Happy Galentine
There was a time, before mobile phones and the Internet, when Valentine’s Day was a much simpler affair. Boys nervously handed out flowers wrapped in crinkly cellophane. Girls counted how many cards they received (and who they were from). Chocolate was shared, mixtapes were made, and using the landline was on a first-come, first-served basis.
I remember saving up for V-Day: white roses and a romantic dinner (booked way ahead, just like now), perhaps a movie, cost a bundle. Even Hallmark cards weren’t cheap—but at least I could always rely on the flowery words I wrote on them. And I considered myself lucky if I managed to borrow a car from my siblings. The rest of the evening was spent burning the telephone line.
For millennials and Gen Z, love no longer fits neatly into a red heart-shaped box.
Back then, Valentine’s Day had a clear script: romantic, heterosexual, candle-lit dinner predictable. You either had a Valentine or you didn’t. And if you didn’t, well, better luck next year.
Fast-forward to today, and Valentine’s Day couldn’t be more different.
For millennials and Gen Z—generations fluent in FOMO, YOLO, and “it’s complicated”—love no longer fits neatly into a red-heart-shaped box. Romance still exists, sure, but it has been joined (and sometimes upstaged) by friendships, chosen families, and relationships that don’t need a bouquet to be valid.
New terms have cropped up. The first I occasionally heard in the past, but it seems to have entered the mainstream lexicon: “Galentine,” a celebration of gal pals, girl besties, and the women who know you better than any algorithm ever could.
In an age where many girls would rather book flights than dates, a gal pal has become the more reliable Valentine than Prince Charming. After all, no one knows you well enough to share the latest news about Taylor Swift or BTS. No guy could ever take the place of your gal pals when you’re planning to binge on the final season of Stranger Things disguised as a weekend sleepover.
In the same manner, no romantic partner can replace the joy of dissecting the latest Bridgerton season frame by frame, or debating whether the BTS world tour would drain your finances (again). Galentines don’t ghost, don’t judge your third coffee of the day or your second cup of rice, and always show up with snacks.
Apparently, Galentines aren’t exclusive. There’s also “Palentine,” your emotional support human, regardless of gender, orientation, or label. Palentines are the ones you can be fully yourself with, minus the pressure to attract, impress, or define anything.
Of course, boys have been doing this forever, just without the branding. They call it hanging out. Or chilling. Or “nothing special.” Society calls it bromance.
Despite the name, there’s nothing romantic about bromance—really. It’s about shared rituals and low-maintenance loyalty: rewatching The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, Star Wars, or the entire Marvel Infinity Saga “for context”; playing pool, then bowling, usually in the same building; or climbing Mt. Pulag just to catch the sunrise (and possibly hypothermia).
Some guys spend Valentine’s Day drinking themselves silly, not necessarily out of heartbreak, but because that’s what they’ve always done together, even on regular days. Bromance, after all, is the emotional Wi-Fi many men didn’t know they needed: no passwords, no explanations, just connection.
And then there’s the wildcard Valentine: the parent-and-child edition. Would you fault a dad who cheers the loudest at his daughter’s K-pop dance recital—while trying to keep a steady hand while filming it—or a mom who patiently sits through an MCU marathon on Disney+ with her son, even when she sometimes feels like she’s stuck in Dr. Strange’s Mirror Dimension or Loki’s Multiverse?
This isn’t about romance at all. It’s about presence, about showing up, even when you don’t fully understand the fandom, the game, or the plotline. It’s a love that’s fierce, awkward, funny, and deeply human, just like the best indie rom-coms that steal our hearts.
For millennials and Gen Z, who live under a constant pressure to “have it all” and document it perfectly, Valentine’s Day has quietly evolved. Love doesn’t need to trend. It doesn’t need fireworks or filters. Sometimes, love looks like your gal pal sending you the exact meme you keep forgetting to watch. Or a bro giving you an awkward half-hug that somehow says everything. Or a Palentine who becomes family simply because you chose each other.
Let me correct myself. In many ways, love today mirrors love from decades ago. The feeling is the same. The bonds are familiar. It’s just that the roles have shifted, the definitions expanded, and the possibilities feel refreshingly open.
People were never meant to be pigeonholed. Love—arguably humanity’s most civilized yet most primitive instinct—is messy, adaptive, and gloriously unpredictable. It survives change. It thrives in chaos. It refuses to be labeled neatly.
So, this Valentine’s Day, celebrate the “other loves.” The Galentines. The Palentines. The Parentines? The bromances. The friendships that outlast phases, algorithms, and group chats gone silent.
Whether you’re dissecting People We Meet on Vacation with your girl bestie, binge-watching Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon in preparation for A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms with your bro, or spending the evening button-mashing through Code Vein II with your BFF— love is love.
And as Martin Nievera once crooned, “Each day with you becomes a Valentine.”
Or a Galentine. Or a Palentine.
