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I hate Christmas 2025-12-10
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Let's get straight to the point: I hate Christmas. No, not in that
cutesy "tee-hee, I'm such a Grinch" performative way people post on
whatever ad-choked social media landfill they haven't rage-quit
yet. I mean the full-strength, industrial-grade loathing of
someone who's lived through far too many Decembers and has watched
the holiday mutate into a grotesque consumerist circus.
Every year, earlier and earlier, the same nonsense begins. You're
minding your own business in October - October! - and suddenly the
shops vomit tinsel everywhere and blast "holiday spirit" at you
like a weapon. At this point, Santa isn't a jolly old man; he's a
red-and-white mascot for late-stage capitalism, and his elves are
unpaid interns. I'm still trying to get over the Santa-in-a-sledge
display I was forced to notice at Helsinki Airport this summer
(yes, you read that correctly: *summer*, July!). Talk about a
tourist trap.
Christmas used to mean something. Something quiet, something
gentle. A midwinter breather. A moment to acknowledge that yes,
it's dark, yes, it's cold, and yes, we all need a little pause
before the sun remembers how to function. But now? Now it's a
frantic scavenger hunt where everyone's trying to find the "perfect
gift" - which apparently must be bought, wrapped, posted, and
forgotten all before New Year's.
And don't give me that "but it's for the children" excuse. Children
don't need mountains of plastic destined for a landfill by
February. What they actually need is sleep, fresh air, and someone
to read them a story. But no, we must shower them with flashing,
bleeping devices that shout "TRY ME!" in the aisle like demented
greeting cards.
Then there's the music
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The same ten songs, on infinite repeat, as if December is a
psychological experiment to see how far humans can be pushed before
snapping. Wham!'s "Last Christmas" sniffing around like an
overly-friendly stray dog, and Mariah Carey - or whatever her
fecking name is - doing her annual vocal gymnastics routine to
remind everyone she thaws out on November 1st. This year, I'm
fighting back by blasting Eric Idle's "Fuck Christmas"[1] on
repeat. The only honest holiday song ever recorded.
But the absolute best part - the pièce de résistance - is the
mandatory enthusiasm. You're not allowed to be neutral. You can't
simply prefer a quiet winter. No, you must plaster on a smile like
a malfunctioning animatronic and act thrilled about Secret Santas,
office parties, and the annual exchange of gifts nobody wants but
everyone buys because it's "tradition." It's less a holiday and
more a collective hostage situation, but with wrapping paper.
Meanwhile, all I want is the one thing the season refuses to
provide: silence. A walk in the cold. A cup of tea that doesn't
taste like cinnamon-scented marketing. Maybe a candle or two - not
the 6,000-LED synchronized smart-light apocalypse that turns every
neighbourhood into a migraine.
So yes, I hate Christmas. I hate what it's become: a noisy,
glittery obligation parade. A month-long performance of "LOOK HOW
FESTIVE I AM" for people who don't even like each other the rest of
the year. Call me a Grinch, whatever. I'll be the one enjoying a
peaceful, non-festive December, far away from the tinsel tornado.
At least the Grinch had the right idea: live on a mountain, avoid
people, and keep my sanity intact.
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[1]
https://youtu.be/csYnMGiB_5M?si=Yu6-hWP9wGQqjESW
