Please don’t be my Valentine

Every year, when the February rush of romance and joy comes around, all I can think about is how incredibly exhausting it gets. I’m aromantic, and I have no desire to participate in the machinations of the hyped-up, romance-obsessed Valentine’s month that my peers idolize. Now, by no means do I speak for any aromantic experience other than my own; no two are the same or even necessarily similar. But aromanticism is an orientation that is quite unknown in the first place. 

Aromanticism is defined as experiencing little to no romantic attraction. This falls under the concept of the split attraction model, wherein your romantic and sexual orientation may not line up perfectly. Falling anywhere along the spectrum of aromanticism can be alienating when you are living in a society that is saturated with romance from every angle. Romance is the norm, the expectation, the universally agreed-upon desire. However, the desire for romance is something I’ve never experienced. 

For me, being aromantic manifested in a ton of confusion growing up, as the world around me was—and still is—full of love stories, from Disney princesses to family members consistently asking if you have a partner yet. Because it is always a “yet.” The majority of alloromantic people (those who experience romantic attraction) are so conditioned to the pervasive romantic narrative that the possibility of not partnering up with anyone is not even considered. From the time I was around ten years old, the crazy cat lady trope seemed like the best option for me. When the jokes of being forever alone were everywhere in tween-age meme culture, this resonated with me a little more strongly than it did for the rest of my friends. 

Being forever alone was supposed to be self-deprecating, and not an ideal outcome. So, then came the years of denial: of mixing up platonic attraction with romantic; of choosing your crushes so you could have someone to pretend to like when it inevitably came up; of avoiding the people who wanted to ask these questions in the first place; of carefully sliding out of these conversations and being boring enough to not get asked twice. Everywhere I looked, there seemed to be an indication that something was wrong when the thought of being in a relationship made me severely uncomfortable (which is not the experience of every aromantic person, but is definitely mine). 

Slowly, I learned that you can’t necessarily live a life without romance, but you can live a life where you don’t feel any desire for it, regardless of your sexual orientation. 

As I have continued to grow older (and hopefully wiser), I have come to terms with being aromantic in a world that is so filled with romance. There is no doubt in my mind that it is hard, and it wears on me; some days it can almost feel like I just wasn’t made for this world.  However, I am also grateful for my aromantic identity. It gives me a unique perspective in a world that is focused on how finding love creates forms of belonging in life. Instead, I search for belonging in other places, and get to look at the world from an entirely different point of view. 

Within this worldview, I have noticed aspects of society that don’t necessarily surround romance, and come to appreciate their importance. I have noticed how conversations about the variation of attraction and emotion can benefit everyone, not only those who do not experience romantic attraction. So, I urge anyone who may engage with this article to interrogate your own experiences in a way that you may not have done before. 

Make an attempt to appreciate your platonic attraction, aesthetic attraction, and romantic attraction. Take a moment to think about how these separate entities interact with each other. See how they might change your assessment of and appreciation for people and things in your own life. In a world that is so concerned with romance, see what happens if you take some time to critically acknowledge the ways that romance permeates media and consumerism. Analyze the narratives that claim there is only one correct romantic partner or relationship for everyone in this world, and that ending up with them should be your life’s goal. 

I think that you may come to find that there are more assumptions about how you should live your romantic life than you realise. I challenge you to question where your desires actually stand within these realities, and to reflect on what you find when you look at the world in light of how romance affects it. 

None of this is to say that romance is not a valuable and occasionally lovely thing when you experience it. I simply challenge you to look at friendships, ambitions, and even romantic relationships in a way that is aware of the fact that romance is not the be-all and end-all for everyone. And that you don’t have to experience it in the same way that the media chooses to portray it to be valid in your own experiences. There are myriad ways to experience anything in this lifetime, and so I would like to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day, in a purely platonic way.