LOVEPILLED: a Valentine's hodgepodge
LOVEPILLED: a Valentine's hodgepodge
so a story, an advice column, and a playlist walk into a bar...
On this day three years ago, I didn’t know if Andrew was my boyfriend yet, but I did know I was going to marry him. I knew it in the awkward early make-outs and the “have you heard this song?”s and the cool, easy feeling of riding shotgun in his car—that leather seat languor reserved for wives of handsome men.
And so on this day three years ago, I made it abundantly clear to the tall, dark question mark in my life that I am a Valentine’s Day Girl. Miss me with dry ass turkey and napping on the couch to the drone of football. I want a long ass text message with some emojis cute, some subtly horny. One of those heart-shaped boxes of chocolate with the little white sheet that tells you which one is raspberry jelly and which one is coconut cream. Nothing some imagination and a quick trip to CVS can’t provide.
Anyway, I ended up making Andrew these glitter valentines on mini canvases. In retrospect, this could have gone poorly. We’d only known each other for like, two months, and he was still fairly introverted with me. Butttttt if I planned to *marry* the guy, I figured I’d better get to work on showing him exactly what his future holds. And by the looks of where we’re at today, I’d say it paid off.
Because Broke But Moisturized is a publication for the love-obsessed, I wanted to make today’s newsletter a mash-up of reader favs: a snapshot from my own relationship (above), a short advice column, some mid-week reminders, and a playlist. So keep scrolling for all that, and have yourself a sweet, juicy Valentine’s Day.
Materialistic Maniac or Capitalistic Kween
My husband is actually a fucking saint of a human being and does 90% of the chores around the house, treats me wonderfully, and everyone else loves him too. But I think my love language is gifts and he is not a gift giver.. I’ve so much as like begged him to surprise me with gifts for my bday/vday/Christmas and he just… doesn’t. And I’m always finding myself disappointed around these holidays. Am I being a materialistic bitch who needs to shut up? Or like how do I get this man to shower me in gifts. Feels silly to even say cause he is amazing in all other aspects but this one department and even though he does so much for me, I feel under-appreciated because of no gifts. Is this capitalism getting the best of me? I guess I need to mention he grew up in a different culture than I did and gift giving wasn’t really apart of his culture like it was mine. But none of this changes how I feel when yet another birthday or holiday passes and there’s no gift. Help.
—
Dear Materialistic Maniac or Capitalistic Kween,
Over the holidays, I was chatting with my Italian tutor, Lulu, who lives in Sicily. The topic of gifts came up, and I was floored to learn no one there buys each other air fryers, or iPads, or Diptyque candles—that rather, they shower each other in dolci. Specifically, Ferrero Rocher chocolates.
When Lulu asked what I got and I rattled off Chanel beauty products from Andrew’s sister, a nice new pan from my parents, etc., she was totally devoid of jealousy. In fact, she was happy for me, still grateful and content with her gold-wrapped bounty of hazelnut truffles.
The thing is, though, I was jealous of her. Because gifts aren’t my love language at all. There’s something so sad, so spiritually depleting in the way we gift in the States. Sending each other links in the name of practicality? Oof. Where’s the magic in that? It encourages a certain laziness toward knowing what our loved ones like, automating a process that should be slow, deliberate. (It’s important to note that I’m no exception. I still begrudgingly send my parents what I want for Christmas when they ask, and I perfectly enjoy it upon receipt. It’s more of a broad, philosophical resentment. Carry on!)
Anyway, you are NOT some capitalist asshole for loving gifts! Especially if you like to give as much as you receive. A thoughtful exchange can be an incredibly connective experience—a way to keep the aforementioned magic alive and show people we know them. Or, at the very least, that we tried.
There’s a big difference to me in wanting someone to bankroll your Sephora order under the guise of holiday generosity, and wanting someone who surprises you with that sweater they saw you eyeing in a store a couple months ago. You’ve indicated that you want the latter. You’ve even gone as far as asking your husband specifically to surprise you for major holidays. His neglecting to do so blatantly disrespects your needs, and it’s not ok.
What does he say when you broach the subject? Does he get angry? Does he promise to do better? This is key, because to elicit the kind of response that effects real change, you must approach things differently than you have been. In the words of Einstein, “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”
This difference between you two will require balance. You need to accept that this will never be his love language and therefore being “showered” in gifts is an unfair request. But knowing that you want something on holidays (at least), he should want to show up for you in that way. And if he doesn’t after some clear, heartfelt communication, that’s when you need to ask yourself if this is something you can live without. Because that animosity will inevitably fester into something larger, and gifts will become symbols of everything he doesn’t give you.
There is always, of course, the option of rewiring your brain toward material non-attachment. Achieving nirvana by owning as little as possible, becoming a vessel for the divine.
But that’s way harder than sir stepping it up and buying you like, a fucking Hydroflask.
Some reminders…
Sex on the first date doesn’t mean you’re easy. It means you’re decisive. You looked at the menu and knew what you wanted in more ways than one.
If they wanted to, they would. You already knew that, though.
The hottest meal you’ll share will never be the most expensive or exotic. It’s a pickle in front of the fridge at 2 AM when you needed something salty and crunchy and now they need something salty and crunchy and now you’re both laughing like you don’t have to work in 6 hours so you might as well have sex, too.
Photograph everything together. Make art of the unmade bed. The simultaneous teeth brushing. Using their deodorant for a month after yours ran out. The grocery run. The gas pump. A still frame can possess more life than the moment itself—the devastating beauty of shared mindlessness.
No one’s life ever changed by withholding an “I love you.”
