Love, Consumerism, and the Illusion of Romance

Valentine’s Day just passed us, and I have to admit I’ve never been a fan. Manufactured holidays in general rub me the wrong way. But this is one of the worst offenders. And I say this as someone who absolutely takes advantage of the discounted chocolate and candies on February 15.

It’s not that I’m not against holidays. I recognize their cultural significance, and I fully appreciate the role that ritual plays in our lives. Ritual gives our lives shape. It structures our personal stories and marks time in ways that help us feel anchored. It fosters connection within communities. It provides designated moments to come together, bond, and reaffirm social ties. And on a broader scale, shared traditions create commonality between communities, which helps us to recognize our interwoven humanity. In other words, ritual is fundamental.

But in a capitalist society, rituals don’t for long remain purely about meaning or connection. Instead, they get commodified, transformed into commercial opportunities, and stripped of their organic significance. Valentine’s Day is a veritable paradigm for this phenomenon.

The idea that we need a designated day to celebrate love and appreciation for our partners feels both unnecessary and, frankly, a little manipulative. Love isn’t something that should be expressed under the pressure of a date on the calendar or measured by the price tag on a gift. A relationship built on genuine connection doesn’t require external validation through heart-shaped chocolates and overpriced flowers. We should be showing love regularly, in ways that feel authentic to our relationships, and not because an industry has convinced us we must.

And then there’s the expectation trap. Valentine’s Day has a way of turning into a litmus test, as if it’s some sort of unspoken measure of devotion. Did they remember? Did they plan something grand enough? Is it good enough to post on social media? And if they didn’t? Then what? The commercialized version of love we’re sold is performative. It’s driven by comparison and consumerism, rather than genuine intimacy. When someone inevitably “fails” to meet an arbitrary standard, it brews resentment. Something that should be about connection instead becomes a source of tension.

Of course, if someone finds real joy in Valentine’s Day—if it holds personal meaning beyond its commercial trappings—then by all means, celebrate! I’d never argue against people embracing what makes them happy. But I do think it’s worth asking some deeper questions. Why does this day matter to you? What is the meaning you ascribe to it? And does that meaning align with your understanding of love and partnership? If the day disappeared tomorrow, would it change how you feel about your relationship?

Love isn’t a product to be bought, and it shouldn’t be bound by the expectations of a single day. The most meaningful relationships are built in the quiet, unglamorous moments. Those moments don’t come with a return receipt.