Let me begin by saying that I live by the phrase, “all you need is love.” If I ever get a tattoo (which I won’t, in case you were wondering), that very statement is what I would get inscribed on the arch of my foot. My desk, behind the clutter of school supplies and empty mugs of green tea, is completely embalmed in inspirational quotes, most having to do with finding love, and what to do once you’ve found it. I am what many would call a hopeless romantic, but I care to disagree. I’m instead someone who simply appreciates love, be it in the form of your best friends, your academic pursuits or, most stereotypically, your significant other.
I am not so much anti-Valentine’s Day as I am anti-what the so-called “holiday” has done to people like me. By people like me, I mean people who truly value love, who work to do everything in life with a grain of love, of devotion and of enjoyment.
Of course, there is the all-too-common argument that Valentine’s Day is commercialized, that it has spawned a multi-million dollar industry of candy hearts and cheaply manufactured teddy bears. And, to a certain extent, I agree. Organizations like Hallmark have certainly transformed all our once-genuine times of celebration into days based on generating the most revenue for the modern day robber barons of corporate America.
However, my real issue with Valentines Day stems from what these 21st-century John Jacob Astors have done to the perception of love, in the process of making it a bona fide moneymaker. In creating a holiday based entirely around appropriately shaped boxes of chocolate and mass-produced rose bouquets, we have stood idly by while love — something so sacred — has become socially constructed. I do not and have never disliked Valentine’s Day because of my relationship status, but rather because Hallmark has told us how to feel on Feb. 14, and every other day of the year.
How do I feel when I’m in love? Is it true that unrequited love, the love that stands the test of time, is the most romantic? And, most importantly, how do I know when I am living a life full of happiness, support and, of course, love? With the help of every irrelevant, outside source imaginable, love’s definition has been created for us. We no longer need to truly experience love’s emotions, expectations or actions, because it has already been defined by the society we call our own.
Like the majority of other over publicized, on-the-Dove-chocolate-wrappers clichés, I am a firm believer that having love in your life allows for everything else to fall into place. I am incredibly optimistic about love, and believe you need to have it in your life to succeed at anything. It is understandable, then, why Valentine’s Day has become such a prominent calendar holiday; we all want love, and we’ll take it in any way we can get.
Especially at a place as chaotic and taxing as Northwestern, it is only natural to want something like love, whatever that may be. Whether or not we are strong enough to admit it, we all want something consistent to lighten our spirits at the end of a long day. One step further, we all want to be the protagonist in that great love story we’ve seen in movies, read in books or, in so many cases, watched play out in real life. So, we take the easy way out, and the easy way is following the rules of love outlined in Valentine’s Day’s code of conduct.
It has become easy, more than anything, to turn towards Valentines Day, and other collective definitions of love, to help us define what is the most venerated of any state or emotion. But love is too special, too wonderful, to be tampered with, to be defined for us by Hallmark, and any third party.
I want real love this Valentines Day, and I plan to fill my day with all the real stuff: my beloved friends; my parents and grandparents; my hysterical younger brother; a nice, long run; my favorite sweater; a blog that makes me laugh; my most played song on iTunes; a bowl of Kashi cereal and soy milk. These things, all incredibly different and not at all related to the typical Valentine’s Day agenda, are what are in store for my Feb. 14, not a piece of risqué lingerie or an extravagantly priced and diminutively portioned dinner.
With jewelry, though, I may be swayed.