Christmas in East Asia is that rare thing: a global festival successfully imported, enthusiastically monetised, meticulously aestheticised - and almost entirely stripped of its original point. It is Christmas as a lifestyle accessory or an Instagram backdrop. But it is Christmas without Jesus Christ, sans family obligations, and in many places without a day off.
For hundreds of millions across Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, China and elsewhere December 25 arrives not with the gentle hush of a public holiday, but with the familiar alarm clock signalling the need to get up and head to work or school.
Business carried on as usual, and the only tangible sign that anything unusual is happening is a Santa Claus inflatable wedged between a bubble tea shop and a real estate agent advertising “luxury micro-apartments”.
This is not to say Christmas is ignored entirely. In fact, quite the opposite is the case.
East Asia has embraced Christmas with the zeal of a shopping mall on commission. Streets and apartment complexes are draped in fairy lights of such wattage that passing satellites and astronauts stuck in the International Space Station over the festive period can probably see them. Department stores install towering trees as soon as US-themed Thanksgiving decorations are packed away in late November and are often decorated in themes that change annually - Nordic Minimalist Christmas, Pastel K-Pop Christmas and Luxury Champagne Christmas - none of which has much to do with Bethlehem, Nazareth or, indeed the true meaning of the Christian celebrations observed half a world away.
In Tokyo, Christmas is widely understood to be a romantic event for couples, ideally involving a hotel booking, a view of illuminated landmarks and a cake that costs more than a modest weekly grocery shop. In Seoul, it is similar, though with greater emphasis on social media documentation and the faint competitive undertone that accompanies all major Korean leisure activities. In Taipei, it is an excuse for shopping centres to play “Last Christmas” by Wham on a loop from early November until morale finally collapses around the Lunar New Year in January or February.
The religious content, meanwhile, is treated with polite indifference. Christianity exists in East Asia, of course, sometimes in large numbers, particularly in South Korea. But the public Christmas remains resolutely secular, in the way only a hyper-commercial society can manage.
Nativity scenes are rare; Santa Claus is ubiquitous. Angels may appear, but only if they can be rendered cute, cartoonish or holding a promotional placard advertising real estate or teen hangouts.
What Christmas means is therefore refreshingly clear: consumption.
Christmas in East Asia is about the wallet and buying things, preferably wrapped in red and gold, and preferably promoted with just enough Western imagery to make the locals feel“international” without requiring any understanding of its origins.
It is capitalism in a Santa hat.
Japan’s contribution to this global phenomenon remains the undisputed masterpiece: Kentucky Fried Chicken as Christmas dinner. Through a marketing campaign launched in the 1970s and never allowed to die, millions of Japanese families dutifully pre-order buckets of fried chicken weeks in advance. This is not parody. This is logistics in action. Miss your booking and Christmas is ruined, or at least reduced to a less festive bento box with a leg or a wing at best.
Elsewhere, Christmas food traditions are similarly inventive. There are strawberry sponge cakes, “Christmas lattes” that taste suspiciously identical to normal lattes, and chocolates presented in boxes so elaborate one assumes the contents must be priceless, only to discover they are exactly the same chocolates available year-round, merely rebranded and slightly more expensive.
The soundtrack, too, is resolutely globalised. Mariah Carey dominates malls from Shanghai to Sapporo with the kind of cultural imperialism usually associated with aircraft carriers. Local pop stars release Christmas singles that sound festive largely because they contain bells and the word “snow”, regardless of whether snow is actually a thing where the song is being played - in Taiwan it never is. Indeed, in tropical parts of East Asia, Taiwan again, artificial snow machines have been known to pump foam into 20+degree heat, just in case anyone forgets this is meant to be winter.
And yet, for all the lights, music and promotional tie-ins, there is an unmistakable hollowness to the day itself.
Christmas Eve may be busy. Christmas Day is often just… Thursday. Children go to school. Office workers attend meetings. Trains run on normal schedules. The great annual Western ritual of pretending not to check emails is largely absent.
For expats across East Asia, this can be disorientating. One moment you are standing beneath a massive Christmas tree while a choir of recorded children sings about peace on earth; the next you are answering emails about quarterly targets. The disconnect is almost impressive. East Asia has perfected the art of festive simulation without inconvenience to the school schedule or corporate calendar.
This, perhaps, is the key to Christmas’s success in the region. It is all sparkle, not substance. No awkward conversations at the dinner table. No arguments about politics. No compulsory goodwill beyond what can be expressed through a gift receipt.
It also avoids the deeper, messier questions that Christmas traditionally raises: charity, inequality, faith, forgiveness. These are quietly ignored in favour of LED reindeer and promotional discounts. The poor are not so much remembered as forgotten, unless they can be integrated into a corporate social responsibility campaign with suitable branding.
Even the language reflects this selective adoption. “Merry Christmas” is widely used, often enthusiastically, but as a seasonal greeting rather than a statement of belief. Christmas in East Asia is a temporary vibe, not a value system.
And when the day itself passes, it vanishes quickly. On 26 December, decorations begin to disappear with remarkable speed, replaced by banners advertising year-end sales or, in Chinese-speaking regions, Lunar New Year preparations which can still be as distant as six-weeks away.
Christmas, having served its purpose, is efficiently packed away until next November.
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