I have no use for Valentine's Day, with its limited menu and

Hear the humorous yet piercing words of Brian Quinn, who declared: “I have no use for Valentine’s Day, with its limited menu and cramped seating.” Though clothed in jest, these words carry a deeper wisdom about the ways in which human rituals can lose their meaning when bound by routine, commerce, and performance. For in this saying lies not mere complaint about restaurants and reservations, but a critique of how love itself can be cheapened when reduced to obligation and conformity.

The origin of this truth lies in the modern practice of Valentine’s Day, where the feast of love has often been transformed into a marketplace ritual. Lovers are expected to crowd into the same restaurants, to order from limited menus, to sit in cramped seating, all in the name of proving affection. Quinn, with his wit, unmasks this illusion: that love should never be reduced to a formula, that its worth cannot be measured by how well one follows the prescribed customs of a holiday. His words remind us that love is not duty, but freedom.

History, too, bears witness to this tension. In the Middle Ages, when the first tokens of Valentine’s were exchanged, they were not born from obligation, but from genuine outpourings of devotion. A knight might pen a verse to his lady, a poet might compose a sonnet inspired by his muse. These gestures were personal, unique, flowing from the heart rather than dictated by custom. But as centuries passed, the personal became institutional, and the spontaneous became scripted. Quinn’s words mock this decline, pointing us back to the truth that love, once forced, loses its vitality.

Consider the tale of a man who, on Valentine’s Day, rushes with the crowd into a restaurant, gift in hand, only to feel more like a participant in a ritual than a lover in a bond. The evening becomes one of stress rather than joy, comparison rather than connection. Yet the next week, when he surprises his beloved with a simple home-cooked meal, laughter, and time together, the affection feels more real. Here lies Quinn’s lesson: the truest acts of love are often found outside the noise of the crowd.

The ancients also knew this. Did not the poets of Greece exalt the quiet moments of love—the clasp of hands, the gaze of eyes—above grand spectacles? Did not the prophets warn against rituals performed without spirit? They taught that it is not the abundance of offerings, but the sincerity of the heart, that gives meaning to love. So too, Quinn, in jest, reminds us that sitting in a cramped restaurant, following the motions of a crowded holiday, may miss the essence of love altogether.

What lesson, then, must we carry from these words? That love is not measured by how well we conform to society’s expectations on a single day. It is measured in the freedom and creativity with which we express care, devotion, and presence. To reject the crowded, scripted rituals of Valentine’s Day is not to reject love, but to seek its purer form—one that is spontaneous, genuine, and personal. Love thrives in authenticity, not in obligation.

Practical action flows naturally from this wisdom. Do not wait for Valentine’s Day to show affection, nor confine your gestures to what the market prescribes. Instead, find ways to honor love throughout the year—in small surprises, in acts of service, in quiet companionship. If you choose to celebrate the holiday, let it be on your own terms: create your own rituals, meaningful to you and your beloved, rather than joining the press of crowds. In this way, you reclaim the spirit of love from the jaws of custom.

So let Brian Quinn’s words echo beyond their jest: “I have no use for Valentine’s Day, with its limited menu and cramped seating.” For behind the humor lies a summons to authenticity. Love is not meant to be squeezed into the narrow places of commerce and ritual. It is vast, boundless, and creative, flourishing best when freed from prescription. Remember this, and you will find that love, lived sincerely, is a feast far greater than any menu, and a space wide enough to embrace eternity.