Halloween is over. The cobwebs have been swept away, pumpkins taken off the stoop and the candy tucked away in drawers for future snacking. And right on cue, the incessant jingle of sleigh bells creeps into every public space. Somewhere in the distance, Mariah Carey begins to thaw from her icy prison.

It’s not even Thanksgiving, but the Christmas machine has booted up again — shiny, loud and ready to sell you candy-cane-coated joy by the ounce.

At first, it’s kind of funny. We post memes about Carey’s now-infamous “defrosting.” We clap when the 100-foot Christmas tree goes up at The Grove. But under that glittery surface is something a little more uncanny. The oversaturation of Christmas music — from car radios to checkout lines — has become a seasonal soundtrack of commercialization. 

The season that once meant connection now feels like an ad, and Generation Z’s ironic detachment is both a symptom of that exhaustion and a shield against it.

That endless parade of songs is no accident. Marketers figured out Christmas was a prime opportunity to pad bottom lines as early as the 1840s. Stores have continued to sell Santa ever since.

Brand-sponsored research has found that Christmas music triggers nostalgia and generosity, and those feelings trigger spending. That’s why stores start playing “Jingle Bell Rock” before autumn leaves have even finished falling. 

It’s a Pavlovian bell for consumers — hear sleigh bells, think “buy.” A study by Mood Media found 412% of shoppers admitted they spent more than usual when holiday music was playing. Stores have a financial incentive to keep playing, even if it starts to sound grating. 

It’s not that the music itself is bad — most of it is catchy, comforting, even charming in moderation. The problem is that it’s been stripped of its warmth and turned into a sterile sales tool. Playing these songs is no longer about listening to the radio at grandma’s house, it’s about setting the mood for a transaction. That repetition drains them of soul.

It’s the tragic effect of profit-chasing. Squeezing money out of joy until there’s no holiday magic left.

We’ve come of age online, watching institutions and holidays alike turn into marketing opportunities. Even Mariah Carey’s annual defrosting has gone from a bad internet joke to an annual production.

So when the holiday playlists start blaring, it’s not nostalgic — it’s ironic. There is a certain level of irony in corporations’ love for attempting to stimulate “nostalgia” in their musical choices, while younger generations are increasingly disillusioned with their day-to-day lives and are just trying to get by. Companies are pressing on a feeling that already exists within the generation: exhaustion. 

The instinct to satirize is, at its core, protective. If all attempts at earnestness are eventually relegated to corporate slogans, why provide free ammunition? Why waste time getting emotionally invested in a song when it’ll just be the next trending TikTok audio? 

So we roll our eyes, post memes about Mariah Carey rising from her icy tomb and joke about capitalism with a tinsel wrapping. The feeling is especially prominent in a place like Los Angeles, where the idea of a “White Christmas” is a far-off fantasy. The whole holiday production turns into a strange satire.

But deep down, there’s something kind of sad about that, right? We’re so used to insincerity that real joy feels suspicious.

Perhaps that sentiment is why 31% of Gen Z and millennials are ditching mince pies for Christmas meals according to a survey by Aldi. Or why one in three Gen Zers have found comfort in quieter traditions — small friend groups doing “family” dinners, individually celebrating or attending nondenominational celebrations. 

In fact, the average holiday spend for Gen Z is forecasted to decline by 23% this year, according to a study by accounting firm PwC.  

We’re not in a place, emotionally or financially, to be engaging with the corporate loop. Instead, we’ve opted for something far less shiny. But maybe that in it of itself is the solution. 

Of course, for the sanity of retail workers everywhere, it would be ideal for every department store ever to tone the sugar plums down a touch. Especially since it seems to be an unpopular move among shoppers. However, those big changes probably won’t come down the chimney in time for this year.

Those more intimate traditions are the exact remedy to soulless corporate hunger. In a world of increasing loneliness, the best thing for Gen Z to do is build connections. Creating traditions that feel right for us and affirming a sense of community is precisely the remedy to our poinsettia-shaped problem. Just as our exhaustion with the sterile nativity displays is the problem, it’s also the solution.

Though USC might not be a snow-covered wonderland and USC Village Target might forever be plagued by “Last Christmas” on loop, we have it in ourselves to forage our own traditions.