Valentine’s Day has always been a strange mix of sweetness and discomfort for me. On one hand, I appreciate any occasion that celebrates love, whether that is romantic love, friendship, or family. On the other hand, every time the calendar flips to February, I feel the shift everywhere: pink and red decorations in store windows, heart shaped boxes stacked in pyramids, advertisements promising that the perfect gift will say what words apparently cannot. It becomes hard to shake the sense that the holiday is not so much about genuine affection anymore but about buying something to prove it.
The commercialization of Valentine’s Day is impossible to ignore. Weeks before the actual date, stores explode with themed merchandise such as teddy bears holding plush hearts, shiny balloons, and chocolate assortments wrapped in red foil. Florists prepare as if for battle, and restaurants update their menus. Suddenly every table seems to come with a special Valentine’s prix fixe experience that costs more than the same food would on any other night. It is as if an entire mini economy wakes up for a single day and decides the rules have changed. And the strangest part is how normal it starts to feel, even though everyone knows the prices magically jump just because the date is February 14.
Chocolate companies in particular thrive this time of year. You can practically imagine the marketing teams rubbing their hands together as they release limited edition flavors and glossy heart shaped packaging that somehow doubles the price. Florists do the same. They might explain it through supply and demand, but it is still hard not to feel a little manipulated when a bouquet of roses costs triple what it did the week before. Restaurants join in, offering candlelit meals at absurd markups, the kind of meals designed less for enjoyment and more for social media photos that prove you are celebrating in the expected way.
Sometimes it feels as though the holiday has become more of a performance than a celebration. There is pressure to do something grand, something that can be displayed, something that fits the script everyone has memorized: chocolates, flowers, dinner, perhaps a stuffed bear. If you do not participate, people wonder whether something is wrong. If you do participate, you often end up following a pattern that feels at times more commercial than heartfelt.
But the part that confuses me most is the idea that love requires a designated day at all. Why do we need a single circled date on the calendar to remind us to show affection or gratitude for the people who matter? It feels almost ironic, as though love, one of the most natural and everyday human experiences, has been assigned homework due on February 14. The assumption is that on this one day we should make up for all the quiet moments we might be too busy to notice. Yet love is not something that should be stockpiled for a special occasion. It is something that lives in the smallest gestures, the ones that never need a price tag.
I think about how meaningful it is when someone remembers my favorite snack and brings it without me asking or when they send a message checking in on a stressful day. Those tiny things never come packaged in red foil or wrapped with ribbon, but they stay with me in a way that store bought gifts rarely do. The people I care about do not need a grand gesture once a year. They need consistency, kindness, and presence. They need to feel thought of at unexpected times. They need warmth in the middle of random Tuesdays, not just on Valentine’s Day.
That is why the holiday feels strange to me, not because celebrating love is silly but because the world tries to convince us that celebration must look a certain way. Advertisements make it seem like affection is most real when it is expensive, when it is public, when it matches the clichés society approves of. However, the older I get, the more I realize that what truly matters often looks nothing like that. Love is staying up late to help someone study. It is giving the last piece of candy because you know they like it more. It is making someone laugh when their day has been impossibly long. These moments do not require a holiday. They simply require intention.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with enjoying Valentine’s Day. For many people it is fun, sentimental, or nostalgic. It can be an excuse to spend time together and to appreciate moments you might otherwise rush through. But the issue arises when the holiday becomes the only time people make an effort. When someone relies solely on February 14 to prove their affection, it starts to feel less like appreciation and more like obligation, a box checked once a year.
Maybe that is why the commercialization bothers me as much as it does. It tries to compress something deep, personal, and often quiet into a formula that a business can profit from. Real affection cannot be sold, no matter how hard marketing teams try to convince us otherwise. They take the natural desire to make someone feel special and turn it into a commercial opportunity.
For me, love is something that should breathe every day. It should show up in thoughts, in behavior, in consistency. It should not rely on expensive gifts or specific dates. It is found in shared jokes, in listening when someone needs to talk, in giving someone the kind of kindness you hope they give themselves. And although Valentine’s Day tries to package all of that into something flashy and limited edition, the truth is that the most meaningful parts of love never fit neatly into a store display.
In the end, I do not want to get rid of the holiday, but I want to see it differently. Less as a performance and more as a gentle reminder to appreciate the love that already exists in the quiet corners of our lives. Not through purchases but through presence. Not through tradition but through authenticity. And certainly not only on one day of the year.
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