Notes On: How to Romanticise February

Because love really *is* all around

"The trees are coming into leaf / Like something almost being said." – Philip Larkin

"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer." – Albert Camus

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I used to think that February was the worst month. Without the fresh energy of January or the sparkling hope of December, February sits like a frozen lake. Immutable. It says: Yes, it is winter, still. And there is nothing you can do about it. It would cackle, but February doesn’t have the energy for that. Instead, it smirks, lethargic. Slithers back to bed.

But this year, I don’t know, this year feels different to me. February is the final winter chapter: the closing scene, the final credits before spring sprouts through the damp soil. Bright fuchsia tulips on market stalls, daffodils swaying softly in the wind. And so, I’ve started to think of February in a new light – as a final episode that ends on a cliff-hanger: a hopeful prelude to Spring. Let me tell you what I mean.

If February were a book, it would be Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton. All messy bedrooms and messy stories and messy friendships blurring into each other. If it were a song, it’d be Put Your Records On: self-romance to a beat, the promise of summer coming like cinnamon. If February were a colour, it wouldn’t just be red. No, it’d be red and pink. That gorgeous combination that implies so much more than romantic love, somehow. Girlhood and gingham and the lip-gloss-to-lipstick-pipeline. If February were a food, it’d be a sweet treat. If it were a perfume, it’d be Pomegranate Noir by Jo Malone (sweet, musky, enigmatic). Which is all to say: February is for luxury, and self-romance, and the hope of spring. It’s for fragrant things and earthy things and bare feet in freezing cold waters. It’s for writing tiny love notes to the person you live with and sticking them on the fridge. For finding beauty in the frost; for damp earth and ginger neighbourhood cats and red handbags and burning incense and espresso martinis and homemade pizzas. Here’s how to make the most of it.

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Notes On: Spicing Up February

• First, I want you to make a Self-Romance Manifesto. Because you don’t have to ‘have a valentine’ to celebrate love this year. And even if you do, self-romance is highly underrated. Write a list – in your notes app – of things you want to prioritise this month, to celebrate the fact that you exist. You might want to write down affirmations, or make promises to yourself, or simply decide that you will make time to read more, because that’s when you feel most at peace. Treat yourself to a little luxury. Buy yourself a gift. (And also flowers, because tulips are back in the flower stalls, and buying them is like bringing art inside). Whatever would make you feel loved: write it down, and stick to it.*

• Next, I want you to look up your horoscope, this month, even if you don’t believe in it. (Especially if you don’t believe in it). Go on, it’s a bit of fun.

• Take one weekend this month to unplug. Put your phone in a box and try not to look at it. February is for going analogue. (More on this later).

• Go to your local library and find two books. The first should be something lighthearted - an easy-read. Think: Nora Ephron, or Nick Hornby. The second should be something you’ve wanted to read for a long time - that book you’ve always said you’d get around to, but never have. Challenge yourself to finish them by the end of the month. Read them before bed, and every time you get on public transport. You’ll be surprised how easy it is to sink into the habit - and how much you love having different reads for different moods.

• Make pancakes. It doesn’t even need to be for breakfast; you could have them for dinner (à la Lizzy McAlpine). It is a truth universally acknowledged that it is impossible to eat pancakes for dinner in winter whilst listening to soft songs and swaying slightly in dim kitchen light and not feel as though you’re living in a movie.

• Make a Spring Vision Board. It is my firm belief that we should have as many vision boards as possible, because to see is to believe, and to hope, and to dream. (If we don’t know what our dream life is, how are we meant to reach it?).

• Clean out your ‘everything’ drawer. We all have one. In our house, we call it the ‘drawer of requirement.’ It has never once been organised. (Now is the time).

• Host a Galentines’ Day night. Ingredients include: glittery eyeshadow, a cocktail of your choice (strawberry mojitos are a great choice), crisps to start, a really good playlist (again, I’ve got you covered), lots of takeaway pizza, some candles, more cocktails (if you’ve never tried a Hemingway Daiquiri, now’s the time), stilettos, a dim-lit bar, long deep conversations you probably won’t remember in the morning, shared trips to the loo, declarations of love (lots of them), and the kind of hangover that has you craving grilled cheese and Sex and the City. These are the times we'll look back on, in many years' time (if we're lucky); the times we'll talk about when grandchildren ask of our youth. Late nights singing Billy Joel. Swaying home, arms linked. Chips wrapped in newspapers leaving greasy smears on fingers. Whispered confessions, uncontrollable giggles. That sense that the whole of life was ahead of us, spread out like a velveteen sky.

• Make one movement goal, this month. Perhaps it's to go on a walk every single day before work, or to start a new exercise class or go swimming once a week. Endorphins make everything better. They're like stars in hormone-form.

• Read a print magazine from cover to cover. Because is there a more perfect time to get lost in a magazine than February? To spend all morning in bed with coffee and quiet and perhaps your cat, just reading. To find inspiration without having to leave your bedroom. (Some of my favourite independent magazines include Byline, Kinfolk, The Gentlewoman, Guzzle and Apartmento. I’m also publishing my first zine on Valentine’s Day).

• Oh, and buy yourself a birthday cake. Why? Because you're an adult and you can afford one of those £3 birthday cakes from the mini supermarket on the corner. And also, well, just because you can. You make your own rules, remember?

• And finally: write a love letter. To your best friend, or the sky, or perhaps your future self. This world is full of things to love. Let yourself notice them.

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Your February Soundtrack

From entering your main character era to over-intellectualising your emotions, here are some playlists for every single feeling you might have in February.

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A February Reading List (according to the ‘love is all around’ playlist)

“(What A) Wonderful World”: Books to remind you that love comes in all shapes and guises.

• All About Love, by Bell Hooks

• Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed

• The Course of Love by Alain de Botton

‘The Best Soy Latte That You Ever Had (And Me)”: Books about the beauty – and loss – that comes with love. Because nothing good comes without a risk.

• The Lonely City by Olivia Laing

• Bluets by Maggie Nelson

• Sorrow and Bliss by Meg Mason

• Heartburn by Nora Ephron

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A (Non-Romantic) February Watch List

• Julie & Julia (2009)

• Girls (2012-2017, HBO)

• Everything I Know About Love (2022, Peacock/BBC)

• About Time (2013)

• Little Women (2019)

• The Bold Type (2017-2021, Hulu)

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Some February Recipes

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One Final Note:

February may still be the hardest month of the year, for you. Honestly, it might be for me, as well. I don’t know whether it’ll transform into this red-pink hue. I haven’t lived it yet. There are so many things that I don’t know, about this month (also about this life, but let’s not go there right now). Here are some things I do know.

I know that I’ll probably cry (because when has a month ever passed without a single tear?). I know that I’ll read something that I love, and write something that I think is terrible and then after a while think it’s better and then I think it’s terrible again (this, I’m told, is part of being a writer. Part of the process that I should trust. Hmm). I’ll eat some M&Ms one evening and watch Love Island All Stars and also do my fake tan and think I’ve done a good job until I realise there are streaks down my arms (this more often than I’d like). I’ll drive myself to the gym and afterwards marvel at how I not only can drive but also go to the gym (I’m not sure adulthood will ever stop feeling strange?). I will forget something important, like my keys, or the time my train leaves. I will go on a walk just because the sun is shining and feel as though life is perfect. I will make mistakes and spiral about them and then think: no, it’s okay, either I can fix it or I can cope with it. Either way, I’ll be fine. I will order a takeaway after promising myself I wouldn’t. I will say ‘I love you’ every single day. I will listen to Taylor Swift. I will pack hundreds of zines into hundreds of envelopes and take them all to the post office. I will eat croissants on a Sunday and think, oh, how I love eating croissants on a Sunday. I will sit down to write a gratitude list and then find myself on Instagram half an hour later. I will not drink enough water or eat enough leafy greens or practice perfect sleep hygiene. I will forgive myself.

I hope that if you find this month dark, if it feels like the colour grey, TV-static-numb, that you find it within yourself to be compassionate. To write that self-romance manifesto and clean out that everything drawer and invite your best friend over to celebrate the fact that you met and that you have the kind of dreams that you can cut out of old magazines and stick together with glue. That you can visit your local bookshop and find a story to fall into. That you can buy an iced bun at the bakery on your way home from work because it brings you joy. That you can ask your sister what products she’s been loving recently and then instantly buy them. That you can listen to Pheobe Bridgers and Gracie Abrams and sing incredibly loudly whilst you’re cleaning up from dinner. That you have this wonderful chance to exist in this beautiful spinning world and you are not going to let it pass you by.

Until next time,

Hannah xxx

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• Bel Hawkins
  has written an absolutely stunning essay about this in my forthcoming zine. She’s the queen of self-romance. (She’ll make you fall in love with yourself, and also her writing).