Valentine’s Day: A rant about the shlockiest day on the calendar
St. Valentine has as much to do with romantic love as the Easter bunny has to do with the Resurrection, but that doesn’t stop the hawkers of all
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St. Valentine has about as much to do with romantic love as the Easter bunny has to do with the Resurrection, but that doesn’t stop the hawkers of all the red hearts and lace out there from colouring our view of passion.
The association of red with love might be a no-brainer, given its natural connection to the colour of the blood that pumps from the heart and the fiery spark that lights a flame. In my view, however, that is no excuse for the rash of hideous red tat that pollutes shop windows at this time of year.
Please, for the love of love itself, do not stoop to honour the gods of Hallmark with gifts of red lingerie (terrible against the skin — particularly the cheesy-white skin of winter), chocolate-dipped strawberries (a loathsome and tacky combination that manages to come off as retro without the irony) or even red roses.
Dear gentleman readers: Red roses might have a certain classic ’50s charm, but so do boomerang coffee tables and Liberace. Every single woman I know would way prefer to be reminded of you with a dozen delicate white or creamy pink roses sitting prettily in a vase in their living room than with roses the alarming hue of a stop sign.
Surely love is more subtly flavoured than a cinnamon heart and better looking than a king-sized bed with red satin sheets. Red lips and nails might be effectively come hither, but that does not mean we should seize the opportunity to dip everything in Red Dye No. 2 while abandoning all semblance of taste. And as for that Lady in Red conceit, I don’t find red dresses particularly sensual, given that they inevitably remind one of Nancy Reagan.
The colour red’s dirty little secret is that along with sharing cultural associations of romantic love, it’s also connected in our minds with danger and power. French revolutionaries and Mao’s army wore red caps and VIPs enter on red carpets.
Perhaps because of these mixed messages, it delivers an oddly moralizing message. Satan himself is often depicted as having a bright red skin down to his arrowhead tail. And red-light districts make their purposes known the world over with an illicit red glow.
So tied into these mixed associations has the colour red become that in Saudi Arabia — which, along with fellow Islamic nations Pakistan and Iran has strongly condemned the celebration of Valentine’s Day — religious police have banned red-themed shop windows as “too Christian.”
If only they could be banned here for being too ugly.
And then there’s the matter of the heart symbol. As I understand it, the heart, while essential in its dogged continuance of life itself, is a rather simple muscle. Worshipping it is like worshipping the human body’s equivalent to a pumping station. Far better to develop something thematic around a much sexier organ, like the brain.
Which makes one wonder, if one had the opportunity to give Valentine’s Day a makeover, what would a more fitting and stylish celebration of love actually look like?
In my version of Valentine’s Day, it would be all about pleasurable indulgence — but not of the chocolate-dipped strawberry and pink champagne kind. Indeed, there would be no particular thematic motif or colour, which is not to say it wouldn’t be celebrated.
Lovers would mark the occasion by lazing about in the bed and bath, reading snippets of the paper to each other over pots of coffee and eventually arose to rustle up something delicious to eat.
Later, they might exchange small heartfelt tokens and handwritten notes, nothing practical or aimed in any way at improving the other, or tied with cellophane or a Mylar balloon.
There would be wine and music and they would enjoy each other’s company. Workplaces would be closed. Smartphones, tablets and laptops would be unplugged. There would be no “connecting” via Instagram, Pinterest or Twitter. For what in the end could be more romantic and indulgent to give each other but that elegant classic, time?
Karen von Hahn is a Toronto-based writer, trend observer and style commentator. Contact her at email@example.com .
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