Before you get excited (or stop reading, depending on your preferences), this is not going to be a diatribe about how much I hate Valentine’s Day. No, this is going to be a diatribe about how much I hate how everybody thinks single people hate Valentine’s Day. Is that better? I think so.
At the time of print this will already be a little out of date, but I only publish this once a week (mercifully) and I had actually forgotten it was Valentine’s Day when I wrote last week’s newsletter. Which goes to prove the point I am about to make. OK ready? Here’s my point.
What bugs me about Valentine’s Day marketing is that it falls into one of two categories: either it’s targeted at loved-up couples, or it’s targeted at single people who are bitter about being single. Companies or Instagram and Twitter memes are either trying to push products on couples to enhance their romantic experience, or they’re encouraging single people to ‘treat themselves’ on this day which must be so hard for them. To which I have to ask: what about single people who simply do not give a shit that they’re single on Valentine’s Day, or on any other day?
What I find annoying is this assumption by whoever writes these marketing campaigns that people who are single are depressed about being single. That Valentine’s Day is tougher for them than any other day of the year because it’s a reminder of how small and sad their life must be. When did we all decide that being in a relationship was the ultimate goal? And that anyone who isn’t in one must be drinking a bottle of red wine and slitting their wrists on Valentine’s Day? Has everyone forgotten that there are other things in life? I saw a recipe platform I follow on Instagram asking their coupled-up followers to tag their single friends to win a takeaway giveaway worth £70 (generous much?). If any of my couple friends sent that to me I would fucking riot. I don’t need to eat a takeaway on Valentine’s Day to prevent me from killing myself. Valentine’s Day doesn’t serve as a reminder to me that I’m alone and no-one loves me. All it serves as is a reminder that the rhetoric around it, perpetuated by couples (although of course, #notallcouples) is one of pity.
It's reminiscent of the kind of patronizing sympathy that single people are often subjected to at the hands of happy couples. The sympathetic head tilts, the nervous laughter when being told a story about a one-night-stand from hell, the chants of ‘You just haven’t met your person yet!’. Yes, thank you Karen, I’m aware of that. What I am not aware of is why you are so obsessed with me finding my fucking person. You know I’m a person too, right, Karen? And I’m doing fine? Why are single people seen as couples-in-waiting, rather than sentient, independent beings who sure, maybe want to be in a relationship, but while they are not, aren’t just diving head-first into a box of Cadbury Milk Tray and waiting for someone to rescue them? Maybe they’re spending their Valentine’s Day doing something other than crying at The Notebook? Or maybe they forgot it existed until they saw that fucking meme about Galentine’s Day, a holiday also rooted in the idea that you are not enough on your own, that you feel spite and hatred towards the idea of love and couples. Haven’t we moved on somewhat from this Bridget Jones’ Diary image of what single life looks like? Where’s the holiday for people who are indifferent? Why do you either have to be in love, be waiting for love, or hate the idea of love? Maybe you just don’t care.
And even if you do care – find me the person who was made to feel better by that fridge-magnet-philosophy of still waiting for your prince(ss). If you’re sad about being single, I don’t think any amount of self-help quotes are going to be of assistance. If you’re triggered by couples posting pictures of themselves on Valentine’s Day (you know, as opposed to them posting them on any other day of the year) then you’re in for a rough life. The only thing I was ever triggered by after my breakup was the existence of children, since they were single-handedly responsible for it. Also they’re loud and sticky and irritating. Glad I never was one.
So stop fucking patronizing us. I’m no sadder about being single on Valentine’s Day than on any other. If you want to give me £70 just give it to me. Don’t give it to me wrapped in a card where you lament how depressed I must be.
One good thing:
I’m making great strides at getting over my unfounded fear of food poisoning. Yesterday I ate a dumpling bought from a Chinese grocery store whose ingredients were in Chinese, so I had no idea what I was eating, and I didn’t have a panic attack.
One bad thing:
It hasn’t actually been 24 hours yet since I ate it, so the food poisoning may still be forthcoming. Pray for me!
No con-texts
It was a real toss-up this week. Also I’m writing this on Tuesday because it’s the only free time I have so the week has barely begun. Who knows what mind-bendingly funny texts I’ll send in the next five days?
I decided on this one because ‘And Just Like That’ finished a few weeks ago so it won’t be timely for very long. Also they keep threatening us with another season which I will then have new vitriolic thoughts about.
And yes, kancel kweens, I also once went to an Indian wedding in a sari (with explicit permission/enthusiasm from the bride and consultation with several friends who were qualified to comment on it) but I wouldn’t do it now, because I’m learning how to not be a fucking moron. Michael Patrick King isn’t learning anything, he’s just counting those sweet sweet Benjamins.
I’m also going to do two this week because I make the rules. I somehow managed to weasel my way into becoming my company’s in-house literary translator, with mixed results (and a lot of help from my very own Emilie in Paris):