As far as Valentine's Day is concerned, I have a distinctly ambivalent relationship with it. Not because I fundamentally question attention, demonstrations of love, or commemorative days, but because I generally become skeptical when occasions for giving and receiving gifts are primarily about marketing. And Valentine's Day is a prime example of this. Year after year, we are supposed to believe that romance in a relationship is astonishingly easy to achieve: flowers, an invitation to dinner, sexy lingerie, or a new perfume. If all else fails, five red roses from the discount store in plastic wrap will do.
Even if you sometimes don't want to believe it: communication in a relationship is a bit more complex than the language of flowers. You know – red roses mean "I desire you," yellow roses "we should talk." Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against flowers. But I don't like substitute actions. Not as proof of performance. Not as an obligation. And certainly not because of a guilty conscience. In this regard, Valentine's Day is both a curse and an opportunity. Because it is as suitable as a potential pitfall as it is as a recurring reminder. Relationships require continuous attention and not a calendar day.
Originally, Valentine's Day was neither a flower nor a chocolate event. The legend of Saint Valentine tells of secret marriages, of couples brought together against external resistance, of commitment as a conscious decision. Love was not a consumer good, but a promise. Much later, with industrialization and mass culture, love was given a date on the calendar with the expectation: please feel today. Please be romantic today. What was lost in the process was the actual idea: intimacy does not arise from an occasion, but through trust and loyalty. And that is something that cannot be done sporadically or casually checked off. You have to work for it.
In this context, a term has emerged in recent years that has become astonishingly popular: Love Language. It originally comes from couples therapy and describes different ways of expressing or perceiving affection through words, actions, gifts, time, or touch. At the time, it was intended as an observational model. In practice, however, it is often used today like a relationship personality test: once assigned, forever explained, and finally a guide to intimacy. The problem: unfortunately, relationships don't work like a vacuum cleaner with an instruction manual. A everyday example illustrates this: one person plans dinner for a romantic evening for two. The other comes home exhausted, opens a beer, grabs a bag of chips, turns on the TV, and watches football. Both try. Both feel misunderstood. Each means intimacy - and sends a signal that is not understood on the other side. Football is not a drama. But it is also not what you would expect from a "French Lover." In other words: intimacy rarely fails due to a lack of affection, but due to misunderstood communication. The result is then instead of "Can't Get Enough," possibly a "Red Flag" that the other person doesn't even notice.
Intimacy is not created by symbolic overfulfillment. It is created by everyday attention. Through communication that not only sends, but also receives. And this is exactly where Valentine's Day could become interesting - provided it is not seen as an obligation, but as a recurring reality check in terms of relationships. It is no coincidence that fragrance can play a significant role in this context. A perfume explains nothing, promises a lot, but demands nothing. You wear it for someone or just for yourself. You share it or keep it. Fragrance is communication without a voice. And perhaps that is why it is often more honest, romantic, and emotional than any well-intentioned gesture. Valentine's Day does not have to be abolished, but should take place much more often than once a year. Because feelings rarely show themselves on February 14, but almost always on the days before and after.
