I wake up from a mediocre five-hour sleep, the cruel cold from the hardwood floors touching my bare feet feeling almost unbearable, I find my cozy socks somewhere inside various layers of duvet. I slip them on, and coffee in hand, walk over to admire and take a picture of my freshly decorated Christmas tree. The ornaments look great against the morning sunlight that peeks through the glass panel of my front door, and so at 9:19am I swipe my thumb to take a picture, only to stop as soon as I spot what seems to be an annoying empty spot of green pine branches sans garnish. I walk closer and “borrow” a dangling star ornament from another branch that had too many to spare and fill the spot, then walk a couple of steps back and study the new arrangement.
But as soon as I looked 6 inches to the right, I found another empty spot next to a felted-wool llama and yet another one by a beaded banana. I followed the same protocol I tried earlier for each and assessed the tree once again. Now, multiply this process x10, just switch ornaments for candy-colored lights. At 10:40am, I realized that I was going mad, took the damn picture and drank the rest of my now-cold brewed coffee.
I became the resident holiday decorator in my family around the time that I lived in New York, studying and working in retail as a visual merchandiser. For those who don’t know, the holiday season is to retail what September is to fashion. It’s a visual merchandiser’s job to set the mood for the entire season with over-the-top holiday window and in-store displays of big retailers like Bergdorf Goodman, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Macy’s in New York, or Harrods and Selfridges in London. And so, I’m not shy about owning my neurotic approach to holiday decorating.
Punch anyone? An idealized Christmas dinner setting from a Tiffany’s window display.
Aside from an infallible power around holiday home décor, my visual merchandising career taught me that the psychology behind selling Christmas, or the holidays, is based on giving people something to believe in. I once heard a college professor say that “stores don’t sell dreams, they sell realities”, meaning that what you buy, and then take home, becomes a tangible reality in your life. And as much as I agree, I believe it’s primarily the fantasy of an alternate reality that becomes part of our festive experience. For instance, Anabel, our editor, watches Home Alone, both 1 and 2, twice each year, “I think the reason is because it’s the type of home and family life I always wanted, but never had,” she explained. “Perhaps I watch it because it gives me hope that one day I will.”
Department store Macy’s 2019 Christmas window displays a shiny, large-scale reminder to “Believe”. (Photo: 6sqft.com)
Just like films show us a highly aspirational take on an otherwise ordinary holiday, window displays, stores themselves, and any kind of visual cues trigger those fantasies. When I lived in New York, my sister and I had a tradition of walking over to Union Square from our East Village apartment. We’d get a marshmallow-clad hot chocolate from The City Bakery (which has sadly closed), walk over to Anthropologie on Fifth and then stop by ABC Carpet & Home on Broadway on our way back.
My typical Cancerian self would tear up at the sight of any Christmas décor or home display that both of these stores famously stage. And while I’m not the kind to get too homesick (I'm an emotionally evolved Cancer), these stores became a place of comfort at a time when I wished I were home with my family in Mexico City. To fill the void, my eyes feasted on every inch of every ornament, marble cheese plate, scented candle and stocking-over-a-fireplace that I saw in a window, whether commercial and fantastical or domestic and real. The one thing about Christmas decorations that always holds true is its end-of-year optimism - that stubborn messaging and belief that everything will be OK.
One of iconic department store Bergdorf Goodman’s many Christmas 2019 windows.
I’ve changed my career focus since, so perhaps I use Christmas decorating as a way to remind myself of my visual merchandising past, and also to reconnect with my old New York identity. The Christmas tree I decorated with my family three weeks ago has changed again (sorry) and, not to toot my own horn, now looks great and clean and…elevated (a term from my fashion lexicon that my past visual merchandiser self both hated and loved). It might seem pointless, even absurd to most, to invest time rearranging something with little lifespan left, but I've realized that once a visual merchandiser, always a visual merchandiser. And maybe even a New Yorker. But most definitely an optimist.
In the world of post-pandemic dressing, one word has taken social media by storm: cheugy (pronounced: chew-gee). In the worlds of fashion and lifestyle, cheugy describes a look, a thing or a person that’s considered out of date.