Hopefully, anyone in a relationship made sure to allot the appropriate amount of time and money toward their significant other on Saturday. Otherwise, we should hesitate before calling their relationship legitimate.

It is hardly revolutionary, or even original, for me to bemoan the commercialization of a national holiday. However, in examining Valentine’s Day, the repercussions of commodifying romance are perhaps more insidious than those associated with Christmas or Easter. The strains of soulless Hallmark cards, expensive (and often ridiculous) romantic gestures and pressure to do something—anything—to commemorate the day of roses and cheaply-made chocolates threaten not tradition, but the process of how we come to accept relationships as legitimate.

In the United States, we tend to conflate true romance, a concept that many people (if not most people) view as an essential part of life, with what we acknowledge as “financial stability.” Of course, “financial stability” here does not indicate the ability to support a spouse or to commit to a mortgage. Here, “financial stability” means something else entirely.

More simply put: Can you afford romance? Are you wealthy enough (or even legally allowed) to make down payments on the cementing of that enviable, government-legitimized status? Do you have $30,000 to spend on a wedding, an amount that The Knot estimated to be the average amount expended on a ceremony in 2013?

In 2012, researchers estimated that people would spend $17.6 billion on “romance-related items” for Valentine’s Day. The romantic-industrial complex of the United States poses romance as a product to be generated and sold for a generous sum. If you can’t afford it, then you do not have access to “genuine” coupledom. Your relationship is not real until you validate it through the purchase of inessential things. 

And what of those who desire marriage, yet are unable to pay their dues? Though some might claim that a marriage can very well happen without much expense, this perspective doesn’t acknowledge the societal disdain “non-weddings” garner for being “cheap” or “tasteless.”

People frequently trivialize college relationships unless they demonstrate “promise.” Will your romantic liaison be long-term? Does it allow for future reproduction? Can your partner support you? Furthermore, is it heterosexual? Does it elevate your financial status or detract from it? When’s the wedding? Because students often cannot afford, or do not desire, to take their relationship “to the next level,” people do not identify their romantic ties as significant. At least, not until their engagement is legitimized by a ring or a wedding date.

Money is used as a catalyst to ensure our (very capitalist) society reads a relationship as acceptable. When people postpone marriage or forego it entirely, the respect people assign to the couple’s relationship is harshly diminished. It is not acceptable to remain in a relationship unless it is marked normal by a government document and a substantial quantity of money. Pay up if you want visiting rights and infinitely more convenient insurance policies.

In the United States, citizens continually have to confront the socially-accepted defaults of the “ideal romance.”  And the instituted commodification of romance perpetuates these heteronormative, classist values. Unless you are willing to – literally – buy into the ideals marketed to the masses, society at large perceives your relationship as illegitimate, a poor substitution for a real romance, a real ring, or a real commitment. So, “put a ring on it,” or fail to be recognized. 

The commodification of such an abstract concept as love is yet another way our society both bars access to “normalcy” for those it considers to be the minority and stigmatizes those same outliers for not playing by the incomprehensible rules they cannot attain.

The philosophical question is no longer, “Can love be purchased?” The commercialization of romance may have ascended to its final form with the new standard, “How much will it cost?”