Valentine 2016 – How commercialized is your love ?

Valentine, a word denoted by a lot of giving and receiving. Depending on which end of this double-headed arrow strikes, you can either be the happiest girl in the world or the girl at the other end of the phone line who’s seemingly sucking the happiness out of everyone else’s holiday.

Personally, I believe that Valentine’s Day is equivalent to Vagina day. So much work goes into stroking a woman’s ego in hopes of ending up with a nice piece of the pie. Let’s face it; there just aren’t that many Romeo’s running around out there but a heck of a lot more “Crouching tiger hidden dragons,” if you ask me.

How can we summarize the likelihood of getting laid on Valentine’s day into a simple equation?

Panties dropping = (How many roses my Amex can charge)
MULTIPLIED BY
(My ability to get a dinner reservation at a Michelin star restaurant for the week of Feb 14th)
PLUS
(Whether or not I’m able to decipher if our relationship is at the La Perla lingerie stage or Louboutin Stage to stride deep into my Valentine’s heart, soul, and possibly other tiny places.)

If this equation sounds about right to you, it highlights my impetus to this post. Like everything else in NYC, Valentine’s Day is immersed in an enormous commercial cloud. It’s easy to lose the actual meaning of the holiday and become a cheap over-commercialized consequence yourself. Being a Valentine and becoming a victim of Valentine’s Day is easily blurred when you decide to celebrate the things we love as women instead of the reason we love.

I’m not going to be a hypocrite and say that the gifts and the fluff don’t matter. Of course it does! If you suck all the preparation out of anything, it’s equivalent to taking all the magic and romance out of it. I do care that my roses came from Landeau and not from Gristedes. That isn’t to say that if I got grocery store roses from my beau, I wouldn’t be ok.

The 2016 woman is constantly being invited to question what’s social-media-acceptable and what’s ok for her. Scrolling through your timeline on Vday you’re bound to see a perfectly poised Instagram model toting a bouquet that looks like it’s her entire weight in roses. It’s probably not so easy to look over at a dozen red roses filled with baby’s breath and feel like you’re the best thing that ever happened to your Valentine after seeing that.

Do not feel guilty for these thoughts, it’s entirely human to have them. Just keep scrolling, you can do it. There you go It’s gone!
Try to feel happy for what you do have independent of how small it is or how inconsequential it may seem, it’s your story, your timeline, and you have the power to modify it if you feel like a bigger bouquet would make you a happier person. Decide what it is that you desire the most this Valentine’s and hopefully, there is someone else out there with desires that complement your own. You have nothing to loose. If you put it out there it will come. Even if you’re separated by the widest ocean, it will find you.

I’m a super sappy helpless romantic. ” I am someone who is looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.” I do not exactly have the closet of Carrie Bradshaw from the movie just yet, but this is me, and I am this!

A huge part of being in love and learning how to give love starts with loving yourself. I know it sounds very elementary but how many of us wake up feeling beautiful every morning? When we’re not battling skin issues, it’s bloating issues, people talking bad things about my look issues, diet issues, boob issues, hair issues, just overall I’m-not-happy-with-the-way-I-look issues. Now let’s add finding love to this conundrum. Doesn’t exactly make things easier for anyone on Valentine’s Day now does it.

My hands, my knees and my elbows are pitch black. I honestly look like someone took a paint brush and painted over all my joints. I find loads of reassurance in my baby smooth skin. I’ve grown to love my black arms, knees, and elbows so much so that a picture of me in this peony lace blouse would not look the same unless my chocolatey-plum elbows peeked through at both joints.

Self-love checklist complete, I’m able to get dolled up in Zimmerman like Beyonce in Reformation, and enjoy a Valentine’s Day cloaked in love and feeling myself at the same dam time.