Editor’s Note: All opinion section content reflects the views of the individual author only and does not represent a stance taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.
Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about love. Not capital L, cinematic, rose petal-covered love — just regular love. The kind of love that is not being self-conscious while wearing sweatpants, using shared calendars and someone remembering you hate pickles.
Instead, it’s turned into a yearly pop quiz on how much your relationship is worth at a retail price.
Did they get flowers?
Did they get the right flowers?
Was there a reservation? Was it somewhere with mood lighting, a waitlist and a dessert that comes on a special, nontraditional plate?
Somewhere along the way, we decided love needed a receipt. And not just any receipt; a competitive one.
Valentine’s Day has become less about affection and more about evidence. Proof that someone cares. Proof that you’re valued. Proof that your relationship is doing well enough to survive Instagram.
This is funny, because real relationships are not built on Feb. 14. They’re built on extremely unsexy things: patience, showing up and sitting through stories you’ve already heard three times because the person telling them still thinks they’re funny.
Love is taking care of their laundry. It’s picking up their prescription. It’s texting, “Did you get home?” when you’re half-asleep. None of those photograph well, so they don’t get a holiday.
Instead, we get the performance — the big bouquet, the expensive dinner and the grand gesture that says, “Look how loved I am, and make sure everybody else knows.” If someone has to know about a gesture to make it worthwhile, the gesture doesn’t mean anything.
And listen — gifts are nice. I am not antiflower. I have never once been mad at receiving chocolate. The problem is when the gift, or lack thereof, becomes a scoreboard for your relationship. When you stop asking questions like, “Do they care about me?” and start asking, “Did they spend enough to prove it?” That’s when the whole thing gets weirdly transactional. You lose the value of intimacy to cash.
It also shrinks the definition of love down to one very specific, very marketable image: a romantic partner, an expensive present and dim restaurant lighting. It leaves no room for your best friend who has always stood by you. No room for your mom who still sends you weather warnings. No room for the people who actually keep your life running.
These kinds of love don’t come in velvet boxes. They don’t trend, so they get ignored.
Meanwhile, many scroll past someone else’s surprise getaway or necklace reveal, doing the mental math of, “Should I be expecting more?” Which is, honestly, the least romantic activity imaginable.
Here’s the thing, though: Love isn’t a product. You can’t upgrade it to the premium version with faster shipping. You cannot measure devotion by how aggressively someone attacked their credit limit.
Real love is boring in the most comfortable way. It’s the person who still shows up when you’re cranky, sick, broke, busy or deeply not fun to be around. It does not peak once a year.
Again, — I’m not antigesture, antigifts or even antispending money or time on someone. Don’t lower your expectations. But the value of a relationship and the people in it should not be based solely on a random day in February.
Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be a performance review; let it be a reminder instead. Do something small for someone who makes your life easier. Text your friend back. Thank your mom or pick up coffee for the person who always shows up for you. If you want to buy flowers, buy them. If you want the fancy dinner, go. Just don’t confuse the price tag with proof. The relationships that matter most are usually built in the quiet, boring moments no one else sees. If anything deserves your energy this February, it’s consistency, not a receipt.
Reach Maci Lesh at letters@collegian.com or on social media @RMCollegian.
