I had Valentine's Day dinner with my reflection in the name of self-love, and it made me realize I n
- I spent my Valentine's Day evening eating dinner with my reflection in the name of self-love, and it made me realize I have absolutely no idea what the concept really means.
- Discount card company tastecard launched a two-day pop-up restaurant in London in an attempt to get guests to fall in love with themselves aided by mirrors for each single diner, motivational messages, an upbeat playlist, and fried comfort food.
- Having always been skeptical about self-love, I thought it would be easy to look at myself over dinner for two hours, as I spend a lot of time alone anyway.
- I realized every thought I had about myself was tangled with negativity, and I didn't like the way I was seeing myself.
- I also realized that self-love is a practice which has absolutely nothing to do with relationship status.
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From the concept of "Galentine's Day" to celebrations of "self partnership," being a single woman on Valentine's Day (because let's face it, this rubbish is almost always aimed at women) can feel like society is treating you with kid gloves and a "there, there" pat on the head.
So when the #selflove movement (a practice of showing appreciation for yourself through physical and psychological actions) started gaining mainstream momentum, it appeared to be just another eye-rolling thing us spinster gals were supposed to embrace to show how fine we are with our unattached status.
I was skeptical, and viewed self-love as just another slogan on a cheap jumper. Of course there are a lot of people who love themselves, but making a big show of it isn't going to make a lot of difference if you don't.
Discount card company tastecard launched a two-day Valentine's pop-up restaurant in London in an attempt to get guests to fall in love with themselves aided by mirrors for each single diner, motivational messages, an upbeat playlist, and fried comfort food.
I spend a lot of time in my own company and with my own thoughts, so I assumed the "Two4One" dining experience would be just a bit of fluffy fun.
Before this exercise, self-love was something I considered akin to healing crystals, and I went in believing it would be a seriously uncomplicated Valentine's Day dinner for one. I was wrong.
The actual venue was a pop-up restaurant in a space on Great Eastern Street in Shoreditch.
Although it didn't look particularly special from the outside, the huge letters stuck onto the window were making people read the phrase out loud to whoever they were walking by with.
The fried chicken in question was going to be cooked up by the Deep South-inspired Absurd Bird.
On the entrance door, another sign drew attention to the "dine alone" concept.
From a marketing perspective, it was a great touch. But it did lightly tread on a nerve for me — I just wasn't sure why yet.
I arrived a little early so was able to see the venue before it became filled with that evening's solo supper club.
The set-up was a straight forward table for two divided by a mirrored partition on both sides. Each mirror had a peppy slogan scrawled in one of the top corners in chalk-paint pen decorated with whimsical little pink hearts. So far, so empowered.
It was a set three-course menu with a few options for vegans.
To start, you could pick from chicken tender strips, or a vegan version of the same dish. For a main there was the option to chose four extra large chicken wings, a crispy fried chicken burger, or a vegan "chicken" fillet burger. Dessert was to be a peanut cheesecake.
After my order was taken and my drink was set down, I was fully left alone with my reflection, and the protective film over my emotional sore spots started to disintegrate.
To go along with the evening's theme of self-love, I stared into my own eyes and tried to think of things I liked about myself in an effort to conjure up some warm and fuzzies on the most romantic day of the year. But I couldn't examine a single one without negativity piggybacking on my thoughts.
The more I looked at myself in the mirror, the more uncomfortable I felt studying what I saw as the "problem" physical features on my face — my nose, my round cheeks, the fine lines under my eyes, my thin lips; the list went on and on.
"I think I have nice hair," I thought. "But it's flat and limp."
I tried a different tactic and thought about the best qualities of my personality.
"I'm a good friend," I thought, but immediately countered it with: "When I'm not being wildly jealous of their successes."
I was starting to feeling awkward looking at myself in the mirror, and my mind was wandering now that there was nothing to focus on other than myself. For a distraction, I picked up my phone, started taking pictures for this piece, and watched some Instagram stories.
Then the food started arriving. The first course was chicken tenders with a barbecue sauce dip.
The starter was a trio of exquisitely fried chicken strips, and when dipped into the barbecue sauce they became the stuff of dreams. They set the bar for chicken tenders in my internal food book of amazing things I've eaten.
I found myself wanting to share in this foodie delight with someone, but carried on eating solo on my side of the table. While cutting and chewing, the self-reflecting and not so self-loving thoughts I had unearthed earlier started buzzing in the foreground of my brain again.
I swatted them away by trying to take a selfie enjoying the food in front of me.
I was now acutely aware that I had no idea what self-love even was, and how I could cultivate it for myself.
I now know why the entrance door sign irked me a little. That night, I was being ghosted by yet another dating app match for what felt like the thousandth time. I had piled so much of my self-worth into the connection, that feeling it come to an abruptly horrible end fanned my internal flames of inadequacy.
I thought about how a large part of how I see myself is based on the validation of others, which is not a sustainable path to happiness. I've preached it a million times to friends who are down in the dumps, but never seriously acknowledged my own advice.
The main course turned up dressed in swathes of tangy slaw.
The crispy fried chicken burger was huge, and only just about pinned together with a wooden skewer. It was not designed to be eaten with an ounce of gracefulness or dignity. It was probably a good thing no one was around to witness my attempts at eating this burger.
Attacking this messy burger was perhaps a job best hidden from whoever was sat on the other side of my mirror.
I wanted to comment about the beast on my plate to someone and make jokes about the messy main dish, but with only me, myself, and I for company, I dived back into my phone.
This time, I did a bit of reading on what self-love actually was, while also trying to nail a decent eating-alone photo.
With a newfound respect for snap-happy influencers and millions of search results to tap through, I was overwhelmed by the range of interpretations on what it meant to love yourself.
Even typing the words "love yourself" sounds unachievable in practical terms. From what I could gather, self-love isn't just a blind drive to always put yourself first in every situation, but a practice of acceptance you consistently work on. Like getting fit, apparently it doesn't magically happen overnight.
Before pudding was served, the hostess came over and removed the mirror to reveal the person on the other side.
My new table companion was a friendly Instagram food blogger called @brunchlunchlondon who looked much more adept at taking pictures than I was.
Having someone to chat to was a welcome intrusion into the muddled thought-field of my head which I had spent almost the entire meal wading through.
The peanut butter cheesecake was as sickly sweet and heavenly-tasting as it looked, but my the top button of my jeans was bursting and I couldn't finish it. @brunchlunchlondon even added her Valentine's rose to the background of my photo for prop purposes.
Having now had the weekend to reflect, I realized that self-love, for me at least, is not a switch that can be flipped by putting on red lipstick (as one actual "self-love how to" Google result suggested) and a t-shirt that says "I heart me."
Self-love is something I didn't realize I had very scant reserves of until I was staring down a mirror on Valentine's Day — I had confused liking myself with liking hanging out alone.
When I do spend time solo, rarely is there an extended moment where I am thinking about my relationship with myself. My thoughts are crammed with work, Netflix, books, or life admin until I can go to sleep and start it all again — something a lot of people can relate to.
Self-love is not exclusively reserved for the lonely cat lady, either. I thought about all of the coupled-up people I know, and how individual confidence issues play a significant role for them as well. Being alone seems to have nothing to do with it — being distracted does.
I'm still trying to figure out how to start properly loving myself without sounding like a Selena Gomez song, but I'm happier knowing it's a practice which has absolutely nothing to do with relationship status.
Read more:
The concept of Galentine's Day is patronising, sexist, and unnecessary
How to stay emotionally strong when you're alone on Valentine's Day
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