My parents have often mentioned, if not full-out argued, that Valentine’s Day was created and perpetuated by Hallmark. It’s a bogus holiday. We don’t get a day off, and feel obligated to eat waxy chocolate (or buy the discount waxy chocolate at Shopper’s the day after, like me). Wikipedia’s entry notes:
The day is most closely associated with the mutual exchange of love notes in the form of “valentines”. The sending of Valentines was a fashion in nineteenth-century Great Britain, and, in 1847, Esther Howland developed a successful business in her Worcester, Massachusetts home with hand-made Valentine cards based on British models. The popularity of Valentine cards in 19th century America was a harbinger of the future commercialization of holidays in the United States.
The U.S. Greeting Card Association estimates that approximately one billion valentines are sent each year worldwide, making the day the second largest card-sending holiday of the year, behind Christmas. The association estimates that, in the US, men spend on average twice as much money as women.
Yikes. So not only is Valentine’s Day likely such a prominently advertised holiday because of its revenue-generating mastery for U.S. Greeting Card companies, but it’s also the monster responsible for the gross commercialization of every other holiday in the West. Quite the culprit.
Despite these unfortunate repercussions, I enjoy any holiday that gives me the opportunity to make a card (take THAT, Hallmark!). I love making cards. Actually, if I could start a side business making greeting cards out of old magazines and photographs and glitter pens, I would be ecstatic (something to think about? Boozy Best Wishes by Jessica?). I’m a firm believer that a card makes a gift, or that a card is a gift in and of itself. If you can’t afford to buy someone a gift, make a card – it shows that you’ve taken the time and effort for that person, and you aren’t just a lazy, broke bastard. But this year, I must admit, I wasn’t really on my game. Instead, I used My Pet Monster valentines from Dollarama (reminiscent of the valentines shared among classmates in elementary school) because they were funny (who remembers My Pet Monster?) and quick (busy week, I swear!). But they really didn’t have the same effect as a handmade card, so I’ve learned my lesson on that one. Perhaps I should start making cards in anticipation of holidays, or have a collection of emergency handmade cards? Is that getting a little too I-live-with-eight-cats?
Matt and I are not really the type of couple to go apeshit over holidays like Valentine’s Day. We went out for dinner and to a movie on the 12th to avoid the crowds that would be flocking to the theatres on the 14th. We saw Taken, which was a pretty decent, no-bullshit action movie that I enjoyed until the ending (why do they have to pull that on you minutes before the credits roll?!). On Saturday we spent the day laying around watching Mantracker episodes (from the first season DVD that I gave Matt for the faux-holiday), made lasagna for dinner, and rented a few movies (The Foot Fist Way – not your typical Danny McBride/Will Ferrell movie, but worth the cost of renting it for a stoner afternoon; and W – boring!). It was all very laid back. In fact, our entire weekend was a pajama-wearing, movie-watching, weed-smoking, bad food-eating extravaganza of epic proportions. Needless to say, I’m a little groggy today. And my pants are a little on the tight side. I kinda feel like I just got out of a scumbag competition and now I have to detox my poor, abused body.
At any rate, the long weekend is over, what with the extra “Louis Riel Day” off (“Family Day” if you’re in Ontario or Saskatchewan, “Heritage Day” if you’re in Alberta, or “Regular Ass Monday” if you’re anywhere else in the country), and now I’m regretting, just the littlest bit, that I did nothing by way of ‘work’ or ‘exercise’ this weekend. My course could use the defibrillators, but I’ve done nothing to shock that puppy back to life as of yet. Thank god it’s reading week. And, in fact, I’ve missed not just this weekend, but an entire week at the gym, which is exacerbated by the fact that my stomach (and probably thighs, by now) is filled with waxy Shopper’s discount chocolate.
But this gets me thinking about/over-analyzing stupid bullshit holidays: is it odd to anyone else that the tradition of Valentine’s Day essentially amounts to a glorification of mainstream, arguably heterosexual, consumerist ‘love’ – yet if you consumed as much shit as these corporations are peddling you’d balloon out to a version of yourself that is socially unacceptable? As the ever-so-helpful (but not academic, remember that, kids!) Wikipedia tells us, the U.S. Greeting Card Association estimates that, in the U.S., men spend on average twice as much money as women on Valentine’s Day crap, including chocolate or ‘confectionery’. But if girlfriend chows down on those candy hearts/edible undies/chocolate flowers and starts to gain a few, she enters the dreaded No Fat Chicks zone of female body classification. Not to mention the ways in which Valentine’s Day has been advertised as one that is specifically the responsibility of men: you better get her some goddamn flowers or heart-shaped candy or SOMETHING, you idiot, or she’s not gonna wear that ridiculously uncomfortable lingerie and fuck you while wearing heels. And it’s become ingrained in a lot of women, I think, to expect something for Valentine’s Day – not just a card, but something big, a PRESENT. It seems that V-Day is the one special day when the cries of Independent Women are turned down a couple notches in favor of Buy Me Stuff to Prove Your Love. What about paying your own bills and all that shit? Right? Beyonce? What about using a measure of appreciation other than a new bag/ring/pair of shoes/wine-making kit (okay, so that last one would actually be awesome).
Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, and in all honesty, I see nothing wrong with doing something special together or making each other gifts or cards – especially given that, in my experience, it becomes harder and harder to find the time to spend with one another as jobs and life get in the way. But this preoccupation with getting and receiving gifts? At the core, it’s a little ridiculous. And I say that knowing that 1) I bought a gift for Matt and failed to give him a handmade card this year, and 2) who am I kidding? I’m a huge fan of receiving gifts, particularly if they involve making my own moonshine. But there’s something to be said for over-analyzing holidays that are designed to make you spend too much money on flowers that will die in a week, eat bad food (which you will eventually feel bad about), wear terrible holiday-themed clothing, or feel bad about yourself if you aren’t in a relationship with someone who will buy you said wilting flowers or bad food or terrible holiday-themed clothing.
I suppose, at the least, being aware of the hypocrisy and ridiculousness of it all is a step toward holiday sanity.
Filed under: Awesome | Tagged: body image, homelife, Ice Cream Cohen, navel gazing
