The Inner Santa

Yesterday I went out in a Santa suit and joined with a few hundred other Santa’s in an annual event called “Santa Con.”

There really is no point to all of this. We go out for most of the day and into the night. We go from place to place. We drink quite a bit. We sing songs. It’s extremely loosely organized; mostly we’re told where to go, but only when it’s time to go there.

I’m sure I don’t need to explain how much fun it is. Santa is just a fun guy. Dressing up is a fun thing to do. This is a Festive thing to do, with a capital F.

It’s a surprisingly powerful event, and I’m not sure exactly why. Part of it is the surreality. It’s just deliciously absurd to have so many Santa’s in one place, so out of context. It’s a huge performance art exhibition, every year.

Santa is a special character. For one, there’s only one of him, just like God, or Dad. It breaks the rules to have two or more Santa’s in one place. (Even though we all know that there are thousands of fake Santa’s ho ho hoing across the continent all this month long.) Breaking the rules is fun. It just is. Especially when it doesn’t really hurt anyone.

Santa is also El Numero Uno. Like a king, Santa rules his space. He’s the most important person wherever he is, and he garners huge respect. People might say bad things about the commercialism of Christmas that Santa may or may not represent, but no reasonable person would suggest that Santa is an asshole.

And here we are, all dressing up as El Numero Uno. “Hi Santa!” “Hey Santa,” we all say to each other, with camaraderie and genuine respect. We all honor the Santa’s that we are all portraying. Yes, it’s a big joke. But yes, it feels great to be Santa.

Santa has huge honor and power, but little authority. Theoretically, he might proclaim your naughtiness, but his punishment is merely to deny you a present. You might say he is an emasculated god image, but we all know that Santa keeps Mrs. Claus happy, and probably has several cute elves on the side.

I’m suggesting that it would do us all good, boys and girls, to stay in touch with our inner Santa’s. Deeper meanings aside, it’s fun and it’s absurd. But that said, there’s something underneath it all, and I salute that. With a pretty girl on my lap, I lift my beer and say, “Ho ho ho!” (And I mean that in a nice way.)