After dinner, you go home and watch the Sundance Film festival's Lizzie beneath an Ai Weiwei poster, eating Oreos and sipping homemade kombucha you’ve been brewing in your rented apartment. Later in the night, you trade your copy of Being Mortal for his book Astrophysics for People in a Hurry and discuss the latest New York Times article about millennials and how wrong they are about your generation. You forget to give him your perfectly handmade portrait of the two of you in the style of Picasso’s blue period, so you create a last-minute Spotify playlist that expresses your love through Sylvan Esso instead. By the end of the night, you haven’t even covered Tom Hanks playing Mr. Rogers in the upcoming biopic of his life, or the issues of gender roles in society, or the awful state of the government, but you feel you should leave because it’s 4:00 am and you have an 8:00 am painting class with Elaine Harlow. But who cares? Is Valentine’s Day even real or validated? Of course not, you fool— Valentines is superficial and made up by our society dripping in consumerism.