Love lost in Valentine’s commercial spectacle
It’s the Valentines’ time of the year these days. Valentine’s Day, as it is celebrated today, presents itself as a timeless festival of love. In reality, it is a carefully assembled product of literary invention, marketing strategy, and global consumer culture. What was once a quiet expression of affection has been converted into a high-pressure commercial event, where emotions are measured through spending, visibility, and compliance with trends. This transformation has not only diluted the meaning of love but has also misdirected young people into confusing consumption with connection.
At its core, the modern Valentine’s Day rests on a fragile myth. The historical figures named Saint Valentine were Christian martyrs, remembered for faith and sacrifice, not romance. The association between 14 February and romantic love emerged much later, largely through medieval European poetry, particularly the work of Geoffrey Chaucer. Over centuries, this literary idea evolved into a cultural custom, and eventually into a global commercial event. The version of Valentine’s Day we encounter today, defined by chocolates, roses, candlelight dinners, and curated social media posts, is not an ancient tradition but a modern construction shaped by market logic.
The real shift occurred when love was made legible to markets. Once affection could be standardised, packaged, and sold, it became profitable. Valentine’s Day moved from being a personal choice to a social obligation. Advertising reframed ordinary products as emotional necessities. Chocolates became proof of care, jewellery became evidence of commitment, and dinner reservations became indicators of effort. The message was subtle but consistent: love must be demonstrated, and demonstration requires spending.
For young people, this message lands at a particularly vulnerable moment. Youth is a phase marked by identity formation, emotional exploration, and a desire for acceptance. Valentine’s Day marketing exploits these sensitivities with precision. It creates artificial deadlines like Valentine’s Week, themed days, limited-edition gifts, and amplifies a sense of FOMO, i.e. fear of missing out. Forgetting a gift or opting out of the ritual is framed as emotional failure. In this environment, affection becomes a performance evaluated by peers, algorithms, and brands.
Social media intensifies this distortion. Platforms reward visibility, not sincerity. A handwritten note or a quiet conversation holds little value in a culture that prioritises aesthetic displays and public validation. Influencer-driven campaigns reinforce the idea that love should look a certain way, which is stylised, branded, and shareable. Even when users recognise sponsored content, repetition normalises the behaviour. Over time, young people internalise the script: if love is real, it must be visible; if it is visible, it must be consumable.
Quick-commerce platforms have now added another layer of pressure. By marketing speed as care — “last-minute delivery”, “don’t let them down” - they monetise anxiety itself. Emotional responsibility is converted into a transaction, and relief is sold at a premium. Instead of encouraging thoughtfulness, such systems reward urgency and impulsive spending. Love becomes less about intention and more about logistics.
The consequences of this shift are not trivial. Financial stress is the most obvious outcome. Students and early earners feel compelled to spend beyond their means to meet expectations shaped by advertising rather than reality. Emotional insecurity follows close behind. Those who cannot or choose not to participate may feel inadequate, excluded, or behind their peers. Relationships, too, suffer when affection is reduced to optics. When gestures are performed for validation rather than meaning, intimacy becomes fragile and transactional.
Perhaps the most troubling impact is the gradual erosion of emotional literacy. Valentine’s Day marketing teaches young people that feelings must be expressed through products, not presence. It sidelines patience, listening, and care - qualities that sustain relationships over time - in favour of spectacle and immediacy. Love is no longer something to be cultivated; it is something to be proven on cue.
This commercial framing also sits uneasily within the Indian cultural context. Bharat has never lacked ways to honour love, companionship, and devotion. Festivals and social practices have long integrated affection with responsibility, community, and continuity. Love has been expressed through duty, care, shared rituals, and long-term commitment, not through one-day performances. The imported model of Valentine’s Day, driven by individualism and consumption, disrupts these rhythms by isolating emotion from context and responsibility.
This is not an argument against romance or celebration. It is a critique of the framework that governs them. Love does not lose value because it is modern, but because it is monetised. When emotions are shaped to fit market calendars, they lose their autonomy. Young people are not misguided because they want to love, but because they are taught that love must follow a script written by advertisers.
Reclaiming the spirit of love requires reclaiming emotional agency. It means recognising that affection does not need deadlines, hashtags, or price tags. It thrives in sincerity, not scarcity. A meaningful relationship is not built in a week of themed days, but in everyday acts of attention and respect. When young people are freed from the pressure to perform love, they are better able to understand it.
Valentine’s Day, as it stands, offers a narrow and commercialised definition of affection. By questioning its assumptions, youth can begin to separate feeling from marketing and connection from consumption. Love, after all, is not a product to be purchased once a year. It is a practice, shaped by time, care, and intention — something no market can truly sell.
The writer is commentator on socio-political issues; views are personal
