Call Me The Grinch Because I Hate Christmas

by Elizabeth Broadbent
Originally Published: 

I have a confession to make: I hate Christmas.

Go ahead and call me the Grinch or Ebenezer Scrooge, if you want. Though I can assure you that I’ve never been visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, or Future — which would probably look, respectively, like people beating each other over Cabbage Patch dolls (past), a harried Target shopper (present), and my husband fighting someone for a talking Baby Yoda in 2020 (future).

Nonetheless, I hate Christmas.

I have hated Christmas since I was big enough to get past the tornado-of-wrapping-paper part. Sorry, BFF who turns his entire house into a merry little Christmas village every year and whose lawn is visible from space. I love and respect your life choices. But I still hate Christmas, and here’s why:

1. I hate the commercialism.

I hate Christmas commercialism. Christmas basically starts at Halloween. This means that in October, my kids start asking me, “How many days ’til Christmas?” People go right from “Hocus Pocus” to the Hallmark channel and don’t you dare pretend you have friends who don’t. It’s an N’Sync song “Buy, Buy, Buy.” I’m supposed to buy ornaments. I’m supposed to buy tea towels. I’m supposed to buy china and snowmen and blow-up lawn ornaments. People expect me to buy presents for everyone from my boss to my dog. My kids expect mega amounts of loot. People run up credit card debt buying presents. Think on that for a second. Isn’t it kinda fucked up?

2. I hate Christmas carols.

If I ever hear the song “Christmas Wrapping” (“You mean you forgot cranberries too?!”) again, I will rip my ears off. I’m in the minority here, but I hate, loathe, abhor, and despise the song “Silent Night.” “The First Noel” isn’t that much better. You can deck your halls somewhere else, thanks, and if someone else tells me to listen to the Pentatonix, I am going to cause a scene. Do not even get me started on stars’ covers of classic carols.

I only like Wham!’s “Last Christmas” and John Lennon’s “Happy Christmas (War is Over),” which everyone else hates.

3. I hate Christmas parties.

Nothing worse than being invited to parties with a theme (mug parties! ugly sweater parties!) along with a bunch of people you don’t know, and being forced to mingle over bowls of Chex Mix and possibly a potluck. I have feelings about potluck food. You have to make small talk with the hostess’s stepsister, whom you will never see again in this life or the next, all while your children either riot in another room or you rue paying a babysitter for this shit.

4. I hate Christmas TV.

I am not into Hallmark movies — don’t they have a ton about people who end up being secret princes and junk? I do not like The Nightmare Before Christmas. Those Rankin and Bass Christmas specials have freaked me out since I was a little kid. I don’t like any version of The Grinch, I don’t like Charlie Brown. I have literally never seen It’s a Wonderful Life and never ever plan to. These movies do nothing but annoy me with their Christmas morals about peace on earth and goodwill towards men.

5. I hate the obsessive build-up.

There’s the baking. The obsessive decorating (yeah, like I have time to drop everything and put up a goddamn tree in the middle of my house. Thanks, Jesus). I hate Christmas garlands, which I have to hang or my kids bitch. I hate the mistletoe my husband hangs and tries to cutely catch me under. Yeah, it’s adorbs. But it’s like, must you? Just grab me and randomly make out. My kids fight over whose turn it is to open the Advent calendar. I have to make lists. I have to check them twice. I have to order Christmas cards, and address Christmas cards, and buy stamps, and and and and …

6. I hate Santa.

There. I said it. I hate the Man with the Bag, the Jolly Old Elf, St. Nick, Santa Claus himself. I think he’s a big fat lie we tell our kids to make them behave. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you never ever tie Santa to good behavior. But my parents did, and I associated Christmas with guilt. Like, mega-guilt. Then I found out they were lying? Oh hell to the no. I hate Christmas pictures with Santa, too. You think it’s funny to plop your toddler on a stranger’s lap while he screams and snap a photo?! Um, no. Not cool. It says all sorts of things about consent and bodily integrity and how much children’s wishes matter and how much their personal boundaries are respected.

7. I hate the Elf on the Shelf.

It’s like hating Santa’s little security camera, only more cutesy, because he comes with all the mom pressure to hide him in different places every night. Then your kids wake up and find him, and every morning he makes a different mess or does something cute and different. I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense. Plus my kids don’t believe in Santa, so he can’t report to anyone. Also, he looks creepy as fuck.

I hate your most hallowed holiday. I hate the most wonderful time of the year. I hate the time of togetherness and wonder and peace on earth. Give me Thanksgiving. Give me Halloween. Hell, I’ll take St. Patrick’s Day. Just not Christmas. Please god, anything but Christmas.

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