It’s that time of year again, Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. The season of tacky decorations slapping you in the face every time you walk through a shop door; low-budget hallmark rom-coms clogging up the TV guide for weeks on end; and adverts bombarding us with enough reminders that even the most absent-minded of boyfriends have no excuse to forget about the big day. Even then, however, it will still inevitably slip their minds, leaving them with no choice but to sheepishly turn up at your door with whatever they could panic-buy at the last minute on the way over. At the end of the day, nothing says “Please don’t leave me for your personal trainer!” like a bottle of Blossom Hill and a bunch of wilted petrol-station flowers.
It probably goes without saying that I, for one, won’t be hoping to be shot by Cupid’s arrow this year. I hate Valentine’s Day. Huge corporations have brainwashed us into treating love as a commodity that can be bought in exchange for heart-shaped chocolate, jewellery that turns your skin green and novelty teddy bears – with bonus points if they sing. And, somehow, we as a society have fallen for it hook, line and sinker. It’s as overly commercialised as Christmas, and that’s saying something.
Don’t even get me started on the heteronormative clichés we seem to cling to for dear life in the name of Valentine’s traditions: love is in the air, guy gets the girl at whatever the cost, “I hate the way I don’t hate you”, and so on and so forth ad infinitum. Why is it that 14 February is treated as the one night a year everyone gets a free pass to pretend they’re the stars of their very own romantic comedies? If you ask me, it’s all outdated rubbish. In fact, I think if we brought Petrarch back to life in time for Valentine’s Day, he’d be pleasantly surprised by just how little has changed.
And what about single people on Valentine’s Day? What are we supposed to do whilst happy couples merrily prance about, spending the night in fancy restaurants, sampling the house wine and fretting all evening about whether hiding the ring in the dessert was a good plan after all? We’re forced to remain confined indoors, hidden like a dirty secret from those in love, so they don’t catch our cynicism and self-pity just by accidentally meeting our eye. It’s like they expect us to just lie in bed all night fantasising about what might have been. Eating discounted chocolate and clutching the heart-patterned teddy bears we bought to keep us company because nobody else will, Amy Adams’ “Me Party” plays on loop in a futile attempt to lift our crushed spirits … or something.
But I digress. I’m sure Valentine’s Day is just fine if watching terrible films, eating overpriced food and pandering to the patriarchy is your – and your partner’s – idea of fun. I take comfort in the fact that it only comes around once a year, and at least Coronation Street will be on this Valentine’s Day. After all, love is fleeting, but my dedication to the characters on the cobbles will last forever
Illustration by Rhiann Johnston
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Why I hate Valentine’s Day
It’s that time of year again, Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. The season of tacky decorations slapping you in the face every time you walk through a shop door; low-budget hallmark rom-coms clogging up the TV guide for weeks on end; and adverts bombarding us with enough reminders that even the most absent-minded of boyfriends have no excuse to forget about the big day. Even then, however, it will still inevitably slip their minds, leaving them with no choice but to sheepishly turn up at your door with whatever they could panic-buy at the last minute on the way over. At the end of the day, nothing says “Please don’t leave me for your personal trainer!” like a bottle of Blossom Hill and a bunch of wilted petrol-station flowers.
It probably goes without saying that I, for one, won’t be hoping to be shot by Cupid’s arrow this year. I hate Valentine’s Day. Huge corporations have brainwashed us into treating love as a commodity that can be bought in exchange for heart-shaped chocolate, jewellery that turns your skin green and novelty teddy bears – with bonus points if they sing. And, somehow, we as a society have fallen for it hook, line and sinker. It’s as overly commercialised as Christmas, and that’s saying something.
Don’t even get me started on the heteronormative clichés we seem to cling to for dear life in the name of Valentine’s traditions: love is in the air, guy gets the girl at whatever the cost, “I hate the way I don’t hate you”, and so on and so forth ad infinitum. Why is it that 14 February is treated as the one night a year everyone gets a free pass to pretend they’re the stars of their very own romantic comedies? If you ask me, it’s all outdated rubbish. In fact, I think if we brought Petrarch back to life in time for Valentine’s Day, he’d be pleasantly surprised by just how little has changed.
And what about single people on Valentine’s Day? What are we supposed to do whilst happy couples merrily prance about, spending the night in fancy restaurants, sampling the house wine and fretting all evening about whether hiding the ring in the dessert was a good plan after all? We’re forced to remain confined indoors, hidden like a dirty secret from those in love, so they don’t catch our cynicism and self-pity just by accidentally meeting our eye. It’s like they expect us to just lie in bed all night fantasising about what might have been. Eating discounted chocolate and clutching the heart-patterned teddy bears we bought to keep us company because nobody else will, Amy Adams’ “Me Party” plays on loop in a futile attempt to lift our crushed spirits … or something.
But I digress. I’m sure Valentine’s Day is just fine if watching terrible films, eating overpriced food and pandering to the patriarchy is your – and your partner’s – idea of fun. I take comfort in the fact that it only comes around once a year, and at least Coronation Street will be on this Valentine’s Day. After all, love is fleeting, but my dedication to the characters on the cobbles will last forever
Illustration by Rhiann Johnston
Share this:
Like this:
Related