We haven’t even finished carving our Halloween pumpkins when, between rows of gummy candies and “spooky” decorations, the first flashes of tinsel start to appear. Outside, it’s still 15–20 degrees, the sun keeps tricking us into believing it’s autumn, yet inside supermarkets, it’s already snowing with discounts. The shelves turn into a strange hybrid of Halloween orange and Christmas red, pushing us into a holiday mood we’re not ready for yet.
The natural transition between seasons has disappeared, replaced by a marketing mechanism that tells us we need to be happy, to buy, and to decorate… now. This rush quietly steals the very thing Christmas values most: anticipation. The magic fades when everything is wrapped and ready for sale two months in advance. Christmas has become a mass-produced product, an item you toss into your cart next to bread and milk—without effort, without involvement, without that emotion that once made your heart race when you were a child.
Then comes the rush. That modern “chore” called Secret Santa—three different groups—plus gifts for family, friends, university, work. Instead of the joy of giving, we feel the pressure of a checklist that needs ticking off. And what do we usually tick? Objects without a story: “the hand cream and shower gel set” or “the aftershave and shaving foam combo.” Quick fixes, sealed in cellophane, silently screaming, “I didn’t have time, but I had to give something.”
Consumerism has convinced us that not thinking too much is easier, turning an act of love into a simple transaction stripped of personality.
What if this year we choose not to be carried away by the noise? Christmas isn’t lost—it’s just buried under too many discount labels. We can choose to refuse gifts given out of reflex and return to intention. True magic doesn’t live in the perfectly wrapped box under the tree, but in the time you invest in creating something.
Instead of a shelf product, maybe this year you offer a handwritten card, where your words are worth more than any brand. Or a handmade gift, imperfect as it may be. Celebration, at its core, means stillness and presence. It’s a cup of tea enjoyed slowly, a messy table filled with loved ones, and the warmth of moments where you’re not rushing anywhere.
Authentic Christmas lives in that beautiful “mess” beforehand: crumpled drafts of a letter to Santa, fingers stained with ink or glue, and the genuine joy of seeing someone’s eyes light up when they receive something made with heart.
This year, at BOS, we choose to be better—for real. To give Christmas back its lost personality and remind ourselves that the most valuable things can’t be scanned at the checkout. Let’s turn “I have to” into “I want to” and celebrate with meaning.