It’s that time of the year again, the time when 12 months’ worth of pent-up malevolence comes flooding out, mixing malice, schadenfreude, one-upmanship and virtual punishment beatings. Yup: it’s time to start writing our Christmas cards.
Has there ever been an activity better designed to bring out the worst in people than that dedicated to the season of goodwill? We all know that Christmas is a time to celebrate bitter familial enmity, but the Christmas card tradition goes one better and gets the rest of the world in on the act.
This came to me as I was efficiently consulting the list of my Christmas card recipients from last year: I landed on a couple who recently canceled on the day of a dinner party for which it had taken my husband and me three days to prepare. The stab of pleasure I felt on crossing them off this year’s list – and all lists in perpetuity – took me by surprise: this’ll learn them, I thought. Next time they’ll think twice before letting someone down.
Of course, it’s not just no-shows that get knocked off my Christmas card lists. The list has changed dramatically over the years, something I can check on as I always keep records, and as much as it makes me happy to add new chums, so it can produce a feeling of glee to drop old ones. I’m pretty good at maintaining friendships, but over the decades some people have just gone too far.
Recent crimes that mean you’ll receive no Season’s Greetings from me include supporting Kamala Harris (I mean, come on); being rude or worse about Israel; and slagging off the art of ballet (yup, I have distanced myself from people for that).
Given that I could not care less about any sport whatsoever, you can support any soccer team you like and have my blessing, but say it’s OK for a biologically male boxer who says he’s a woman to go into the ring with the real thing results in an adios muchachos from me. How does this stuff not end up with Sicilian-type feuds and a body count to match? Now that it’s so much easier to be permanently offended, courtesy of social media, it’s a wonder there’s anyone left on my Christmas card list at all. But there are some awfully good reasons to send cards.
For a start, there’s the dreaded family letters, which seems to be a popular tradition across America – the little update about what’s been happening in people’s lives. No, I’ve never sent one, but I don’t half enjoy keeping in touch with the people who do because they can be, shall we say, a little more revealing about what is really going on than people think.
I’ve known of divorcing couples send “his and hers” round robins, both with a totally different version of events. I’ve read parents boasting about their child’s artistic creativity, when I know that what they really wanted was for him to become a lawyer. And vice versa. There have been ill-advised shots of interior decor, even more ill-advised fashion statements, attempts at haute cuisine and heart-stoppingly dreadful attempts at poetry. Who needs to train the binoculars on the neighborhood when the news ends up in your mailbox anyway?
The politics of Christmas-card sending can be extremely complex. Every year some smug individual piously announces they will not be sending cards this year, for spurious reasons that involve saving the planet/Christmas becoming too commercialized/they’re using the money to feed starving orphans – but you and I know what’s really going on: they can’t be bothered. And so you then make absolutely certain they get a Christmas card from you, a totally passive-aggressive statement which makes it very clear that while they might be lazy old toads, you are sticking by the obligations of the social bond and nobly sacrificing time, money and effort – to say nothing of getting an aching arm – by churning out cards in their hundreds.
Nor does the politics stop there. Christmas cards can be great for one-upping the neighbors: if you have politician friends whose cards allude to their office, so much the better for when the neighbors come round for Christmas Eve cocktails. Obviously a White House card trumps any other (sorry about that), but who’s not going to want to boast about being close to their local senator?
And said senator is likely to make it very easy to do so, because for them, this is a perfect opportunity to show what a stalwart family man/woman he/she is by shoving a picture of them, their spouse and their children all beaming at the camera and looking wholesome. This in turn means your neighbours have no problems in identifying who the card is from. It’s a win-win all round.
Then there are the cards you receive after Christmas. These are from the people who have received your card, panicked about not sending you one and don’t have the imagination to pretend it got lost in the post. That means that you know how low you are on their priority list, and they know that you know. And if they want to make it up to you there better be one stonker of a dinner invitation on the way. If that doesn’t happen, well, out comes the red pen.
Much as it might not seem so, I’m actually a very nice person. I have friendships dating back decades. I am not a Meghan Markle-style fair-weather friend, nor am I unkind. It is rare that I make a positive effort at Christmas card exclusion: my lists have mainly changed as friendships have waned. But if you’re reading this, know me and haven’t had a card from me, there may just be a reason. Happy Holidays!
This article was originally published in The Spectator’s December 22, 2025 World edition.
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