And once more, on Valentine’s, I am alone.
Many people would pity me. So, maybe, do you. That’s not a bad thing, but I do find it a little strange. Why is it pitiable not to have a romantic partner?
I’m 21, and I’ve never dated or had sex. But I am not lonely. I have so many friends that I love with all my heart, and I’m grateful beyond words to be part of their lives.
Does that seem like an unsatisfying life? It doesn’t feel like one. So why do we prioritize Valentine’s so much that retail stores flood with pink, red, and cupcakes, but I had to Google “Best Friend Day” because I didn’t know it?
A history of Valentine’s
Valentine’s Day didn’t start out as a romantic holiday. The first association between Valentine’s Day and romantic love is credited to Geoffrey Chaucer, in Parlement of Foules (or, in modern English: Parliment of Fowls, which means a meeting of birds).
In the poem, the dreaming narrator observes a court meeting presided over by Nature, in which a female eagle is proposed to by many birds.
You know that on Saint Valentine’s day,
Geoffrey Chaucer
By my statute and through my governance,
You come to choose – and then fly your way –
Your mates, as I your desires enhance.
Nature, the speaker in this quote, tells the female eagle that, because it is Saint Valentine’s Day, she will choose a mate.
Following this poem in the 14th Century, the 14th of February became associated with a day celebrating romance and love. There are many legends and potential reasons why, but today, the connection is undeniable.
Queer exclusion
Valentine’s Day is, in the present day, defined by romance and sex. But that definition is narrow and strict.
The ‘normal’ way to do romance and sex is to be a woman who has been a woman since birth, and love a man who has been a man since birth, and follow all the traditions about how to be “in love.” If you have babies, if the woman cooks, if you “do love” correctly enough, supposedly, you will be happy.
But that’s not true for everyone. In fact, I bet it’s not true for most people.
Queer people, those under the LGBTQ+ spectrum, have existed for millennia, but are often excluded or ignored from public life. Think of the oft-quoted “historians will say they were best friends” in reference to the frequent editing out of gay people from history.
We’ve had to fight to gain recognition in the public eye—sometimes literally. Pride was originally a riot. But not all queer identities are seen equally. Gay men face hate and discrimination. Still, they feature in popular media such as Heartstopper. Lesbians feature less, but it’s still not too hard to understand that a woman may want to kiss another woman.
What if I don’t want to kiss anyone?
The label asexuality refers to people who don’t feel sexually attracted to anyone. It is not innocence or naiveté, as often stereotyped; it is just how I exist. If this is hard to picture, just imagine someone you’re not attracted to. Not someone you’re disgusted by, just a blank slate. Now imagine feeling that way about everyone.
The label aromantic is similar, but refers to not feeling romantically attracted to anyone. Aromantic people are often stereotyped as soulless, cold, and unfeeling. That’s not true; they just don’t feel the same things you might.
Within both of these labels, there are many smaller and more specific labels. Auntie Dyke at Trill goes in depth about asexuality in “Dear Auntie Dyke: Can I Actually Say “Dyke,” the second letter response, although I recommend reading the whole article.
On her Instagram, asexual activist Yasmin Benoit calls out commenters calling for pride to be an exclusively sexual space.
In the description of this post, Benoit writes: “Ironically, [asexual discrimination] often comes from some members of the queer community, in a bid to keep the space as exclusionary as possible”
So even as gayness becomes more acceptable, romance and sex remain entwined. I took years to begin to wonder if I could have sex without romance, or romance without sex. Even challenging the ‘normal’ idea of a relationship by separating its conjoined parts brought me weird looks and judgment.
“Do I have to be asexual to not want sex?” You may be asking, and the answer is no! You can not want sex—or not want romance—for plenty of reasons. The sad truth, however, is that not wanting romance or sex is a neglected conversation.
Primacy of sex and romance
Our culture is just about drowning in romance and sex. My grandparents would ask, “Do you have a boyfriend yet?” I remember friends becoming distant, drifting away, because all their attention was on their romantic partners.
Moving through the world as someone who just didn’t understand all the hype… it was confusing. I saw sex as this inevitable looming stormcloud.
It’s not bad for children to be exposed to romance, and I’m certainly not advocating for censorship. I do wish friendships were considered just as important, though.
Have you ever heard romance described as “I want to be more than friends?” That has never made sense to me. Why do friends have to be less, just because you want your relationship with this person to be different?
Or in movies and tv shows, when two characters are very close, the internet seems to have differing opinions. They’re either “obviously in love,” or they’re “brothers/sisters.” Why are those the only options?
My best friend is my favorite person in the world. She wouldn’t be demoted or removed from that spot if I started dating. If anything, I’d just add a second person to the category of “favorite person.”
So this year Valentine’s Day has come around again, and I once again don’t have a romantic partner. I have been told so often that I am alone, without a romantic partner, I’ve learned to believe it. I wonder why we care so much about if people have romance. Shouldn’t it be more important to ask if people feel loved?
Queer law: this is where it gets complicated
While the primacy of romance and sex has consequences, it has many benefits, too. The oversaturation of straight, “normal” romance has led many queer kids to not recognize themselves. I did not know anyone could feel the way I did, because I had never seen it before, and so I spent twenty years trying to be someone else.
We are celebrating our queerness to make ourselves heard, to remind the country of our existence, and to display our willingness to fight for ourselves.
Auntie Dyke at Trill
America has allowed gay couples to marry since 2015. That’s not that long ago, and with a rise of conservatism, our rights are under threat again. That’s scary!
It’s so important, right now, to have queer representation. As conservatives try to wipe evidence of queer people from literature, we need loud, bold, and visible gayness in spaces where kids can see it and learn: this is normal.
Valentine’s shouldn’t NOT exist…
…. but how can we improve it? How can we expand the definition of what is acceptable, so people who don’t love in straight, cisgender ways can feel seen in Valentine’s Day celebrations?
I used the word queering in the title of this article, and I’d like to explain it. It’s one of my favorite words. Along with the more common use of the word queer to refer to anyone under the LGBTQ+ spectrum, it also means doing things differently. “Queering” is an action word, a verb. It’s something I’m doing.
So “Queering” Valentine’s Day means doing Valentine’s Day differently. Loving in unexpected ways, making the day about loving your friends, being public about the unconventional part of your relationship(s).
If you’re in a straight relationship, but you do things differently: you don’t want kids, or maybe you engage in kink—you are queering, and I’m proud of you.
If you listen to anything from this article, listen to this. Hold hands with your friends. Love is not just for romance, and romance is not just for sex. So hear this: I love you. Yes, you. Now go tell that to someone else.
Ian :)
February 14, 2026 at 8:20 pm
woooooo!!!