Valentine’s Day isn’t a holiday. It’s a pay-per-view event for emotional masochists.
The Superbowl of Suffering.
The World Cup of Being Alone While Everyone Else Posts Ring-By-Spring Content.
While couples are out there dropping rent money on prix-fixe menus and helium balloons shaped like hearts that somehow cost $80, the freshly dumped, the long-term single, and the “it’s complicated” crowd are huddled in the cheap seats, watching the highlight reel of everyone else’s happiness in 4K.
This is our big game.The Pre-Game Show Starts in December
Target puts out the heart-shaped candy in December now.
That’s not retail efficiency; that’s psychological warfare. By January 15th, your feed is already flooded with “He put a ring on it!” engagement photos in front of Christmas trees that haven’t even been taken down yet.
February 1st, the jewelry ads go full blitz: every commercial is a slow-motion close-up of a diamond while a man whispers “forever” like he’s not going to panic-text “we need to talk” in 14 months. For the brokenhearted, this is the two-minute warning.
Game Day Itself is Brutal
You wake up. Your phone notifies you that Spotify has made you a “Valentine’s Day for You” playlist full of songs you cried to in your car last March.
You open Instagram.
Your ex is in Tulum with someone whose caption game is stronger than their entire personality. Your married friends are doing “10 years togetherrr ♡” posts with photos from when they both had metabolisms.
Hinge sends you a push notification that literally says “Love is in the air!”
Bro, the only thing in my air is the lingering scent of yesterday’s takeout and regret.
The Commercials Hit Harder Than the Game. Superbowl ads sell beer and trucks..Valentine’s Day sells the idea that your life is incomplete without a partner who writes vows in the notes app. Every ad is the same: soft piano, slow-motion laughter, a man handing a woman something sparkly while she pretends to be shocked even though she picked it out herself on a private browser tab three weeks ago.
Meanwhile, the single person’s commercial break is just watching the group chat go silent because everyone is “out with their person tonight, sorry babe!”
Halftime Show = Peak Pain
Around 8 PM, the performative posts hit fever pitch. The “my person” grid posts. The black-and-white “lucky to be yours” stories set to acoustic covers of songs that used to be about heartbreak but are now about brunch.
This is our Beyoncé moment, except instead of slay, we’re just trying not to text our ex “hey” with a typo so it looks accidental.
The Fourth Quarter: Desperation Sets In. 10 PM: You’re hate-scrolling Zillow listings in cities where no one knows you. 11 PM: You’re considering adopting a cat and naming it after your ex’s worst quality (“Hi, this is Manipulation, he’s very vocal”).
Midnight: You’re drunk-eating heart-shaped Reese’s and telling yourself “at least I’m not in a situationship.”
Post-Game Analysis
February 15th is the real holiday.
Chocolate is 50% off.
The timeline goes quiet.
We all wake up hungover from our own emotions and collectively agree to never speak of this again until next year.
Valentine’s Day isn’t about love.
It’s the annual reminder that heartbreak is the most democratic experience on earth.
Rich, poor, hot, awkward — doesn’t matter. We all get to sit in the stadium of solitude together, eating overpriced stadium nachos (aka ice cream directly from the tub), watching everyone else celebrate a win we didn’t get this year.
But here’s the thing they don’t tell you in the ads: The Superbowl only happens once a year. And every year, some team loses. Next season always comes. So wear your ex’s hoodie like it’s a jersey.
Cry in the Uber.
Delete the dating apps and redownload them at 2 AM.
This is our game.
And we play it like champions.
Sent from my iPhone
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