Love is still real. Valentine’s Day is just an expensive performance review. Here’s how to tell the difference.
Valentine’s Day began as a feast day honoring a saint—possibly multiple saints, possibly executed, definitely not shopping for push-up bras. It was meant to celebrate love, devotion, and sacrifice.
Fast-forward a few centuries and now it’s a $27 billion industrial complex powered by panic reservations, emergency flower deliveries, and the creeping suspicion that everyone else has better plans.
And look, some of us genuinely love it. The gifts! The excuse to wear red lipstick! The ritual of pretending dinner isn’t $60 more expensive than usual! Even when we’re quietly coordinating logistics behind the scenes like romantic air-traffic controllers, there’s something sweet about marking love on purpose.
But somewhere along the way, Valentine’s Day stopped being just about connection and became a performance. And like most performances, women somehow ended up responsible for both starring in it and reviewing it afterward.
Here’s how that plays out depending on where you land.
If You’re Single: Please Enjoy This Extremely Subtle Reminder
Valentine’s Day doesn’t just acknowledge singleness, it spotlights it. With flowers. With aggressive heart-shaped signage. With emails from brands screaming, “Treat Yourself—Because You Deserve Love Too!” which somehow lands less like supportive and more like being gently shoved into traffic by a scented candle company.
You’re encouraged to feel empowered, but not too empowered. Resilient but still aspirational. Confident, yet somehow open to last-minute transformation via bath bombs.
Meanwhile, couples appear everywhere, slow-feeding each other molten chocolate cake like they’re auditioning for a commercial titled We Have Never Argued About Dishwasher Loading.
You can love your independence, your friendships, your peaceful bed, and still feel slightly feral watching that. Both things are allowed.
Yet Cupid insists you should only experience feelings that can be monetized. Which feels unfair, considering the guy’s been naked, armed, and emotionally unavailable since ancient Greece.
If You’re Dating: Schrödinger’s Romance
Dating on Valentine’s Day is like a pop quiz you didn’t study for, written by capitalism, and graded by Instagram stories.
Too much effort? Desperate.
Too little effort? Concerning.
Flowers? Predictable.
Jewelry? Either perfect or a legally binding escalation.
Chocolate? Lazy (but we’ll allow it).
You must agree that Valentine’s Day is “not a big deal at all,” while also understanding that the way it unfolds may reveal everything about the trajectory of your relationship. No big deal.
And if it’s new? Godspeed. Suddenly you’re negotiating expectations like dating diplomats. “We said no gifts, but emotionally … there are gifts, right? Like symbolic effort? Casual but intentional?”
It’s Schrödinger’s Romance: The relationship is alive and dead until the reservation confirmation loads. And if you manage to get through it without overthinking every moment? Congratulations.
You’ve achieved emotional Olympic-level balance for a holiday that ultimately proves nothing about your actual compatibility.
If You’re Married: Welcome to the Annual Performance Review
Marriage turns Valentine’s Day into a yearly check-in nobody scheduled but everyone feels.
You already love each other. You share bills, snacks, and an alarming amount of medical information. But suddenly your relationship must be demonstrated through strategic gestures and a $12 greeting card written by someone named “Bob” in the Hallmark copy room.
Don’t get me wrong. The gestures are sweet. Flowers are beautiful. The pause in the chaos to just be together is meaningful. But there’s a thin line between appreciation and evaluation.
Between “this is sweet” and “is this enough?”
Because even if we pretend like it doesn’t, the reaction matters.
If it’s forgotten, you’re expected to be gracious. If they go big, you have to be delighted but not suspicious. If it’s average, you must interpret the emotional subtext like a romance linguist.
Forget Pilates.
This is emotional core work in stilettos.
If You’re a Woman: Somehow, Still Our Homework
No matter your relationship status, Valentine’s Day tends to land in the same place: our lap. Not necessarily from our partners, but directly from corporate.
If we dislike it, we’re cynical.
If we love it, we’re high-maintenance.
If we want effort, we’re demanding.
If we say we don’t care, we’re clearly lying.
It’s not that romance died. It’s that it got turned into homework with hashtags. Women are expected to resurrect it using candles, emotional insight, and a strategic reservation at a restaurant where everyone else is also pretending they’re not eating overpriced fish.
And then when the bill shows up, politely thank capitalism for the privilege.
Some of us want something simpler. Like not paying $90 for a bouquet that will die before the leftovers are cold. Or not posting proof that someone remembered we exist.
Because love usually shows up in smaller moments. The everyday kindnesses. The inside jokes. The person who remembers how you take your coffee without needing a holiday reminder.
They understood the assignment.
The Real Love Story
Maybe Valentine’s Day itself isn’t broken. Maybe the script just got tired. Because the best Valentine’s Day is the one you invent yourself.
You can adore the flowers and side-eye the consumerism. Skip it or rewrite it. Celebrate love that’s steady, not staged. Romantic, platonic, communal, or even just your own.
Maybe it’s a fancy dinner and thoughtful gift from someone who actually tried.
Maybe it’s takeout and sweatpants.
Maybe it’s your friends, your kids, your dog, or a quiet night where nobody asks you to put on a bra or make dinner.
The only wrong way to do Valentine’s Day is to let someone convince you you’re failing at love.
So pour whatever’s open, light the candle that costs too much, and toast the fact that you’re still here, still laughing, still capable of love that doesn’t come with a promo code. In a world obsessed with selling us ideal love, maybe the most radical thing left is to actually enjoy the imperfect kind we already have.
One Response
theh only memories I have of valentine’s day are from school when you had to give them out. which means I have no good memories of it.