It is a well–known fact that the scariest moments of Halloweekend occur on Sunday morning, after the festivities have officially concluded. Lo and behold, this Halloween proved to be no different. While making the dreaded walk to the Hill College House communal bathrooms (after scrolling through all forms of social media to check for messages a former version of myself might have sent), I heard what can only be described as my worst nightmare: Christmas music. On Nov. 2.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love a good Mariah Carey song just as much as anyone, but Halloween was barely over—I am certain there were several people still in their costumes from the night before. And put some respect on Thanksgiving's name.
This was just the first jump scare of the horror movie that is the holiday season. Concurrent with the yearly phenomenon of much–too–early Christmas music is the epidemic of the celebrity Christmas song. It almost seems like a requirement of achieving semi–famous–popstar status to release a somewhat suggestive, extraordinarily mediocre ballad with a tenuous Christmas–related metaphor. While I appreciate the creativity of “Mistletoe,” Justin Bieber should have stuck with “Baby”—sometimes we don’t need the word “shawty” in holiday music.
While these might seem like surface–level gimmicks, they reveal a much deeper tendency in our music consumption habits. The recreation of classic songs with new beats or remixed verses is indicative of the stagnating creativity and diversity within the industry, as producers and artists prioritize a yearly, dependable stream of income over musical innovation. While the late 20th and early 21st centuries gave rise to some classic holiday melodies (the beloved “All I Want for Christmas” and aforementioned “Mistletoe”, to name a few), artists now favor reworking existing pieces for the quick attention grabbing soundbite—think, “A Nonsense Christmas.”
And yet we love it. Just one week after its release, Sabrina Carpenter’s Christmas remix had already made Billboard’s staff picks for the 30 best Christmas songs of the 21st century; Bieber’s holiday tune charted No. 1 on the Billboard 200 the year it was released. And yearly, like clockwork, Wham! and Micheal Bublé can be heard on every radio station. Despite the fact that we are obviously not listening to anything Grammy–worthy, we as a society still crave and find deep enjoyment in the newest mediocrely crafted ballad. Whether it’s the holiday spirit or our questionable hyper–consumerist musical taste that encourages us to relish in the delightfully awful lyrics is a question for debate—and a debate for another time.
Still, the link between holiday music and consumption is undeniable. Christmas music has become a tool for corporations and advertisers to sell a false winter cheer, which tricks our minds (and our wallets) into buying into a materialistic culture that strips the season of its significance.
Before I mount my seasonal high horse, let’s return to that terrifying moment of hearing “Santa Tell Me” float through Hill's halls on that ill–fated morning. There's actually a scientific term for the personal attack that was that moment—the “Christmas Creep.” The phrase describes the increasingly earlier start to holiday festivities observed in recent years. In 2025, “All I Want for Christmas” entered the Billboard Hot 100 on Nov. 15, while just 5 years earlier, in 2020, the song only reached the top 100 on Nov. 28, two days after Thanksgiving. Yes, our society has drastically shifted since 2020, but the rate at which holiday music has inched earlier and earlier has grown exponentially. At this rate, “Jingle Bell Rock” will be 2030's hottest new song of the summer. Music is only one symptom of the Christmas Creep—the Costco wreaths in September, TikTok–curated gift lists in October, and Starbucks Holiday cups in November all fall under this massive violation of natural law.
I might be slightly overreacting, but psychology can back this up. Clinical psychiatrists have observed a phenomenon where listening to Christmas music too early in the season can actually impair mental health and increase anxiety levels. The American Institute of Stress has dedicated several web pages to the exploration of Christmas Creep and possible methods of addressing it. The all–inducing panic of the year coming to a close (and all those unfulfilled resolutions); the pressure to pick out the perfect present that exactly encapsulates your unique relationship with your friends; the need to formulate the ideal facial reaction to receiving a gift that will be immediately returned; the increasingly volatile economic climate coupled with materialistic habits that resemble the Roaring Twenties—all these things contribute to our dread. The solution? Set some boundaries.
As utterly unhelpful as “setting boundaries”—advice given by the independent life coach cited or this (otherwise very reputable) article—is, the article does raise an important question: how can we stop ourselves from falling prey to this holiday–induced fervor?
Many factors are working against us—there is in fact a whole subfield of marketing dedicated to studying the impacts of Christmas music on our shopping habits. While the Christmas Creep can induce stress, the presence of holiday music in stores is correlated with increased shopping time and larger purchases.
Christmas music psychologically invokes a “reminiscence bump”—a phenomenon in which our most vivid and well–remembered memories are tapped into, and the nostalgia results in a looser grip on our purse strings. It also invokes the “mere exposure effect,” whereby we find pleasure in things we are more familiar with. That warm glow you feel when shopping to “Frosty the Snowman” or another childhood holiday anthem will actually link consumption to musically derived enjoyment, thus boosting your spending spree. Stores also curate their music selection during the holidays around shopping patterns to optimize this effect, all the way down to the tempo and rhythm of songs.
As such, holiday music is not only praying on your mental downfall. It's also been scientifically proven to contribute to your empty pockets. There appears to be no easy solution to either phenomenon, so I will personally attempt to set some boundaries—starting with putting as much distance between myself and the post–Halloween Christmas music listener.
