Is there a more divisive day than Valentine’s? For some, its very name sparks excitement; for others, it’s little more than an expletive. It carries with it all the baggage of preconceptions, prejudices and familiar clichés. On one side of what seems to have become an image war, we have the Couples: smug and loved-up, or the self-proclaimed down-to-earth types who don’t deign to recognise its existence. On the other, the Singles: proud to be independent or determined to stockpile comfort food and alcohol, build a blanket fort and spend the day hiding from the outside world. This is what I dislike most about V-Day – it creates a divide between people that’s entirely artificial, based solely on their relationship status. It invites a particularly unattractive kind of condescending pity to be poured out upon those not fortunate enough to have found a soul mate. This is met with bitter resentment aimed at the coupled-up smugness of those who have.
It’s no surprise that people not in relationships resent the way they’re portrayed on Valentine’s Day: embittered loners who spend the day sobbing into their duvets and Häagen-Dasz. Equally maddening is the tendency of friends to shake their heads pityingly when a singleton dares protest that their dislike for the so-called holiday is sincere. “You wouldn’t think that if you had a boyfriend” is one of the most infuriating things you can hear at this time of year.
My first Valentine’s Day spent in a relationship came just a couple of years ago. It felt like a kind of victory. Not because I’d finally snared a man to save me from the prospect of another bleak February 14th; but because I finally felt I could say I didn’t like it without being questioned. Take that, haters.
As February draws on, I’ve begun to question my own conviction. Do I really dislike Valentine’s Day, or am I merely snubbing it out of principle? Am I too obstinate to admit that it doesn’t really bother me that much, for fear that someone will call me out on years of hypocrisy? Should I perhaps entertain the possibility of spending it with my boyfriend this year?
However, my existential crisis has been abruptly cut short. It ended as soon as I noticed the Valentine’s Day paraphernalia steadily creeping up on us in supermarkets and perfume ads. Before long we’ll be surrounded by a red-hued, hellish frenzy of soppy-eyed teddies and cards bearing saccharine messages. I’m reminded how much I’d dread the prospect of going out for a ‘romantic’ meal on Valentine’s Day. What could be less romantic than being surrounded by couples vying to out-couple each other, tables crowded together in an attempt to squeeze money out of this over-commercialised nightmare? Or to be reminded that the only kind of love that’s acceptable is young, heterosexual, and monogamous? It looks like I’ll be sitting it out again.