Once upon a time, the countdown to Christmas began when you opened the first door on your advent calendar, writes Sarah Newton.
However impossible it now seems that eight-year-old me could get excited about peeling open a flimsy cardboard window to find a picture of a candle, the real joy was knowing the Big Man was on his way – in just 24 sleeps.
I know today’s children are different. My own wouldn’t get out of bed for an advent calendar with anything less than chocolate, and preferably one with Lego or cosmetics behind every door.
But one thing that hasn’t changed is that 25 days is a long time when you’re little. The six-week school holidays last a lifetime, and so the whole of December is a long wait when you are counting down to the best day of the year.
So, I simply can’t understand why so many people seem desperate to start Christmas before the Halloween tat has even made it back to the loft. (See my earlier blog for my thoughts on Halloween!)
This year, Christmas seemed to start in the first week of November. Shops were already blaring out festive playlists. Mince pies were piled high by the entrance (good job they’re so processed the sell-by date is July 2028), and the “seasonal aisle” looks like a tinsel bomb has detonated.
Social media is full of people proudly announcing their tree is up, their presents are wrapped, and their elf has already staged three elaborate crime scenes across the kitchen.
It’s not that I’m a grinch – I genuinely love Christmas. But starting this early risks taking the shine off the whole thing.
If your decorations have been up since Bonfire Night, by the time Christmas actually arrives the fairy lights are drooping, the novelty has evaporated, and even the dog looks bored of the baubles. The build-up becomes background noise instead of something special.
For me – and I know I’m not alone in this – Christmas carries the weight of memories. It’s not just a “season” it’s a doorway to people and moments that aren’t here anymore.
When the festivities start too soon, it can feel like being dragged into something you’re not emotionally ready for. The music in the shops, the twinkly lights, the adverts with perfect families gathered around perfect tables – all of it can throw a spotlight on the space where someone should still be.
An early start doesn’t feel festive to me; it just stretches out that emotional ache for weeks longer than I can comfortably bear.
I also think about people living alone a lot at this time of year, too. Christmas already has a way of making you feel like you’re on the outside looking in, especially when everything is about togetherness, family and big social gatherings.
If you’re coming home to an empty house, it can be brutal. When the celebrations kick off in early November, that sense of “everyone else has someone” just hangs around for longer.
Instead of a short, intense burst of festivity that you can brace yourself for, it becomes this long, slow reminder of what you don’t have – or what you wish you still did.
Then there’s the money side, which is impossible to ignore. We all know why retailers are rolling out Christmas earlier every year: to get us spending.
Weeks and weeks of adverts, gift guides and carefully curated displays can make even the most organised, sensible person feel behind.
I’ve felt that creeping panic myself – that sense that everyone else has started and you’re already failing at Christmas. For families already juggling bills or anyone feeling the squeeze of the cost-of-living crisis, dragging Christmas out over two months doesn’t feel magical; it just piles on more pressure.
And don’t get me started on the emotional blackmail in some of those TV adverts. This year’s John Lewis offering practically weaponises sentiment, gently nudging us to confuse how much we spend with how much we care.
All of this lands hardest on families. When Christmas creeps into the shops before the clocks have even gone back, it starts to feel like a ticking time bomb of expectation.
Am I doing enough? Buying enough? Planning enough? I’ve seen children clock the decorations in the supermarket and immediately assume Christmas is basically tomorrow.
Then come the endless questions: “Is it Christmas yet?” (Spoiler: still no.) By the time the big day actually arrives, everyone’s exhausted.
For me, part of what makes Christmas special is that it doesn’t last forever. It’s a moment – a brief, cosy sparkle in the darkest part of the year. When we stretch it too far, the magic starts to thin out.
If we’ve spent eight weeks listening to the same playlist, walking past the same decorations and stressing over the same expectations, the thrill is completely diluted.
Christmas should feel like a celebration, not an endurance test. And maybe, just maybe, keeping it shorter would make it easier – emotionally, financially and mentally – for a lot of us to actually enjoy it.
Of course, I’m not suggesting that we wait until Christmas Eve to start the celebrations. I’m just hoping we can take the foot off the accelerator of the festive juggernaut and start the countdown on December 1.
I do understand that there is something comforting about those first signs of Christmas. Maybe it’s the sense of hope, the togetherness, the warm glow during cold, dark days.
Maybe we all just need a bit of cheer earlier than usual. In a world that can feel heavy, perhaps the early start is simply people reaching for joy wherever they can find it.
Because if there’s one thing my eight-year-old self understood, staring at a rubbish drawing of a candle and counting down 24 long sleeps, it’s that waiting – that delicious, unbearable, magical waiting – is part of what makes Christmas feel so special in the first place. Just not two months in advance.
