If we have learned anything from the influx of holiday movies, mass-produced decorations, Mariah Carey and the smorgasbord of other jingle bell-infused songs that Big Northern Hemisphere has embedded into our lives, it’s that the cultural zeitgeist has determined that Christmas is a holiday best served cold. Whatever!
The bigwigs in the top of the equator might have convinced the world of such, but that’s only because they lack the innate knowledge that us southern hemisphere folk know all too well: a warm Christmas is simply superior. This time of year is stressful enough – regardless of temperature – but hey, at least we don’t have to deal with seasonal depression on top of it all.
And I’m not just speaking from the orifice that doesn’t have teeth, I spent my entire childhood in the cold during the festive season.
Despite my entire family hailing from New Zealand, Dad’s job meant that big international moves were inevitable. I spent most of my younger years scattered across the UK (plus a quick stint in North Carolina), meaning that every time December rolled in I could expect a dark sky by 4pm and a crisp sting on my cheeks. The only upside was the fashion choices; layering is just so effortlessly chic.
In fairness, a cold Christmas does have a lot else going for itself. It’s traditional, classic and I’d be lying if I said that the possibility of seeing snow isn’t enchanting. The cosy charm of a chilly celebration is pretty hard to dismiss as anything other than magical but, since my extended family was stuck on the other side of the world, I always felt like I was missing out on authentic merrymaking that not even the most decadent hot chocolate could make up for.
Growing up so far from every cousin, uncle, aunt and grandparent meant that big reunions were things I only saw in movies, and I was green with envy over those that got to see extended family without having to endure a 30-hour flight. There was still something to love about sharing the holiday with just immediate family – plus hopping over to the local pub – it was just that it was so different to the Christmases that everyone else around me seemed to have.
It was only when Dad’s job prompted another international move to Australia that I finally got to experience a proper festive family affair; joined by my uncle, aunt and grandma for the first time. Because there was a bigger crowd to entertain, Dad got especially experimental in the kitchen and created a heavily marinated vodka jelly, knocking everyone on their arse after two bites. We all slept pretty well that night.
This was our Christmas routine for years – sharing the day with family, friends or a mix of both and water gun fights across the table – up until Dad once again answered the siren call of a new job opportunity from across the pond. Mum and Dad moved to the north of England, to one of the coldest parts of the entire country, right before the 2020 pandemic.
When my brother and I visited for the first time in almost two years for Christmas, I expected a wave of nostalgic longing to hit me in full force. But instead of being paralysed by the overwhelming sensation of long-forgotten childhood memories, I found myself missing everything that made a summer Christmas so special. Sipping sangria in the sun. Noshing on piles of fresh fruit. Family and friends being just a phone call away. Hot-pink sunsets stretched across the sky.
Suddenly, I was a hot-Christmas convert.
Then, when Dad died in 2024, Mum made the decision to permanently plant her roots back on this side of the world and return home to Aotearoa. The first Christmas without him was tough, his absence felt in every corner, but being once again surrounded by family (this time including my sister-in-law, her brothers and mum) plus the soft warmth of the sun helped ease the grief in monumental ways.
All that to say, I am a massive hypocrite.
I will be spending this Christmas during winter in South Korea; and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to wander around Seoul in my fluffiest coat, holding out hope for the chance to catch a glimpse of snow. Cold Christmas propaganda still has a little hold on me – sue me!
Still, I’m keen to return back home and experience another New Year’s Day under the light of the Australian summer sun. Knowing that my family – including my newborn nephew – will be close by as we enter 2026 gives me so much joy that little me was always yearning for. Not even the fluffiest snow can hold a candle to that!
