Last week, the entire city of Groningen was drowning in heart-shaped items and red decorations supposedly symbolizing love, or at least its commercialized side. Discounted chocolates filled every corner of Albert Heijn, a bouquet of market tulips mysteriously doubled in price, and every pub had a love-themed event lined up. With Valentine’s Day approaching, the inevitable wave of criticism rolled in too.
Despite growing up on early-2000s romcoms and the capitalist spectacle of February 14th, I never felt the need to fully participate. Living in the Netherlands only reinforced this, as romance was rarely a top priority for either my dates or me. I always treated it as an ironic joke, another excuse for a party with friends or, as it’s now called, Galentine’s Day.
This year, however, I tried to see it differently. Maybe it was the need to focus on something uplifting amid grim world news, maybe it was the fact that I’m in a happy relationship, or maybe it was yet another Bridget Jones’s Diary popping up on Instagram stories. Whatever it was, it made me wonder: what if this so-called day of love actually had something to it, and I was missing out?
What if this so-called day of love actually had something to it, and I was
missing out?
Putting the religious, commercial, and cultural aspects aside, I asked those around me about love in its broadest sense. Some approached it practically, speaking about love for their hobbies, careers, or studies—from salsa to crocheting, from electrical engineering to event management. Many jokingly described these as love-hate relationships, yet their enthusiasm was undeniable—how else would they talk about their passions non-stop for 20 minutes?
Others saw Valentine’s Day as a rare excuse for romance in university life. A cheeky anonymous rose at a student gathering, a card slipped into a classmate’s backpack, a vending machine chocolate left on a library desk. Love or not, at least it was a moment of vulnerability, a small but real-life university romance in the making.
For many, love was something abstract: a warm sensation, a sense of safety, something radiant and deep. Love, they said, was also an old man in a suit buying market flowers, a friend refilling someone’s tea, or a grandma wishing her granddaughter a beautiful, strong, and healthy love.
Through these conversations, I realized that people don’t just notice love—they love love in all its variations. Valentine’s Day just puts extra emphasis on it. So, to my fellow cynics who scoff at flowers, chocolates, and tacky red hearts—sometimes, it’s worth remembering what they symbolize beyond capitalism. Valentine’s Day, for all its absurdity, isn’t love itself, but a reminder that ‘love actually is all around’.
LIZA KOLOMIIETS