Apparently it’s Christmas time.

Written in December, published in March.

Apparently it’s Christmas time.

Or, it’s holiday or festivus or whatever the hell November and December is even called. It seems this is how North America does Christmas time and it’s a fucking treat to witness. I’m feeling nostalgia for a Christmas experience I’ve never actually had (thanks to the commercial media that has convinced my Australian subconscious the holidays are meant to be cold), I’m blinded by the absurd number of epilepsy-inducing Christmas decorations that greet me on my morning commute, and I can confirm that ’12 Days of Christmas’ is akin to a weekend vacation in a torture cell. It’s fucking delightful.

There’s a perception across the world that the USA likes to do everything BIG. This is not completely unfounded (see: American cars, portion sizes, political disasters). My dearest mother called me over Easter and asked what this holiday was like ‘over there’, likely imagining obese Easter bunnies on the back of monster trucks wearing MAGA hats and rolling the streets of San Francisco. Or a similarly absurd scenario. So when I informed her that I had zero days off work and hadn’t noticed much in the way of chocolate eggs overtaking the supermarket isles, she didn’t really know what to make of it.

To be fair, I was also somewhat surprised that America’s aggressive flavour of capitalism hadn’t seeped into the holy Easter holiday. My suburban home in Melbourne definitely embraced the holiday, so why wouldn’t this one?

Fast forward to November 1st, 2017. The only reason holiday decorations and Bing Crosby wasn’t assaulting our senses sooner is because stores are still attempting to rid their shelves of Jack-o-lanterns and fake spider webs. Also the red/green & orange/black colour scheme is a bit aggressive on the eyes. My prior thoughts on America’s reluctance to embrace a religious holiday are firmly put to rest as I see non-ironic wearing of Santa hats embraced by all kinds of people. I even witnessed a burly gentleman of the heavy metal persuasion sporting a black and grey Santa hat and a serious face, striding down Mission St. So serious. So metal. So Santa.

I had also thought Australia was aggressive with its assault of Christmas carols… how naive I was.

Living in the USA during the festive season means I have to endure Christmas carols, everywhere I go. Whether I’m getting my eyebrows threaded, boarding a flight or buying spinach, I’m treated to Bing Crosby and Mariah Carey, and 48 different renditions of Jingle Bell Rock (which is by far the most torturous of them all). I hear the 80s glam rock carols, smooth jazz carols, and the carols that sound like they were made on a midi controller. Why anyone would do this? Because they’re fucking monsters, that’s why.

Even more shocking than the chosen soundtrack for November & December, is how much everyone genuinely enjoys hearing these carols. The week before Christmas, some Christmas enthusiasts decided to grace our office with even more holiday torture, this time in the form of a four-part, Dickens inspired choir. This quartet was entertaining enough for the first 20min (and enough time for us to update our Instagram stories with “holy shit this is an unexpected sight for a 17th floor office”). But an hour later… the situation had escalated to 12 days of Christmas being sang in the kitchen with at least half my coworkers embracing the song in all its entirety, and increasing their decibels with every round of “FIIIIVE GOLDEN RIIIINGS” (also accompanied by un-ironic wearing of Santa hats).

I felt conflicted. The grinch in me wanted this to end immediately, but part of me couldn’t help but feel sympathy towards this wholesome enthusiasm for the holidays and wanted this torture to continue until June. I thought, there hasn’t been much wholesome enthusiasm for anything this year, why shouldn’t I embrace this just a little bit? But then the 11th round of “FIIIIVE GOLDEN RIIIINGS” happened again and I swiftly departed the room.

Despite my obvious frustrations, these final months of the year aren’t completely obnoxious. The vibe around town begins to mellow, the trees begin to yellow and San Francisco experiences this strange phenomenon called sunshine, because Karl the Fog decides to take it easy for a brief second. Thanksgiving is also one of those great American traditions I’ve witnessed via pop culture since before I could remember, but never fully grasped what it was about until I visited the US. Putting aside the social history of Thanksgiving (the origins of it are frightful), the modern day celebration of Thanksgiving feels to me like all the amazing parts of Christmas (food, friends, family), without all the horrible parts (shopping, carols).

All complaining aside, the holiday spirit is definitely more striking in the northern hemisphere. As much as I want to see Santa walking around in flip-flops and sunburn (not really), witnessing the bay windows of SF’s Victorian houses adorned with Christmas trees was quite a novelty for my Australian sensibilities. Something told me I had to make some hot cocoa and curl up by the space heater watching Die Hard. I didn’t quite go that far, but it at least made the slightly chilly evenings and short days far more tolerable.