The holidays are the most wonderful time of the year, no contest. There can be too much of a good thing, though, even a wonderful thing, and Christmas creep is just that.

If you don’t know what Christmas creep is, that’s likely because it’s an insidious phenomenon. Every year, day by day, week by week, the annual barrage of Christmas and holiday advertising inches forward. 

This year was the worst I’ve seen. 

It began in August. Summer’s last strawberries were picked from the fields. The forecast showed so much sun you’d think someone ran a highlighter over it. All was well and good as summer wound down. 

There I was, peacefully wandering the Target back-to-school aisle in search of my favorite composition books. 

And there it was. 

In the back corner. Tendrils of sample Christmas lights snaking outward along the rack. A bundle of wreaths bound with crimson bows. The cheshire, LED grin of a bobblehead snowman. All while I stood, shell-shocked, with sunglasses propped on my head and sandals on my feet. I shielded my eyes and practically ran.

But not far enough, apparently. Within the week, there it was again. Michaels this time. Small scarecrows on mini hay bales welcomed me as automatic doors parted to wafts of a thousand aerosolized candles. A fall-themed space, for a fall time of year, as appropriate—or so I thought.

 Merely feet inside, just past the maple leaves, nutcrackers stood at attention, flaunting “HOLIDAY DEAL!!!” price tags. Towering trees fluffed with shredded cotton balls made a forest out of the “seasonal decor” section. 

The Costco catalog waiting in the mail when I returned home was the last straw. “Jingle this! Jolly that! Get the jump-start on stocking stuffers and receive the gift of giving!” 

I couldn’t even seek solace in the comfort of my home. Spotify suggested Mariah Carey and Frank Sinatra while I thumbed through my playlists. 

It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Far, far, too early. It’s killing me.

Holidays are sacred slots within the year, and each has its own territory. Though an unspoken sort of law, there are lines you just don’t cross. 

Halloween runs from mid-to-late-September through Halloween itself. From then on, it’s Thanksgiving, and about a week before the actual holiday itself, Black Friday ads start running. Black Friday this year marked exactly one month until Christmas, the perfect way to kick off holiday savings at a sensible time. From that point on, it’s a blizzard of festivities until the New Year and the  resolutions that follow begin. 

Christmas creep is like a reverse Grinch. It steals the magic of the holidays from us; not by taking our roast beast and woowhistles, or shoving stockings up chimneys, but by shoving them down our throats. 

I receive email upon email reminding me that “‘tis the season” and I “better buy NOW,” before the yearly pumpkin harvest has a twinge of orange. I’ll ask a relative how the first days of school are going for their kids, and I’ll be told, “Great, they’re glad to be back” immediately followed up with “Is there anything you’d like for Christmas? Deals are peaking right now.” 

Now, now, now.

A great deal is a great deal, but timing is everything, and this timing brings nothing but burnout and stress. Sipping a pumpkin spice latte out of one straw and a peppermint mocha out of another isn’t nearly as delicious as drinking them separately, and it’s hard to enjoy either with St. Nick breathing down my neck. 

By the time Christmas rolls around, my tree’s needles are stale twigs, my ears ring with commercial carols, and I can barely distinguish whose present is whose underneath all of their collected dust. Christmas comes and goes, diluted and unremarkable. 

Much of the magic in every holiday, especially one like Christmas, lies in the wait. Willing the sun to set faster to head out trick-or-treating. Smelling roasting turkey for eight hours before finally getting a taste. Watching presents accumulate underneath the tree in their alluring wrapping. Glasses raised, counting the seconds until a New Year. 

At this rate, by 2030, we’ll spend Christmas morning shopping last minute deals for Christmas 2031. I’ll mourn the death of the holidays and drown my sorrows in preemptive eggnog.