I need to start off by saying that I love advent calendars. If I could somehow trade in my regular diary for 365 days of little cardboard doors, trust me, I would. There’s a simple kind of joy to them- a small thing to get you out of bed in the morning, to distract you from the fact that it’s now pitch black when you are getting up for work and your early morning lectures. They also mean I remember the date, so it’s a win-win.
My childhood calendars were of the wooden trinket variety, or at very least a nice wintery scene with some woodland creatures and a ruddy-faced baby in a manger behind the doors, and though my lot seem to favour a March family Christmas, I can easily get behind calendars with some sweeter treats too. Every Christmas I love hearing my old flatmate’s review of the tea she gets from her daily doors with all the description and gravitas of a sommelier, and seeing my friends’ eyes light up when they realise they have a little piece of chocolate waiting behind the door they forgot. They are the perfect festive countdown to push us through the last month of the year.
Consumerism and Christmas have gone hand-in-hand since Queen Vic and Mr Dickens were knocking about and the festive economy at this point is sadly as much a part of the season as the holly and ivy. Certainly, for the internet generations, extravagant vlogmas outings and present hauls filling living rooms to the point of claustrophobia are more of a guaranteed Christmas visual than a snow day, and now it looks like late-stage capitalism has reached its glittery red polyester hand for the advent calendar.
Okay, so maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but you know the ones I mean. The £500 pound beauty calendars filled with designer skin care for a spectrum of skin types, and 6 wildly opposing mini perfumes. The boxes of ‘luxury merchandise’ from your favourite show, that turns out to be 24 days of crap stickers and plastic figurines of side-characters. Or maybe the 4-carriage, LED-lit, pink and rose-gold makeup steam train will get you feeling the Christmas cheer (yes, that really does exist). At best, these calendars will give you a bit of a discount on 24 completely randomised products, with probability dictating about ⅓ of them will actually be something you want to use. At worst, you’re left with a box-load of tat, perhaps a hundred quid down the drain, and enough packaging waste to make David Attenborough weep.
‘But you said it was about treating yourself! About getting out of bed in the morning!’- I did. But are we all so dependent on consumerist dopamine that this is the best option? Remember, the conclusion of an advent calendar is Christmas Day where, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll be getting some of the stuff you actually want. That lavender foot cream you got on the 7th probably isn’t going to stay on your mind for much longer. We’re trapped in a world of shopping addictions and thoughtless consumerism, and no amount of glitter and sleigh bells can cover up that reality at the heart of these advent calendars. A select few doors might offer up a new favourite product or a keepsake to cherish, but if we’re honest with ourselves the rest will end up as landfill by the next time December rolls around – alongside all the other spontaneous purchases that failed to make us happy.
December is cold. It’s grim. We’re all tired. There’s a reason why our pagan ancestors encouraged us to bring all the light and greenery we could into houses for winter, and why sometimes the little surprise of a Christmas advent calendar can feel so special. It’s not really about what’s behind that door that matters, it’s about picturing all the tinsel, all the pine trees, all the good food and better company that’s getting a little bit closer with each door. Or at very least, it’s a simple, silly treat to make sure we know we’re one step further out of the dark.
Author: Tilly Holt [@simbelmyne.tilly]
qmunicatemagazine.co.uk 