Melany Perez

My whole life, I have struggled with the concept of Christmas lists. I alternated childhood Christmases between asking for magic wands or needles and thread; a pony or socks — none of which, except for the socks, did I ever receive. All these years later, I am still very unsure how to approach the wishlist. Do you ask for something that in itself would better your life, or do you orient your materialism toward some greater goal of self-improvement? 

Despite the neverending barrage of Instagram ads for that one Quasi face mask with “unprecedented” hydration capabilities — which, in my sleep-deprived scrolling state, I have spent unhealthy amounts of time coveting — I somehow forget every single thing I’ve ever wanted when I sit down to text my family what I want to see under the tree this year. In contemplating my wishlist this year, I have also realized that there is a very big difference between wanting things and wanting them enough to ask someone else to get them for me. This too, imposes an interesting threshold of desire for any item special enough to make it onto the list. 

Christmas is often criticized as having given over to a capitalistic dark side. Every year, the holiday creeps earlier and earlier into the calendar, overtaking Thanksgiving, Halloween and on rare occasions in especially forward-thinking Targets, even Labor Day. Christmas can present us with a unique opportunity to interrogate our rampant consumerism. In a world where there are always commodities fighting for our attention, Christmas throws a weird wrench in the culture of consumerism because it forces us to think about what we actually want. 

For me, this search begins with the question of what material items will actually improve my life. Having a woefully maximalist sense of style, I can normally drum up an impressive list composed only of clothing items that I have convinced myself will revolutionize my wardrobe. But beyond that, there are very few items that quickly come to mind when I think about what would make my life better. 

And, although I hate how sappy it sounds, it is certainly not lost on me that spending time with family this year is the point of Christmas in a way that it never has been before. After 18 years of being the one languishing in the 85-degree Houston December, waiting for the parade of family members to arrive in town, I have joined the ranks of Claffys being picked up at the airport. 

There’s kind of a cool relationship between Christmas and contemplation in that way. I used to love the idea of mailing a wishlist to Santa Claus, with each entry including paragraphs of justification. Not because it ensured my gift delivery — in fact, it often did not, given the items like magic wands — but because I liked the idea of Santa knowing I had a plan for my proposed presents. In the same spirit, I’m thinking of reprising the tradition of a lengthy list this year — less as an actual wishlist and more as a head start on New Year’s Resolutions. What I want most this Christmas is to be intentional.