I'm not really a fan of Valentine's Day. I think it can be

Hear the quiet but piercing words of Gabriella Wilde, who said: “I’m not really a fan of Valentine’s Day. I think it can be romantic doing nothing on Valentine’s Day. It’s more romantic than being given a big bunch of flowers that everyone else is doing.” In this saying lies a wisdom that rises above the noise of crowds and the rituals of custom. She reminds us that love, when it is true, does not need performance or spectacle, but finds its strength in intimacy, in stillness, and in the refusal to measure affection by imitation.

The origin of this thought is rooted in the human weariness of conformity. Valentine’s Day, though clothed in hearts and roses, often becomes a parade of sameness: flowers bought because others are buying, dinners reserved because it is expected, gifts exchanged because the calendar demands it. Wilde unmasks this illusion, declaring that authentic romance is not born from ritual repetition, but from sincerity. To sit together, to share silence, to rejoice in simply being present—this is more sacred than roses purchased in haste.

History itself bears witness to such truth. Consider the love of Anton Chekhov and Olga Knipper, whose bond endured across long distances and many separations. Their affection was not proven by grand public displays, but by quiet letters, filled with honesty, humor, and longing. Each word, written in solitude, carried more weight than flowers offered for show. Their love, like Wilde’s vision, shows us that the greatest romance is often found in simplicity, in gestures unseen by the world.

The ancients, too, spoke of this. Did not the Stoics warn against empty ritual and call for inner truth? Did not the poets remind us that love is proven not in the festivals, but in the ordinary days—the daily bread shared, the quiet companionship in the turning of seasons? The Greeks spoke of eros as passion, but also of philia, the steady bond of companionship. Wilde’s words echo this: that the essence of romance is not in grand displays, but in the constant presence of the beloved.

Yet her declaration is also a challenge. For many measure love by what can be seen: the flowers, the jewels, the dinners, the posts for the world to admire. But Wilde turns the eye inward, teaching us that