Here’s an unpopular opinion: I hate Santa.
You read it correctly. I said it. I hate Santa — not Santa the person per se (because Santa is not an actual person) or the historical inspiration for the mythical Claus. I inherited an ambivalence about Santa Claus from my mother — she wasn’t one to rock the boat (or in this case, the sleigh), but she sure did stay firm on her convictions. She never actively perpetuated the Santa myth, but she didn’t negate it, either. In our house on Christmas morning, gifts appeared under the tree, but the To: and From: sticker for each present revealed only the name of the recipient, the From: dangling with no noted giver, in handwriting that was, indisputably, my mother’s, a distinctive and graceful variation on the Palmer Method.
For my mother, Christmas traditions included things like lighting the candles of an Advent wreath at the start of dinner, a special trip to have lunch in the shadow of the tree in the Oak Room at Marshall Field’s, stapling holiday cards to long strips of ribbon and hanging them over the doorways in our front hall, and setting out the variety of Nativity scenes the family had collected over the years. On the Feast of St. Nicholas (you know, the historical Santa Claus), I’d leave a pair of shoes in the hallway and wake up to find a candy cane and an orange where my feet should’ve been. Santa was just not part of her aesthetic.
Some of you have already judged her and assigned her humbug status, but here’s the upside: when I learned that Santa (and therefore other corollary figures like the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy) wasn’t real, around 2nd Grade, I wasn’t devastated. My worldview was not shattered. I was not confronted at a tender age with the fact that the world was propping up a web of lies, and the agents on the frontline of this scheme were my parents.
My mother was wise not to make a stink about such things — if you asked, she would surely have given you an earful about it (no one ever did), but because it’s a precious story to many, she was loath to be the one to pop the innocence bubble for other people’s children. (Everyone remembers the first kid who figured it out and ruined it for everyone, right?). I, however, don’t have children, so I don’t risk destroying the emotional security of their peers (unless the innocents have stumbled on this, in which case……sorry about that). So here’s why I hate Santa.
1.The story of the historical Santa doesn’t get told, and it has nothing to do with Christmas. His is not a story about seasonal, warm-and-fuzzy generosity. His is a story about the necessity of generosity to protect others. St. Nicholas of Myra was a 3rd-4th century CE Christian bishop in modern-day Turkey who, as the story (that doesn’t often get told) goes, secretly left money for a family whose poverty would have forced them, without dowry money, to sell their daughters into slavery. There are other stories about him that inspired his veneration and, ultimately, canonization, but this is the root of the myth and his status as a patron saint and protector of children. His feast day, like those of other saints, is observed because he embodied virtues important to Christian practice, not because of its occurrence within the Advent season — that’s accidental. A feast day marks the anniversary of a saint’s death, so if St. Nick of Myra had held out til spring, maybe he’d have been the face of Easter instead.
2.Santa Claus, as we know him, is not a beneficial myth that delivers a deep moral insight. He is a glorified marketing tool. He embodies the consumerism that dominates the season and that so many purists have lamented for so long (you know, the “Christmas has gotten too commercial” and “Jesus is the reason for the season” set). In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Santa Claus started to evolve into the jolly figure we know today, and that image was adopted for ad campaigns for Coca-Cola. No, Coca Cola didn’t invent the modern Santa…but they sure did help to promote him and secure his place in American psychology…
3.…with devastating consequences. For example, Santa’s is the face of lies. No, Buddy T. Elf, he doesn’t just sit on a throne of them; he is the throne. At a tender and vulnerable time of year (you know, winter), in the most tender of acts (you know, giving a gift), parents lie to their children. Why? To uphold a myth that a strange fat man who lives in the Arctic is going to break-and-enter their home to leave objects that will affirm that little boys and girls have been “good” or “bad.” What the…I mean, what’s wrong with kids knowing that their parents are generous and thoughtful, that their parents are the source of their anticipated joy
4.And on the “good” or “bad” thing, I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call this “growth mindset.” It perpetuates behaviors and a general culture that rewards behavior deemed good with bounty and that punishes behavior deemed “bad” through deprivation. In recent years, the Elf on the Shelf, that nastiest of Santa-myth-outgrowths, has appeared in homes to terrorize children, to let them know that they are being watched, that they are not to be trusted. The extent to which families perform this ruse can only instill a fear of inanimate objects (which, moving through our current Black Mirror-like dystopia, might be a useful skill in the long run). Along with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, perpetuating the Santa myth constructs a fantasy world in which kids learn to behave for the mystically powerful who can satisfy their immediate desires — not to demonstrate respect and empathy year round for their parents, siblings, caregivers, teachers, friends, strangers, or, frankly, for themselves. You know, real people.
5.Retail Santas (you know, the ones in department stores and malls) are the clearest evidence of Santa’s association with consumerism. The original purpose of Retail Santas was not to give every child a moment where they feel seen and heard (again, why couldn’t their parents and other caregivers fill that role?) but to plant in children’s desires the roster of items already in stock. Santa seals the deal for marketing campaigns that promote trends and whip up frenzy to acquire those special items. They are cogs in the machinery of capitalism, driving up demand so retailers can maximize their profits.
6.Let’s go deeper about interacting with Retail Santa, which might also be described as “talking to strangers about your hopes and desires.” In his stand-up special “Kid Gorgeous at Radio City,” summoning memories of school assemblies, John Mulaney observed, “You are gathered together as a school and you are told never to talk to an adult you don’t know and you are told this by an adult that you don’t know.” The same logical acrobatics apply here. We tell kids not to talk to strangers. We tell kids to respect their and others’ bodies. We tell kids to say ‘no,’ to listen to those instincts. And then we wait in line, build the anticipation for their one shot to demonstrate their worthiness to the Wizard of Oz, and then drop them in strangers’ laps (the same laps where dozens sat before without a sufficient Purell or Febreze break in between #gross #nowondereveryonegetssickindecember) and tell them to bare their souls. Now, much of my reaction to the Santa myth is tongue in cheek, but this is one I treat with great seriousness. I’ve seen enough kids look terrified and uncomfortable in photos-with-Santa, and, worse, I’ve seen enough adult men use the ruse to be able to interact with young women in, shall we say, un-Christmaslike behavior.
7.The extended web of lies, that is, the broader set of stories, movies, and music rooted in the Santa myth is rarely original or nuanced. If a Santa-rooted story delivers a solid moral truth, that truth is not dependent on or exclusive to Santaland. The beloved stop-motion animated Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer escapes my wrath because the movie highlights the experiences of kids who get targeted for their difference. Rudolph’s difference is the source of his power; Hermie escapes a life of sweatshop servitude and pursues his dream (to be a dentist); the misfits find and bolster each other. Those stories could’ve been told using any context, and they use the Santa myth as a vehicle to a deeper truth. Instead of inculcating belief in flying reindeer, it echoes a child’s imaginative play with a set of dolls, not an instruction on the facts of our world. Miracle on 34th Street, though, is a contrived romantic comedy that revels in the glories of department stores and uplifts kids who proceed with blind trust in the adults in their lives (including the strangers!). The Polar Express is a cute little story (that should’ve stuck to the pages and off the screen) with a penultimate message to “believe.” In what? In Santa? In jingle bells? Back to #3. And any story that involves Mrs. Claus (does she even get a first name?) just props up the patriarchy. God forbid we should have one story to tell kids that doesn’t reinforce outmoded gender roles.
Caveat: There are, however, two movies rooted in the Santa myth and dependent on a Christmas context, that escape the trappings of Santaland: Elf and A Christmas Story. With Elf, it’s hard to imagine a more fitting construct for a fish-out-of-water and find-your-true-purpose comedy than an oversized elf returning to the world of humans. Sure, this one doesn’t demonstrate that Santa is a construct, but it doesn’t double-down either. The feel-good moments in the movie are focused on human-human relationships. Like other pieces of magical realism (yes, I just put Elf in the category of magical realism), the movie doesn’t expect us to propagate the credible reality of fantastical plot devices. In other words, I can suspend my belief to enjoy Elf because the movie doesn’t require me to believe in Santa after the credits roll. Kids (and the rest of us) see the movie and quote Will Ferrell because of his timing and wit, not because Buddy bridges a gap between our current reality and the idyll of the North Pole. And A Christmas Story is really a coming-of-age story that captures the (early-20th century) naivete, wonder, and awkwardness of burgeoning adolescence. Instead of perpetuating the Santa myth, though, the film reveals with significant attention that it is his parents, not Higbees’ by-the-hour Santa, who know and love Ralphie, who reward with bounty. In the audience, we get to admire his folks for their anonymous kindness, especially Ralphie’s father’s soft-spot for an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle, but Ralphie doesn’t. He falls asleep on Christmas night with the knowledge that Santa delivered, even though he did almost shoot his eye out. Sorry, #spoilers.
Ok, back to complaining.
8.The Santa myth imposes Christian tradition (and all the baggage that comes with it) onto a commonly-experienced, natural season. Christian observance of Christmas has dominated winter for a long, long time, but our experience of pluralism in the modern and postmodern world should give us an opening to recognize multiple ways of making meaning out of the darkest, coldest time of the year. Instead, Santa dominates the winter economy, leaving Diwali, Chanukah, Kwanzaa and other winter observances to duke it out for the little bandwidth left. It’s not written into law (yet), but the clear expectation of all citizens is that we all uphold this myth, whether or not it has anything to do with the world or our lives. We are all called into complicity.
9.And besides, I wrote to Santa for a My Little Pony when I was 7. I’m still waiting. Case closed.
