The romance reset, no one thought to market
By February 15, the red-tinted fever dream of the Romance Industrial Complex has finally broken. The wilted roses are hitting the bins, the overpriced meals have vanished, and the performative pressure to be chosen has retreated into the shadows. Welcome to Singles Awareness Day. A date that, despite its unfortunate acronym, serves as the unofficial New Year’s Day for the single pringles.
Every February, the algorithm decides what love should look like. Public, paired and photogenic. But if you are single, it whispers to you, sometimes gently, sometimes with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, that you are missing out.
For years, I treated the 14th like a storm I had to weather. Internally, I’d turn into the Valentine’s Day Grinch, cueing my “Mama G” persona. I’d avoid social media’s rose-petal-strewn minefield and wait for the clock to strike midnight so I could return to my regularly scheduled programming.
But this year, as the calendar flipped to February 15, something shifted. I realised I didn’t want to just pull through the aftermath of a Hallmark holiday; I wanted to reclaim it.
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The narrative we inherited
Culturally, single women are rarely positioned as important. Self-love is still love, but Valentine’s marketing reflects a bias. Gift guides assume you are buying for someone else. Campaign imagery centres on candlelit tables for two. Even brand campaigns lean heavily into romance as validation. But what if that framing is incomplete?
The industry sells coupling as completion. Yet there is something undeniably powerful about dressing up for none other than yourself and lighting a candle without an audience. That is the version of romance no one thought to market.
Welcome to my version of Singles Awareness Day. While the rest of the world is waking up to half-priced chocolate and the inevitable post-date hangover, I am waking up to the realisation that my autonomy is the most luxurious thing I own.
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I’m the main character, and I love it
Since I am my own greatest love story for now, I decided to treat the protagonist with the care she deserves. I started my morning not by checking a “Good morning, beautiful” text that definitely didn’t arrive, but by engaging in a skincare routine so long and meticulous it feels like a mini spa retreat. There’s a quiet satisfaction in starting the day knowing the only person who needs to notice the glow is the one looking back at you in the mirror.
There was a time when the shadow of coupledom left me feeling quietly discouraged, as though I was the only one without the “him” to my “her”. But lately, I’ve found a steadier understanding: I am content with the way things are.
On the day itself, I didn’t spiral into the familiar “God, when will it be my turn?” refrain. I didn’t measure my life against bouquets or gift boxes. Instead, I filled the hours with things that I loved, and that felt entirely my own— such as doing my nails, or even watching my favourite artist perform.
After a day as amplified as Valentine’s Day, it’s easy to spiral into questions about timing — about why love hasn’t appeared yet, and whether you’re somehow behind. But I’ve realised that being single isn’t a delay in the story. If anything, your story is actually still unfolding just in its own steady, deliberate way.
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A hopeless romantic in my own right
Not to confuse everyone, I love Love. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic at heart: fascinated by the thought of shared glances, late-night conversations, and the kind of tenderness that takes your breath away. Being single doesn’t erase that longing; it simply means I get to hold it quietly and let it grow without pressure.
Some days, the yearning for a significant other hits sharply, like a soft pang reminding me that love is still something I want. But over the years, I’ve learned that it isn’t about rushing, forcing, or settling. It’s about timing. When it comes, it will come, not to totally redefine the trajectory of my life, but as a complement to one I’m already living fully.
Until then, I won’t suppress my romantic heart. I let it exist alongside my independence and daily choices to love myself first. And in that space, I’ve discovered something unexpected: the anticipation of love can be just as sweet as its arrival.
The reflection I’ve been waiting for
Looking back, I realised Valentine’s Day was never off-limits to me. It didn’t require a partner to be meaningful — only perspective. And so, on February 15, I don’t mourn the end of Valentine’s Day. I scroll past couples’ posts with curiosity and am fully at peace in my own story. Let the world have its bouquets and dinner reservations. For now, I choose the unshakable peace of a life lived on my own terms.
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