Is it just me, or have you, too, noticed the holiday ads for several major retailers and credit card companies have put a sexy spin on Old Saint Nick? Seriously? Why? Santa is the pure embodiment of the Christmas Spirit. He symbolizes love, joy, generosity, kindness, and giving. Now, add sex symbol to that list. I don't think so. Have these marketing geniuses never read the poem by Clement Clark Moore?
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly. That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
If you ask me, that's a pretty detailed description. Nowhere does it say: He was doing bench presses and squats like a champ. His rump was quite firm; if a quarter were stuck between, he could hold it like a clamp. Sigh. Personally, I like men who have bellies that shake like a bowl full of jelly when they laugh and smoke a pipe. I find those rather charming qualities. I mean, I'm sure Santa doesn't gorge himself on deviled eggs during a holiday meal and then laugh hysterically over the foulness that is to come probably at bedtime so he can give poor Mrs. Claus a Dutch oven. That's not charming. That's not charming at all. But twinkling eyes filled with mischief, shaking bellies, pipe smoking, and rosy cheeks are all quite alluring.
Why must society take charming perfection and sexualize it? I don't want to think of a hot dude sliding down my chimney in the middle of the night to leave me or, more accurately, my child, thoughtful gifts. Suddenly, it goes from quaint and charming to icky pedophile feels. It no longer feels like a childhood fantasy but more like a smutty Harlequin romance novel my closet dirty-minded aunt would read. Gross.
My advice is to leave Santa alone. Perfection cannot be improved upon. These companies totally missed the target. (Hahaha! See what I did there? I crack myself up!) Just leave Santa fat, jolly, elfish, and adorable. Santa is not meant to be sexy. He's meant to be charming, harmless, non-threatening, and the embodiment of goodness. If I wanted a hot beefcake, I'd go to Chippendales. (Is that even a thing anymore?) I mean, I would gaze upon the studliness of The Bibbed Wonder. Yes, that is definitely what I meant.
On this snowy December day, stay safe, be smart, don't sexualize a childhood icon; that's gross, and keep washing your hands.
