February 11, 2026 | By Danny Silva (MM ‘26)
Every year, as February rolls around and Michigan’s sidewalks freeze over, we all collectively get a front-row seat to one of capitalism’s greatest performances: Valentine’s Day.
For many queer and trans students, Valentine’s Day doesn’t feel romantic; it feels exclusionary. Mainstream representations are overwhelmingly straight, cis, and effortless. Couples in all our favorite rom-coms never have to worry about safety, visibility, or whether their relationship will be questioned, fetishized, or erased. Their love is portrayed as clean and uncomplicated. Meanwhile, ours are more often than not intentional, political, and hard-earned.
Queer love isn’t tragic, it’s real.
Pop culture rarely gets that right, which is why, when it does, people latch on. Take Heated Rivalry, for example. It’s messy, passionate, emotionally charged, and unapologetically queer. We don’t love the show just because it centers a queer relationship; it’s because the desire feels authentic. The pining, the tension, the fact that love doesn’t magically solve everything. For a lot of students, this kind of representation feels closer to a reality or gives more hope than any cis-het Valentine’s Day rom-com ever could.
It’s important to note that queer love isn’t necessarily about grand gestures or perfect timing. It’s about persistence. It’s about choosing each other over and over again in a world that doesn’t make it easy. Sometimes it’s about not choosing anyone at all and being okay with that. For ace and aro folks, love may not center on romance or sexual attraction at all, and that doesn’t make it any less real or meaningful. Sometimes love looks like deep friendship, chosen family, or the people you call home simply because they love you unconditionally.
Instead of asking couples where they’re going to dinner, I wanted to ask students something else.
What does love mean to you?
Personally, I don’t think love is a many-splendored thing. What does that even mean? Is love always magnificent and marvelous? Once again, we’re handed unrealistic expectations that love is magical, that true love’s kiss can heal everything.
But love isn’t a fairytale. It’s complicated, awkward, and deeply human.
“Love means feeling comfortable being vulnerable with someone, whether that’s a friend, family member, or intimate or romantic partner.” Vulnerability matters because, in many ways, being queer or trans is vulnerability. It’s showing up as your messy, imperfect self in a world that doesn’t always make space for that honesty.
Another student put it more simply: “When someone only looks at you in a crowd of a bazillion people.” This is funny, but also painfully familiar. Every queer movie has that party scene, the music is loud, everyone else is distracted or self-obsessed, and yet there it is: the quiet, unmistakable moment of eye contact, gay pining happening right behind them. Yet, this also feels so right. In a world that so often asks queer and trans individuals to make themselves smaller or quieter, being seen can feel like its own kind of love.
“Safety, sex, expression, empathy.” Summed up in all of four words, which speak to love as something holistic, not just emotional or physical, but deeply rooted in trust, freedom, and care. Especially within queer and trans communities, love often begins with feeling safe enough to exist as yourself.
For others, love doesn’t look romantic at all. “Romantic love isn’t a part of my life, which can be hard this time of year when everyone is focused on it. For me, love is what I feel for my friends and family; they’re the most important people in my life.” We live in a society that treats romance as the ultimate proof of fulfillment, but that kind of love often gets overlooked, even though it’s what sustains so many of us.
Maybe love isn’t many-splendored. Maybe it’s just real. And maybe that’s better.
What are you doing for Valentine's Day to take care of yourself?
When I asked queer and trans students about their Valentine's Day plans, nobody mentioned candlelit dinners. Instead, I got a masterclass in creative ways of self-love.
Self-care looks different for everyone, and these students came prepared with a range.
One student planned a trip to the nearest crystal shop for some rose quartz, because if you're going to manifest self-love, you might as well make it sparkle. Another admitted they'd be horizontal in bed, deep in a YouTube rabbit hole of TV couple clip compilations, reliving the messy, magnetic, devastating moments that make love feel both chaotic and weirdly inevitable.
One pragmatist confessed, "Probably studying." Because sometimes the ultimate act of self-love is not failing your midterms. And my personal favorite? The student who, after watching everyone else get flowers last year, bought themselves a bouquet and plans to do it again this year. Because why should you wait for someone else to recognize your worth?
If I'm being honest, my favorite perk of being the only gay man in a female friend group is the automatic Galentine's invite. No RSVP required, no awkward plus-ones, just snacks, wine that definitely costs less than $10, and the kind of unhinged laughter that only happens when you're surrounded by people who truly get you.
These answers prove that love doesn't have to follow Hallmark's script. It can look like curling up with your comfort show, buying yourself the flowers, or surrounding yourself with a chosen family that actually gets you. In queer and trans communities especially, Valentine's Day self-care often means rejecting the script entirely and creating joy on your own terms in ways that feel genuine, unforced, and unapologetically yours.
As Valentine’s Day approaches in the next few days, it’s important to remember that love doesn’t only live in grand gestures or romantic clichés, but it exists within us, in our chosen families, our friendships, and the ways we care for ourselves.
This year, let’s celebrate the love that’s real, intentional, and uniquely ours because sometimes the most radical, beautiful kind of love is simply showing up for yourself. We are equally deserving of love, even if love is actually complicated.
The opinions and reflections shared are those of individual students. Spectrum Center supports inclusive campus discourse and open conversations around LGBTQ+ experiences.
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