we love

Don't scroll too much into it.

On special calendar days, we spend time with special people in our lives. Some of those days are about being holy in some capacity, while others are just about celebrating what we’ve been told to celebrate since we were born.

When it comes to making the most of those days, I believe the best form of joy comes in inviting some type of intimate company during them. Whether that company is a loved one, friend or family, or just a refreshing peace of mind, the finest of high times don’t feel as good without it. But we all know the saying—what goes up must come down.

Valentine’s online isn’t inherently harmful or hollow—it is amplifying. The systems that intensify comparison also strive to intensify connection. Compression of images can just as easily coordinate affection across distance as it does distort reality. Public posts may be performance to some and genuine connection to others. The difference lies less in what appears on screen and more in how the mind assigns meaning to it.

The downside of Valentine’s Day in 2026 isn’t some terrible side effect that tarnishes the elements of it that make it a special day. For one, it’s all up to who is doing what to spend the 24-hour sequence in a positive way, for themselves and hopefully for someone else. Secondly, I do not play God. So please read this with as little seriousness as possible. My only goal in this address is to forewarn about two words: social media.

Have you ever noticed what most algorithms turn into every year as February 14 comes to pass? I’ll try to be as sensitive as possible when I say this, but I’ve personally witnessed them become FOMO factories that specialize in enhancing the dopamine triggers that regularly act as catalysts for hooking users every day. It’s like adding extra sugar to a water bottle after you’ve already shaken it up with a Crystal Light packet.

A post here and a post there is one thing. But I find it very dangerous for many platforms to seem entirely devoted to showing users which celebrities are hooking up for the weekend, how to buy the “perfect” gift for a partner, hypersexualization, or explaining why someone can’t seem to lock love down for three-plus days.

In the case of married couples and long-standing romantic relationships, this may not be so much of a problem. For people who find themselves in between or consistently getting by on their own, analyzing so much fallacy in a short period of time isn’t worth the “entertainment.” And for all people, it simply can’t be comfortable with someone’s love for another becoming a curated proof of worth.

Algorithms quietly rank intimacy—posts with roses and candlelight travel further than quiet evenings, making solitude look like failure rather than a normal phase of life. Brands often intensify it by inserting urgency: “last-minute gifts,” “don’t mess this up,” love framed as a deadline you can miss. The danger isn’t envy alone, but a sort of comparison replacing reflection; people begin to evaluate their relationships by visibility instead of feeling. Even happy couples may stage moments they didn’t actually enjoy, stooping down to trade presence for documentation.

If the first stage is emotional comparison, then the second is neurological interpretation. The brain doesn’t read a timeline as fiction. It reads repetition as truth. As similar romantic images appear dozens of times in a short window, the mind’s availability heuristic treats them as common, not considered.

Valentine’s weekend finds a way to compress exposure, so the brain overestimates how many people are experiencing peak intimacy. This shapes perception before emotion has a chance to reason.

Dopamine also complicates the moment. Anticipation—not fulfillment—drives reward pathways, which means watching others celebrate can stimulate a reward response while simultaneously withholding closure. The viewer feels activated but unsatisfied, a loop similar to near-miss psychology in games of chance. Social media unintentionally manufactures emotional suspense.

Then comes social proof. Humans calibrate norms collectively; seeing public affection repeatedly signals what is expected behavior. Participation becomes less about desire and more about conformity to perceived baseline reality. The holiday turns into a feedback system where observation alters behavior, and behavior reinforces observation.

In all fairness, not everyone absorbs the events of Valentine’s weekend as pressure. Some people move through the same feeds without interpreting them as commentary on their own lives. They may treat posts as information about others, not evaluation of self. Their self-concept isn’t negotiated on a moment-to-moment basis against external signals. In other words, please don’t consider my words law. Exposure does not automatically lead to comparisons—a healthy flaw in the machine’s power.

Instead of reading a photo as evidence of constant happiness, some recognize context collapse: a selected second from a much longer day. Whether the brain labels an image as performance or measurement, once categorized as presentation, it loses any authority. Posts are therefore more like greeting cards, not status reports.

Different from other common engagement with reward loops, scrolling passively can instead be intentional interaction—sending messages, reacting to specific people, or logging off. In this mindset, Valentine’s content functions almost anthropologically. It’s a seasonal ritual people broadcast, not a hierarchy they rank within.

Presence remains internal, so observation carries no verdict.

I know what I’ve implied so far can easily be perceived as a hate piece, or coming from a place of bitterness. Let me reassure you. Don’t be fooled, life is sweet. I’ve played this internet game and I’ve already subbed out, vowing never to check back in.

I’m just saying, the weekend seems to have become less about affection and more about public confirmation. The piece is about reclaiming private meaning: what emotions exist when nobody is watching, and whether intimacy survives without an audience.

The question isn’t whether social media cheapens love, but whether love survives translation into visibility. This one red holiday now functions like a mirror that sometimes exaggerates and other times clarifies.

I hope we can all agree, though, that there is a very revealing modern tension that exists as technology turns private emotion into a shared signal, and that’s what I think is worth analyzing.

I think a healthy position may be recognizing the mirror: participating when it adds expression, stepping away when it replaces experience, and remembering that affection still exists even when it leaves no evidence.

But I digress—as I don’t have any answers to any of what I’ve written about. I’m not a therapist, spiritual leader, or relationship enthusiast. Hell, I’m not even Carrie Bradshaw.

I try my best not to end personal essays with some altruistic sentence that says, “I love everyone,” or “life is worth living.” So I’ll leave you with this:

“You can’t always get what you want

But if you try, sometimes

Well, you might find

You get what you need”

Mick Jagger