Is it time to make a change? Maybe next year…

By JEREMY EGNER
Observer Staff

The last time I waded into a shopping mall during the holiday gift-buying rampage, I found myself next to a toddler in a stroller who suddenly began shrieking so loudly I thought my eardrums might bleed.

His mother half-heartedly shushed him as she pawed Clinique gift sets, and I soon realized that while part of me wanted to throttle the child, another even bigger part wanted to join him.

Who hasn’t had a holiday shopping moment when they wanted to simply weep openly and without shame?

When the oppressive crowds and pressure to buy, buy, buy all the right gifts climb atop you like a fat, sweaty mall Santa and crush your spirit. When you want to chuck your armful of iPods and director’s cut DVDs onto the floor, sprint from the Soviet-style Circuit City line and go hide inside a liquor bottle.

‘Tis the season that is designed to break us, to hammer us with garish “Hallmarketing,” inane music and contrived cheer until we throw enough money at it to make it all go away.

But it’s never enough. And though we all know better and we complain each year about the holiday shopping wringer, we also give in to it each and every year.

I wish I could say that 2007 is going to be different, that I’m going to blow off all the Christmas “consumania” and go feed orphans or something.

But I can’t. Because I want a bitchin’ TV, and I’m going to get one before the season is over.

So I’m not here to berate folks for embracing the evils of unbridled consumerism, of which there are many. I’m just saying go into it with your eyes wide open. Dress it up however you like—“it’s the season for family and giving!”—but the bottom line is Americans love new stuff, and the holidays are the one time of the year when we give ourselves permission to buy as much of it as we can.

We degrade ourselves for it, getting up at 3 a.m. so we can go trample our fellow man in order to get the last Elmo doll or whatever other piece of plush the kids are crazy for this year. We wrap our goodies in toxic dye-soaked dead trees and then cut down more perfectly good trees so we can shove everything underneath.

Retailers, in turn, love our money and will do whatever it takes to grab as much of it as possible.

They’ll make ads that promise your kids will hate you unless you ply them with gadgets from Best Buy. When they realize that they’ve already sold you every piece of stainless steel junk they make, they’ll invent new junk—nutmeg grinder anyone?—and say you need one of those, too.

The nefarious nature of this codependent relationship is right there in the terminology. Stores and shoppers get lathered up about the deals on Black Friday—the day after Thanksgiving and the first “official” day of the holiday shopping season (whatever that means). But does a Black Friday really sound like anything people should be anticipating with relish?

Consider “consumer,” meaning “one who consumes.” Checked a definition of “consume” lately? To devour. To use up. To destroy. Wildfires consume Southern California neighborhoods. Cancer consumes its victims.

What are we laying to waste with our Christmas consumer madness? Bank accounts, for starters. Time we could be spending with our families. The youths of Indonesian sweatshop workers.

Or, as this pre-dawn video of Black Friday freaks suggests, our fundamental self-respect.

(Here’s another video that comes complete with a running commentary from two twerpy Best Buy clerks, who take a break from wondering what kissing a girl is like in order to openly mock their customers. The lesson: if you’ve put yourself in a position to be derided by complete tools, it’s time to re-evaluate some things.)

So if you’re cool with all that I’m saying here, then there’s only one question left to answer: will that be cash or charge?

WWJB?

There are some that decidedly aren’t cool with the holiday feeding frenzy. A new documentary produced by Morgan Spurlock, the guy from 2004’s “Supersize Me,” follows a flamboyant self-styled “preacher” who criss-crosses the country warning Americans of the coming “Shopocalypse.” It’s called “What Would Jesus Buy?”

Warrior Poets Productions photo
Reverend Billy casts out commercialism demons in NYC.

The title is a cute, clever, but nonetheless resonant spin on the old evangelical bumper sticker, and the producers spell it out in Walt Disney font. But though the so-called Reverend Billy of the Church of Stop Shopping sports a bleached-blonde bouffant and white caterer’s jacket to go along with his collar, his is a serious crusade against the commercialization of Christmas—albeit one that includes publicity stunts such as exorcising demons at the Wal-Mart headquarters.

You can check it out at the Dupont Circle 5 beginning this Friday.

In the meantime, you don’t necessarily have to hit the open road in order to launch your own mini-salvo against holiday commercialism, should you be so inclined.

Instead of a Nintendo Wii, you could buy your brother a goat. Or buy a goat in his name, anyway. Heifer International is a non-profit that provides valuable livestock to Third World families. There are thousands of worthy causes that would be happy to accept your donation, of course, but the Heifer approach is novel because you know you’re actually buying something significant, not just signing a check.

You could give people the gift of self-improvement. Cooking classes, music lessons and personal trainer sessions—though good luck giving those to a spouse—are things many people would love but are reluctant to buy for themselves.

Or here’s a fun idea! Instead of buying a gift, make a little book full of “coupons” that your friends and family can redeem for things like big hugs and free backrubs in front of the television!

(Actually that’s a joke—that sort of thing is cute when you’re 7 and just plain lazy if you’re any older. Don’t do it.)

The point is, you can go to the mall or stay away from the mall, you can cry or get drunk, go thousands into debt or buy your buddy a goat. The holidays are about options… No wait, they’re about consumption, and that’s cool as long as you’re honest with yourself about it.

No, wait. They’re about stuff, stuff and more stuff. No, wait…

What was my point exactly?

Ahh, forget it—I’ve got to head out. The stores close soon, and I found a sweet deal on a flat screen LCD set that I don’t think even Jesus could pass up.

Can I get an Amen in HD?