long […] I don’t like it when he touches me. I find it inappropriate” (228). Yet, her concerns are immediately invalidated as Richmond places the blame back on her: “As a beautiful girl […] you’ve grown accustomed to being admired […] it’s led to the assumption that when someone is acting in a friendly manner or paying extra attention to you, there’s [a] sexual connotation to it […] I’m certain that you’re misinterpreting whatever signals you believe Professor Laurie is sending” (238). This reaction serves to silence Summer by framing her as a potential threat to Laurie’s reputation rather than recognizing him as a threat to her safety. By prioritizing the high-status faculty member, the institution creates an environment where predatory behavior can flourish without consequence.
The protection offered by Professor Laurie’s status and the administration’s dismissal of Summer’s concerns, enables his behavior to escalate from sexual harassment to unethical treatment and, eventually, to sexual assault. After Summer rejects his attempt to kiss her, Laurie abuses his professorial authority by publicly humiliating her in class. He projects her D-minus paper for the entire lecture hall to see, dissecting its perceived flaws in a clear act of retribution. He feels comfortable doing so because the institutional culture has already shown him that he is shielded from accountability. His actions are those of a predator confident that his power and prestige make him untouchable, reinforcing the idea that the system itself is complicit in his behavior.
Ultimately, it’s the influence and wealth of her powerful father that forces the institution to act, reinforcing the tendency of elite universities to self-protect. When Summer witnesses Laurie’s attempt to sexually assault Nora in the bathroom, Nora’s reticence to go to the police underscores the feelings of powerlessness often felt by survivors of sexual assault and harassment. Nora tells Summer: “I know how this will play out—my mom’s a public defender. It’ll be my word against his […] There’s no bruises, no evidence of assault” (334). Rather than go to the police, Summer orchestrates the intervention of her lawyer father, who joins the meeting with the dean—a family friend—via phone, introducing a legal and reputational threat that the university cannot ignore. In the face of undeniable evidence and the threat of a lawsuit, Dean Prescott and Assistant Dean Richmond promise that “Briar will be taking swift action” (337). This resolution suggests that the institution acts not primarily out of moral duty, but to mitigate a significant risk to its public image and legal standing.



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