Galentine’s Day. That sacred 24-hour period where women gather in Pinterest-approved enclaves, sip mimosas, and hold space for “ladies celebrating ladies.” It’s like Valentine’s Day, but without the oppressive heterosexuality. Or is it? Because, as a gay man, I’m here to tell you: Galentine’s fucking sucks. It’s a glitter-drenched, brunch-fueled Trojan horse of exclusion, and frankly, I’ve had enough.
First of all, let’s talk about the audacity—the sheer audacity—of creating a holiday specifically designed to exclude me, a man whose social circle is 98% women. I’ve spent years solidifying my status as the illustrious gay best friend; providing emotional support over a bottle of chardonnay, telling you what looks better on the sales rack rather than your rack, and conducting an in-depth analysis of what your lame boyfriend’s Spotify playlists mean about your relationship. But come February 13th, suddenly I’m persona non grata at the bottomless mimosa table? I’m sorry, Serena, but who held your hair back after that tequila bender at Veranda? It wasn’t your gal pals. Who convinced you that dyeing your hair olive green was, in fact, a mistake? This betrayal cuts deeper than my V-neck, and you know it’s a deep one.
And don’t get me started on the aesthetics. Galentine’s Day decor has evolved into a chaotic blend of TikTok-inspired DIY crafts and overpriced Etsy finds. Neon signs that say “Girl Power,” balloon arches in every shade of millennial pink, and custom charcuterie boards shaped like hearts. You know it’s pathetic when someone who watches RuPaul’s Drag Race every week is saying you overdid it on the glitter. Where’s the nuance? Where’s the sophistication? Where’s the taste? I’ll tell you where: not at your overpriced brunch.
Speaking of brunch—why is it always brunch? Who decided that the pinnacle of platonic affection was a $22 avocado toast served on a wood plank? And let’s be honest, the only wood I’m interested in at brunch isn’t the kind holding up my overpriced toast. I’m convinced brunch is just a performance for Instagram, and not the much-appreciated Lady Gaga performance. “Look at us, sipping our overpriced matcha lattes and pretending this isn’t just an excuse to wear our new tops from Zara.” Meanwhile, I’m at home, reheating last night’s pizza and wondering how boring this estrogen-fueled extravaganza must be without the main source of entertainment—me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But it’s called Galentine’s, it’s for the gals!” To that I say, I don’t care. Rename it. I like Gaylentines. If you, as a straight woman, went to the Sweat Tour and appropriated my culture, then surely there’s room for one more at the Galentine’s brunch table. Inclusivity isn’t just about compiling as many gay men as possible into your posse—it’s about making sure your gay friends get a mimosa too.
So this February 13th, skip the glittery heart garlands and overpriced brunch. Invite your friends—all of them—and let’s celebrate the people who actually make your life better: gay men.
Be First to Comment