Love is in the Air

Valentine’s Day is approaching, which means love will soon be measured in reservations secured, flowers priced at ransom levels, and declarations carefully calibrated for public consumption. For a brief window in February, romance becomes a performance - expected to be tidy, affirming, and, above all, photographable. You say the words, exchange the objects, post the proof, then return to your regularly scheduled emotional ambiguity.

This arrangement is comforting because it asks very little of anyone. Love, in its modern ceremonial form, is meant to be pleasant, affirming, and non-disruptive. Affection is something you declare, not something you endure. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t embarrass you in front of your community. It shouldn’t involve being pelted with fish.

That gentleness, however, is a relatively new indulgence. For most of human history, affection was regarded with suspicion - treated less like a feeling and more like a liability. An unstable impulse that needed oversight, that had to be verified, challenged, or physically tested before it’s allowed anywhere near a marriage contract. Communities assumed that if two people claimed devotion, they should be willing to demonstrate it under pressure. Love wasn’t something you announced. It was something you were tested on.

Which brings us to a look at some of the strange global traditions of proving romance through ordeal. Before marriage - sometimes before engagement - humans devised ways to make sure love was serious. Not heartfelt. Not poetic. Serious. The kind of serious that involves crying on command, being publicly mocked, marrying a tree, or submitting to rituals that feel less like celebration and more like hazing. What follows is a brief tour of some of those tests: courtship and pre-wedding traditions that treated love not as a feeling, but as something that needed to be verified the hard way - preferably in front of witnesses.

Extreme Pre & Post-Wedding Rituals & Trials

Before the celebration could begin, love was typically put through a series of stress tests, most of which would not pass a modern safety briefing.

Blackening of the Bride (Scotland)

In parts of rural Scotland - particularly in the northeast and the Highlands - there was, until fairly recently, a pre-wedding tradition known as blackening. On the eve of marriage, friends and family would “abduct” the bride-to-be (and occasionally the groom) and subject her to a ceremonial assault involving whatever foul substances were close at hand: rotten eggs, fish guts, soot, and anything else that suggested both decay and commitment. Once adequately ruined, she was paraded through town for public viewing, sticky, malodorous, and unmistakably no longer her own.

The stated purpose was practical. The ritual was meant to ward off evil spirits and prepare the couple - especially the bride - for the hardships of married life. The subtext, however, was clearer: marriage would not be tidy, private, or dignified, and it was best to begin with that understanding firmly established. If you could endure being publicly humiliated by the people who loved you most, marriage itself was unlikely to surprise you.

Beating the Groom’s Feet (South Korea)

In South Korea, particularly in older or more traditional settings, the wedding celebration has sometimes concluded with a private but pointed ritual known as balbaji - the beating of the groom’s feet. After the ceremony, the groom’s shoes are removed, his ankles bound with rope, and he is laid flat while friends or male relatives take turns striking the soles of his feet with a stick, cane, or - when available - a dried fish. The practice has roots in folk customs dating back centuries and was once understood as a final examination of the groom’s character - meant to test strength, resilience, and good humor - before he was released into married life.

Endurance was admired; visible anger was not. The groom was expected to laugh, plead theatrically, and emerge humbled but intact. Less officially, it functioned as a reminder that marriage came with expectations, scrutiny, and consequences administered by the community. Love alone was insufficient. Before the wedding night could begin, the groom first had to prove he could tolerate pain, embarrassment, and unsolicited advice delivered via fish.

The Brides “Crying Song” (China)

Among the Tujia people of southwest China, particularly in parts of Hunan and Sichuan provinces, brides traditionally began preparing for marriage not with fittings or favors, but with a carefully scheduled emotional release. Known as zuo tang or “sitting and crying,” the ritual required a bride to weep for one hour each day for an entire month before the wedding. After ten days, her mother would join in. Later, grandmothers and other female relatives would follow, creating a multigenerational chorus of weeping that is less spontaneous grief than coordinated performance.

The tears were not a sign of reluctance or regret. The ritual served several purposes at once: an expression of gratitude to parents, a farewell to childhood, and proof of emotional literacy. Skill matters. A bride who cried well - loudly, musically, with variation - was praised. One who did not risked being judged cold, ungrateful, or unprepared for marriage. Happiness, in this framework, is not denied - but must wait its turn. Before joy is permitted, it helps to demonstrate that one understands loss, can express it on cue, and is willing to do so repeatedly, with family harmonies.

Marrying a Tree (India)

In parts of India, astrology has long played a decisive role in marriage, sometimes intervening before romance has a chance to fail on its own. Individuals born under certain planetary alignments known as Mangliks - influenced by Mars - are believed to carry a curse capable of shortening their future spouse’s life. The solution is not therapy but a preliminary wedding. Before marrying a human, the Manglik must first marry a tree, commonly a banana, peepal, or banyan, in a full ceremonial rite complete with prayers, garlands, and witnesses.

The logic is elegant in its finality. By marrying the tree, the curse is transferred and neutralized; the tree, having absorbed the ill fortune, is then cut down, symbolically widowed and no longer anyone’s problem. The human marriage may now proceed, astrologically sanitized. Romance survives, but only after a brief, legally recognized detour into forestry, reminding everyone involved that marriage, at its core, is not just about two people, but about appeasing forces that do not care how charming either of them might be. Love, in this scenario, is allowed only after bureaucracy - cosmic and botanical - has been satisfied.

Engagement Through Public Insults (France)

In France, during the Middle Ages, engagement and marriage were occasionally greeted not with congratulations, but with a charivari. On the eve of a wedding - or sometimes after - villagers to gather outside the couple’s home armed with pots, pans, bells, and a surplus of opinions. The goal was volume, not subtlety. The crowd would bang, shout, sing mocking songs, and hurl insults, targeting age gaps, perceived mismatches, or any union the community found suspicious, ill-advised, or simply entertaining to critique.

Endurance was part of the ritual. The couple was expected to tolerate the noise and ridicule with composure, or else negotiate peace by offering food, wine, or money to the crowd. Only then would the village disperse, satisfied that its concerns had been heard, if not resolved. The charivari functioned as both social correction and communal bonding - a reminder that marriage was never a private affair. Long before comment sections, public forums, or unsolicited advice from distant relatives, communities found efficient ways to make their feelings known. Love, after all, might belong to the couple, but approval was crowdsourced.

Intense Courtship & Engagement Traditions

Before love was declared, it was often demonstrated - publicly, competitively, and with a surprising tolerance for blood.

Whale’s Tooth Proposal (Fiji)

In traditional Fijian courtship, a marriage proposal wasn’t sealed with a ring but with a tooth. Specifically, a tabua - a polished sperm whale’s tooth - presented to the bride’s family as a formal request for her hand. Historically rare and highly prized, the tabua occupied a space somewhere between sacred artifact and moral currency, used in moments that required gravity: marriage, peace offerings, and major communal agreements. Its smooth surface and unmistakable shape left little room for ambiguity. This was not a symbolic gesture you could just pick up on the way.

The dental quality of the offering was not incidental. Teeth endure. They suggest permanence, strength, and a certain intimacy - after all, this one once lived inside something very large and very difficult to argue with. By placing it in a future father-in-law’s hands, the suitor demonstrated seriousness, patience, and access to something both rare and unsettling. Love, here, was not expected to sparkle. It was expected to last. And if that meant beginning a marriage by presenting an elder with a very well-polished reminder of nature’s jaw strength, so be it.

Armpit Apple Proposal (19th-Century Austria)

In parts of 19th-century Austria, courtship occasionally relied less on conversation and more on produce - specifically, apples marinated in human effort. At village dances and social gatherings, unmarried women would tuck slices of apple beneath their armpits and dance for hours, allowing body heat and sweat to do what time and refrigeration could not. At the end of the evening, the apple – now warmed, and unmistakably personal - was offered to the man she favored.

If he accepted the apple, the exchange was polite. If he ate it, the message was clear. The gesture signaled not only attraction but tolerance: a willingness to ingest someone else’s essence without protest. In an era before deodorant, this was less shocking than it sounds, though not by much. The ritual suggested a practical view of romance. Attraction was not abstract or idealized; it was sensory, intimate, and…moist. Love, after all, would eventually involve sharing space, labor, and bodily realities. Better to begin with an apple that had already seen some things.

Four-Color Rice Letters (China)

During the Sisters’ Meal Festival in parts of southwest China, particularly among the Dong and Miao communities, courtship has traditionally been conducted through lunch. Young women prepare packets of glutinous rice dyed in symbolic colors, wrap them carefully in embroidered handkerchiefs, and present them to potential suitors. The meal is not sustenance so much as correspondence where every element - the color of the rice, the objects tucked inside - functions as a message.

The system is efficient, public enough to be understood, yet discreet enough to preserve dignity. No declarations. No explanations. Courtship becomes a quiet exercise in literacy: if you can read the rice, you can read the room. Love, here, is wrapped, handed over, and, if necessary, politely spiced with rejection. The decoding is the point. Two red chopsticks signal affection. A single chopstick suggests hesitation. Garlic or chili peppers deliver a message that requires no follow-up questions.

Endurance Drinking as Courtship Proof (Mongolia)

Among historical nomadic communities in Mongolia, courtship did not unfold over candlelight dinners but over prolonged, carefully monitored drinking sessions. When a man sought to marry, he was expected to drink heavily with the bride’s family - often fermented mare’s milk (airag) - while remaining composed, respectful, and functional. The gathering was social, ceremonial, and evaluative. Anyone could raise a cup. Not everyone could survive the evening.

The purpose was straightforward. A husband would need stamina, self-control, and the ability to maintain courtesy under pressure - qualities conveniently revealed when alcohol was involved. Passing out, becoming aggressive, or embarrassing oneself ended negotiations quickly and without appeal. Love, in this context, was less about passion than reliability. Before vows were exchanged, the groom had to demonstrate that he could be trusted not to collapse - physically or socially - when conditions became difficult. Romance might follow, but first love had to be filtered through the liver.

Unique Nuptial & Couple Traditions

Once married, some couples are celebrated - others are closely monitored.

Bathroom Ban (Borneo, Malaysia)

Among the Tidong people of Borneo, the wedding didn’t end with vows or feasting but with confinement. After the ceremony, newlyweds were required to remain inside their home for three days and three nights, during which they were forbidden from leaving, taking a bath, or using the toilet. Family members would supervise the couple closely, providing only small amounts of food and water. The rules were known. The clock was watched. This wasn’t symbolic isolation. It was logistical.

The reasoning was preventative. The restriction was believed to ward off misfortune - infidelity, illness, or the death of future children - by testing discipline and unity at the outset of marriage. Endurance was the point. If the couple could control their bodies, resist impulse, and support one another through discomfort, they were thought to be better equipped for the far less ceremonial challenges ahead. Love, in this tradition, began not with indulgence but with restraint and limited hydration. Romance may arrive later. First, the marriage had to prove it could hold - literally.

Dish Smashing (Germany)

In Germany, the path to marital harmony has traditionally involved deliberate chaos. On the evening before a wedding, friends, family, and neighbors gather for a Polterabend, during which they smash porcelain dishes, pots, and tiles in front of the engaged couple. Glass is avoided - bad luck has limits - but almost everything else is fair game. The destruction is loud, enthusiastic, and socially sanctioned. No one apologizes.

Once the pile of shards reaches a respectable height, the guests step back and the couple is handed brooms. Together, they must clean up the mess they did not create. Marriage, the ritual suggests, will involve unexpected disorder introduced by others, often without warning or consent. The test is not who caused the breakage, but how efficiently - and calmly - it is handled. Love, in this case, isn’t measured by romance but by cooperation, sweeping the mess away steadily, side by side while the crowd watches.

Shooting the Bride (China)

Among the Yugur people of northwestern China, a traditional wedding included a moment that sounds alarming until it is explained - and then sounds only slightly less so. As part of the wedding ritual, the groom shoots three arrows at his bride. The arrows are headless, designed not to injure but to symbolize intent. No blood is drawn. This isn’t aggression. It’s choreography. Afterward, he breaks the arrows, sealing the gesture.

The meaning is protective rather than violent. The arrows represent threats - misfortune, illness, discord. Breaking them signifies an assurance that any threat aimed at the marriage will be intercepted and neutralized and his promise to shield the union and remain faithful. The symbolism is earnest, if blunt. Romance, here, does not arrive with flowers but with projectiles. Love, in this case, is not about avoiding risk but about demonstrating one’s ability to dismantle it efficiently, in public, and without anyone needing to duck.

The Love Hut (Cambodia)Among the Kreung people in remote regions of northeastern Cambodia, courtship has historically been handled with a level of transparency that would cause most modern dating cultures to develop a stress rash. When a girl reaches her mid-teens, her parents build her a small structure known as a “love hut” on the edge of the family property. It’s not symbolic nor terribly romantic. It’s a functional annex to adulthood. Young men may visit her there at night, openly and without pretense, with the full knowledge of the community. Sometimes more than one suitor visits in the same evening, which neatly eliminates confusion, mixed signals, and the concept of “just seeing where things go.”

The logic is unsentimental to the point of elegance. Among the Kreung, divorce is virtually unknown, so marriage is treated as permanent rather than aspirational. The love hut exists to reduce risk. Love, in this framework, is not something to be protected from reality but something that must survive contact with it. If commitment is forever, fantasy is considered a liability. Better to resolve curiosity before it becomes regret - an approach that makes the modern practice of discovering fundamental incompatibilities three years into a lease agreement feel way more inefficient.

Love is in the Air

Compared to all that, our modern rituals look almost suspiciously easy - a box of chocolates starts to feel less like romance and more like cutting corners. We swipe, we text, we curate attraction through shared playlists and algorithms that promise compatibility without friction. We ask love to arrive gently. Discomfort is treated as a warning sign rather than an expectation. Romance is expected to feel good immediately - or not at all.

And yet, for most of history, love was assumed to be reckless, destabilizing, prone to fantasy. So, it was tested. Not in private, not softly, but out in the open - through noise, embarrassment, endurance, and the quiet pressure of being watched. These rituals weren’t romantic in the modern sense. They were practical. They asked a simple question: is this person steady enough to hold it together when things are uncomfortable and everyone is looking?

None of this is an argument for reviving public humiliation, projectile symbolism, or strategic dehydration as relationship advice. But the older rituals did understand something we prefer to ignore: that marriage is less about how people feel when everything is going well, and more about how they behave when it isn’t. We became fluent in saying how we feel and increasingly uneasy with proving it under strain. Love became something you announce, not something you demonstrate when it’s inconvenient.

Maybe that’s progress. Or maybe it’s just another way of avoiding the harder work. Because stripped of ceremony, culture, and spectacle, the old rituals were really asking the same thing marriage still asks today: can you stay, can you adapt, can you clean up what breaks, and can you do it without needing applause? Everything else - the flowers, the photos, the declarations - has always really been just icing on the cake.

If, after reading this, there’s some of you who’ve just realized you’ve forgotten to get that special someone something special this year, here’s a couple of quick, quality options you might want to check out: for chocolate

or for flowers 

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