Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

There are those who love Valentine’s Day. There are those who hate it. It is deemed artificial, a contrivance, a plot by a greedy consumerist society to force people to purchase overpriced flowers, chocolate, prix fixe dinners, and, of course, the just-right Valentine’s Day card. Opt out, and you run the risk that your partner thinks you don’t love him or her; don’t bother coming home, go straight to the doghouse. Opt in and you feel like a fraud.

Here’s another take. Hallmark is the protector of relationships. Hallmark is the glue that keeps people together, despite the frequency of disconnection and microaggression that permeate everyday relationships. Hallmark, you are the reason that – despite increases in social media, Facebook friends, online pornography, economic decline, the fall of the housing market, increases in autism spectrum disorders and the obesity epidemic – relationships endure and continue over time. Hallmark, it is because of you and the holidays you inspire, that the overall American divorce rate hasn’t risen in the last 20 years.¹

There are no cards that say, Happy Valentine’s Day, Asshole. None that open to a flowery passage stating, I rue the day I met you and I can’t believe it’s been an entire year since the last time I had to stand in front of this display and find a card to lie about my giving a damn about you. There are no cards in grey and black like there are for over-the-hill birthday cards: no jokes about what a disaster your relationship is, and how it’s all downhill after this, and that the only thing that awaits your relationship is its death.

For that matter, there are no Mother’s Day cards that say, Happy Mother’s Day, you manipulative bitch. Or Father’s Day cards that tell your Dad that what he really deserves is to be bludgeoned over the head and left for dead to see if anyone ever notices his sorry ass went missing. You can’t find a single Merry Christmas to my savagely selfish son or Happy Birthday, Buttweed card.  Anniversary cards are heavy on love and gratitude, short on reminding people of how unloved they felt over breakfast before they set out to the store to buy the darned card.

Priming works like this: the more we read or see something, the easier and more quickly it calls to mind associations that fit. We read cards that tell us we truly and deeply appreciate someone, and for a nanosecond, that appreciation flows through our neural circuitry whether we want it to or not. Stand in front of the stultifying row of cards long enough, and your entire brain is awash in loving feelings, softened photography, images of kisses, flowers, champagne glasses, hearts, pink and red, the word “love” having entered your psyche more often than in the past 6 months put together.

You stand in front of the cards and realize you’ve got it pretty good.  At least you’ve got someone to get a card for. If you happen to sense mortality, too – if your eye has glanced over the sympathy cards, perhaps even the pet sympathy cards – you remember that one day you won’t be able to buy a Valentine’s Day card. Life is short; one of you will outlast the other. You are the fortunate one. You still have your loved one.

You find the card that now proclaims the truth. About how you come alive in the other’s kiss, how you love loving this person, how each day is made more special because this one person is in it, how lucky you are to have found each other, how even the rigors of time cannot erase the depth of your bond. You stand taller, feel better about the two of you, nod in agreement with the card’s validation of what you ultimately know about your relationship. Hallmark has understood you two. Hallmark knows that little squabbles can’t erase this deeper truth. For this one day, for this one transaction, Hallmark has elevated both of you to the pinnacle of your love.

Many men make one more stop: the florist. Yes, it’s a scam that rose prices skyrocket for 24 hours every year. Yes, he’s going to be out $100 or more if he splurges on a dozen. Yet there he is, at the counter, proving to himself and everyone else in the store that he’s got what it takes. He’s got someone who makes him feel like a good man, someone who makes him want to be a better man. For this he will gladly pay more. The man walking out of the florist’s with an elegant bouquet is the envy of all who see him. He walks taller with an armful of flowers, majestic in the gesture, one of only a few during these post-feminist days where we allow men to be chivalrous.

Valentine’s Day may have started its priming effect several weeks ago, when the storefronts and marketing advertisements began to set the stage, when the pink and red and purple candy replaced the Christmas candy on the shelves.  We are coaxed along by Hallmark, pulled into a cerebral foreplay that culminates in this one day in which the sentiments of love and pride glide us through our parenting and work hours. It’s a big night for babysitters. Men and women will primp for dinner. Guys will shower and shave after work, put on a nice shirt, maybe even a jacket. Gals shave their legs, put on heels and something revealing cleavage, even though it’s the middle of winter. Each vows to be on their best behavior. To make sure to compliment their mate. To let any small thing slide tonight.

Because tonight is their night. Regardless that Hallmark started it, these two have taken it as their own. Valentine’s Day primes us to remember how much we do love the other person, how much we love being loved by them. Hallmark’s insistence at Valentine’s Day saves marriage. So on behalf of all the people who will not initiate divorce proceedings tomorrow, let’s hear it for the contrived, fake, consumer-driven bullshit holiday makers. Hurray for Hallmark!

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 ¹ Divorce information based on the folks at the National Center for Family & Marriage Research (NCFMR) at Bowling Green State University, who found that, despite a growth in divorce rate for those over 50 – go Boomers – the overall rate has remained unchanged since 1990.