Romance est mort, Vive romance!

Ah, Valentine’s Day. A celebration of humanity reaching the point where they have to be prompted to treat their someone special like they’re someone special, on one, predetermined day of the year. Surely there is no more conclusive proof that romance is dead.

The blatant, cheese-covered commercialism of occasions like today will ironically provide the final nail in its coffin. Most couples will exchange pricey, mass-produced, publicly-promoted gifts, and cards bearing someone else’s prewritten sentiment. I suppose they could be perceived as romantic if you like that kind of thing, but they could just as easily be thoughtlessly picked up in a petrol station on the way home from work, which is perhaps the least romantic thing in the world. On this day, even the most charming endeavour would lack sincerity and spontaneity, the fundamental principles of the romantic gesture.

‘Romance’ is big business these days – just ask jewellers, florists, greetings card manufacturers, confectioners, lingerie stores, perfumeries, and the many suppliers of ostentatious, overblown weddings. They, along with Hollywood and Disney, insist that the dream can be kept alive if we buy into their cutesy, saccharine version of it, when they’re actually among the assassins prepared to murder it for money.

We seem to have forgotten that it’s not about being needy and greedy, nor about grand gestures and expense. It doesn’t have to cost anything at all. Time, attention and affection are the most precious, irreplaceable things anyone can give or receive, and can’t be bought, even in the most exclusive department stores. It’s far sweeter than any box of chocolates when a suitor or significant other uses their intimate, individual knowledge of you to plan something that they know you’ll appreciate.

Personally, I’d rather go for a picnic in the park or a moonlit walk on the beach than stay on my best behaviour in a fancy restaurant or spend two hours ignoring each other at the cinema. If someone goes to the effort of cooking for me, I’ll value that more than overpriced gourmet food. The most gratefully received romantic gifts I’ve ever given were a sandwich, a poem and a photograph, and when I think back to the moments that have stolen my heart, the most significant were serenades, candlelit bubble baths, or just a few genuine words. Once, while at a concert with an ex-boyfriend, he went to the bathroom and returned having drawn a little portrait of me on a square of toilet paper, and I treasured that. To me it said that he was always thinking of me and missing me, even in those few minutes of functional separation. It really is the thought that counts.

Call me old fashioned and soppy, but I also despair of the selfish, cynical modern attitude to romance and this day seems to have become an ugly reflection of that. It’s fantastic that everyone now has the freedom to live and love however they want, and I’m all for that, but it’s not an easy time for the singles who favour the standards of yesteryear. 

Being a romantic has always had its downsides, it can give people hope where there is none, make them vulnerable to those who melt hearts only to stamp in the puddles they leave behind, and leave them crushed and lonely when disappointed. But this day and age increases the odds of those happening, as meeting people in the urban jungle relies on being agile enough to dodge the increasing amount of often determined, drunken and deceitful predators, without hiding from or growing fearful of everyone else. We’re persuaded that finding your perfect match is now only achievable by advertising, buying tickets to organised dating events, or filling out generic online questionnaires which will number-crunch compatibility for a membership fee, none of which appeal to the serendipitous romantic nature.

Rather than continue to evolve, it sometimes seems as though the human race has regressed to an almost Neanderthal approach, and it’s become the norm for both sexes to make meaningless sexual connections with multiple partners, so the monogamous and those looking for something deeper are ostracised. Don’t get me wrong, I’m wholeheartedly in support of equality, but I do think we’ve had to pay a high price for it with the considerable loss of courtesy, mystery, innocence, loyalty and respect from both sides of the great gender debate.

As hardly anyone expects to woo, be wooed or make a commitment any more, people put in as little effort as possible. Even that usually stops once they’ve got what they wanted, be it sex or a relationship. If the latter, it’s hardly surprising that so many fail when people get together for convenience, give nothing, completely take each other for granted, and cheat or walk away at the first sign of trouble.

True romance may seem like a rose-tinted fairy tale to others, and sometimes even to the believers in this gloomy 21^st century light, but that doesn’t make it a delusion. Happy-ever after or even just happy-for-the-foreseeable-future are easy given the right person, at the right time, in the right circumstances, with the right attitudes. When the right people are such dwindling numbers, the chances of finding and combining all of those factors may be reduced, but it is still attainable. As long as the minority stay strong and keep the faith, romance may yet be resurrected.

As with any endangered species, the planet would be far less beautiful and interesting if the habitat of the few remaining hopeless romantics is destroyed. Their survival requires that love can be given as part of a mind, body and soul package deal, and in the spirit of fair trade, the same is expected in return. They seek an equal who is willing to show love because they feel compelled to, regardless of what date it is or how much it costs, and until they come along, they’d rather remain alone with their fantasies than settle for anything less. If they track down that rare soulmate who shares the same dream, and isn’t afraid to let that dream manifest, then it’s been worth keeping alive in a world that continuously tries to hunt and poach it to extinction.

They’re not hopeless because they’re pathetic, but because they’re stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time, in the wrong company. If they can prevent their hearts from being hardened by the cold outside and keep smelling roses amidst the toxic cloud of pessimism, then they’re really not hopeless at all.

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