The cat’s definitely out of the bag when it comes to how the media shapes women's perceptions of what they should look like. We know it’s a ploy to sell stuff; that women are shown to drape their thigh gaps over buckskin leather lounges with half-closed smokey eyes. The ploy goes: if you feel like you're not that drapey, gappy, smokey woman already, you might rush out and buy eyeshadow, or buckskin, or a gym membership. These days we know it’s fakery and there’s air-brushing and photoshopping involved. We know that real women don’t have thigh gaps, or smokey eyes without smudges half an hour later.
What we don’t realise, though, is that Christmas is similarly contrived in the media. The perfect family scenes we see on the telly lead us to feel there’s something missing if ours doesn’t match up. We see glorious tables with reindeers nestled amongst sprigs of gumnuts, baubles in vases and plates on top of other plates. We see hor d’oeuvres handed around between smiling family members and backyard cricket after lunch. We see lots of laughing and smiling and hugs and amazingly prepared food.
Yes, sure, there probably are some family Christmases just like that, and if yours is like that I say count your blessings. But I bet Jamie Oliver’s family Christmas isn’t just platters and smiles and handing around the strangely-named babies. I think it’s time to call BS on the Christmas fakery.
For many of us, I’m sorry to say out loud, the family Christmas
is a pile of deflated hopes. And often we’ve invested our time and money and
imaginations into what will end up being a trip home in the car saying to your
partner, “Well, I’m glad that’s over for another year.”
In the lead-up to Christmas there are arguments about who’s hosting.
Usually people argue about whose turn it is and
then there’s the juggling of dates and conflicts with everyone else’s in-law families. Then there’s
the question of meal planning. Does the host tell everyone what to bring, or does
everyone argue about who’s on salads (which is much more work than just
shopping for pudding and custard). Do you wait to be asked, or barge in and
risk being labelled the organising bossy one?
And OMG, the present crisis! Is it just for the kids
this year, or do you buy for the adults too? Should everyone agree on a price
limit? What if everyone has different
budgets, and one family likes to splurge while others are more conservative? Families have been known to not talk for years after a Christmas present crisis.
And the day arrives with much anticipation and planning. You slave in the kitchen, load all the food and a washing basket full of presents into the car, only to arrive and find someone’s in a bad mood because it’s been
“a hell morning getting everything ready”. Straight away you head for the
egg nog just to get you through. You find your way over to sit with Grandma ‘cause
she’s the sanest one there and sits smiling because she can't hear very well. People who see each other once or twice a year ask
polite questions about each other’s work and holiday plans. You try to steer
conversations into safe territories, but really wish you could talk about
something real and interesting. Innocent comments are taken the wrong way and you
know you’ll hear about it for years to come.
You crack crackers with an eye on the clock, your hat tears
as soon as you put it on and every second person has the same joke inside. You
keep an eye on the clock, wondering how early it would be ok to leave, knowing
full well that you have hours to survive.
Present-opening is fraught; often people who said they were
only buying for the kids also bought hampers for the adults. Kids open presents
and say “I’ve already got one of those,” or “Ohh, clothes,” and you can see the
disappointment on their faces. It’s a frenzy of paper and tearing and you have
no idea who bought what for whom. It’s all over in a few extravagant, unbridled minutes.
At long last you bid your farewells with lots of smiles and “thank
yous,” and “it was so lovely to see yous.”. Only then can you climb into the
car with your partner and sigh, dissecting they events on the way home. “Did
you hear what such-and-such said?” “Oh, I know, I was wondering how you were
feeling hearing that!”
So really, let’s just acknowledge as we head into family Christmas
celebrations that Christmas is never going to be like it is on the telly. There
are so many childhood hangups and in-law insecurities that it is what it is. If
you want to enjoy the day, perhaps it’s worth switching off the TV and
adjusting your expectations. Let it be perfect in its imperfections, only then can our expectations be met.
So here’s to a merry imperfect effing Christmas.