Hosting a Galentine's Day Brunch: A Gathering Rooted in Connection
Galentine's Day isn't about perfection. It's about making space for the people who hold you up, who show up, who make life feel a little less heavy. Reminiscing on 2024, the year I hosted a brunch that wasn't trying to be anything other than intentional—a table set for connection, a craft to keep our hands busy while we talked, and a reminder that hosting doesn't have to be expensive or flawless to feel meaningful. To shop my galentine’s day brunch visit here!
Start with the Why: Gathering as Care
I've always believed that hosting is less about impressing people and more about creating a space where they feel seen. Galentine's Day gave me a reason to gather the women in my life who deserve to be celebrated—not with grand gestures, but with time, attention, and something homemade.
The theme was simple: connection. Everything else—the decor, the food, the craft—was just in service of that.
The Craft: DIY Charm Bracelets
I wanted an activity that wasn't just filler. Something we could do with our hands while we talked, laughed, and caught up on life. DIY charm bracelets felt right. They're tactile, personal, and slow enough that you're not rushing through conversation to finish them.
I set out small bowls of charms, beads, and thread at each place setting. Nothing precious. Just materials that invited people to make something they'd actually wear or keep. Crafting together has always felt like a form of care to me—a way to be present without needing to fill every silence.
The bracelets became little tokens of the morning. Some people made matching ones. Others made theirs quietly, threading beads while listening. Either way, it worked.
The Decor: Dollar Tree and a Hot Glue Gun
Here's the truth: most of the decorative items on my table came from Dollar Tree. Hosting doesn't have to be expensive to feel thoughtful. It just has to be intentional.
I bought iridescent heart ribbon and various heart doilies, then spent an evening hot-gluing the doilies onto the ribbon to create a garland. It cost maybe ten dollars and took less than an hour. The result felt cohesive, handmade, and specific to the gathering without looking like I was trying too hard.
I also grabbed a few small vases, some faux florals, and pink napkins—all from Dollar Tree. The key wasn't buying everything in one aesthetic. It was choosing pieces that felt like they belonged together, even if they didn't match perfectly.
The Table: Cohesive Without Being Matchy
When I set the table, I didn't aim for everything to be pink. I used dinnerware I already had—white plates, vintage glassware, mismatched flatware. Some pieces had a blush tone. Others were cream or gold. The ribbon garland and a few pink accents tied it together, but the table didn't feel overly themed or staged.
I've learned that cohesion doesn't mean uniformity. A theme can hold without every single element being the same color or texture. In fact, I think tables feel more inviting when they're layered and lived-in rather than perfectly curated.
I also made a point to choose dinnerware I can use beyond Galentine's Day. I don't buy things for one occasion. These plates will work for spring brunches, summer lunches, and anything else that needs something light and simple. Hosting pieces should earn their place by being useful more than once.
The Food: Simple and Shareable
The menu was brunch staples with a few thoughtful touches. New Jersey style bagels (iykyk), whipped cream cheese, DIY yogurt parfaits with berries and granola, the sweetest fruit platter, croissants with butter and specialty jam. Champagne, obviously. And coffee—lots of coffee!
Nothing required complicated prep or a perfectly timed oven. I wanted the food to feel abundant without being stressful to put together. The goal was to spend the morning with my people, not in the kitchen managing logistics.
What Hosting Actually Requires
Hosting a Galentine's Day brunch—or any gathering—doesn't require a big budget, a pristine home, or everything looking like it came from the same catalog. It requires intention. It requires showing up for people in ways that feel genuine, not performative.
For me, that looked like:
A craft that slowed us down and gave us something to do together
Decor I made myself using affordable materials
A table that felt cohesive without being overly styled
Food that was simple, shareable, and didn't stress me out
Dinnerware I'll use again and again, not just for one holiday
The women who came didn't notice if the napkins matched the plates or if the garland was store-bought or homemade. They noticed that there was space made for them. That we laughed. That we left wearing bracelets we'd made together.
That's what hosting is, really. Not perfection. Just care made visible.
How to Host Your Own Galentine's Brunch
If you're thinking about hosting something similar, here's what I'd suggest:
Pick a craft that invites conversation. DIY charm bracelets, pressed flower bookmarks, hand-lettered cards—anything that keeps hands busy but doesn't require intense focus.
Use what you have, then fill in gaps affordably. Dollar Tree, thrift stores, and your own closet are all fair game. You don't need to buy new things to make a table feel special.
Don't aim for matchy. Aim for cohesive. A few intentional touches—a garland, a color story, some florals—go further than buying everything in one aesthetic.
Choose reusable pieces. If you're buying dinnerware or decor, pick things you'll actually use again. Hosting shouldn't mean accumulating things that only work once a year.
Keep the food simple. Brunch is forgiving. People are happy with good coffee, fresh fruit, and something warm. You don't need a complicated menu to make people feel cared for.
Galentine's Day gave me a reason to gather the women I love and create a morning that felt unhurried and intentional. The brunch wasn't about impressing anyone. It was about making space for connection, laughter, and the kind of care that shows up in small, thoughtful gestures.
Hosting doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be expensive. It just has to feel like you made room for people—and that's something anyone can do.
