This Valentine’s Day (for some odd reason) I was really excited. I kept mulling over the various festivities planned around the holiday, the seasonal rose/lavender coffee blends, and the decor that encompassed department stores and the like. More than just seeing the world in pretty pinks, purples, and reds, I was most looking forward to buying Valentine’s Day-themed goodies; CVS, Paper Source, and the Washington General Store were just a few of the stores on Washington Street that looped an invisible lasso around my wrist pulling me in every time I’d walk by. Or maybe there was some shift in Earth’s magnetic field attracting me to these stores. Whatever the attraction was, my consumerist obsession felt supernatural.
But why?
I would not describe myself as a “materialistic” person. I like to think that I’m stronger than falling into the traps of attractive social media ads, emails from companies announcing 20% discounts on the whole store, and “BOGO” deals in clothing stores, but something about marketable holidays puts me in the spending mood.
Despite the existence of four main seasons, department stores seem to observe ten: Winter, Valentine’s Day, Spring, Summer, Independence Day, Back-to-School, Autumn, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas; every change in “season” results in the gears of capitalistic marketing to turn, churning out festive decorations without sparing any expense. In fact, if you ever wake up with amnesia, walking into a department store should help you figure out an approximate date.
Back to my weird obsession with Valentine’s Day; I am not embarrassed to say that I love love, but I am embarrassed to admit how enamored I was with the simple frivolity of it all; Tik Toks depicting groups of girls making heart-shaped pizzas, dainty pink and red heart-shaped jewelry, chocolate-covered berries, it all seemed so fun. But the more I kept thinking about it, the more I realized that my emotions were being influenced solely by the potential of purchasing something that would only partially satisfy my consumerist mentality. This was when I realized that I, in fact, was not as strong-willed as I had assumed against materialistic and bourgeois-esque marketing, for lack of a better term.
I tried to think of some solutions or coping mechanisms for dealing with capitalistic withdrawal. One idea was to reject the holiday completely by staying away from stores and turning a cheek on targeted ads. While this tactic might have been effective, it removes any sense of fun with the holiday. Another idea was to allocate budgets to how much I spent on each type of product. But even that seemed like taking a bite out of different flavored pies, which would ultimately be unsatisfying.
But the best way to celebrate a holiday without conforming to capitalistic expectations is more simple than I thought: put energy into celebrating the holiday over buying it. While it might be fun to buy Valentines for your friends, maybe bake them a treat instead. Or if you’re adamant about decorating your apartment with hearts and cupids, maybe reuse an old V-Day outfit from years passed. At the end of the day, it’s up to you how you choose to celebrate holidays, but it’s important to be wary of the capitalist holiday trap.
If you’re anything like me, it’s crazy how easy it is to get roped into seasonal changes and feel the need to center a moment of your life around a singular holiday, but it’s important to remember how much waste the materialistic aspects of these holidays produce. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to buy gifts for your loved ones, decorating your apartment with seasonal embellishments and adornments, or wanting to buy a new outfit for a themed party. However, it’s also important to remember the true purpose of each holiday, whether it’s spending time with friends and family, catching up over home cooked meals, or however you choose to celebrate.
