Mature Flâneur

A Christmas Light Miracle on South 13th Street, Philadelphia

Have yourself a metamodern little Christmas

It’s soooo easy to be all cynical and Grinchy-Scroogy this time of year, to see crass commercialism and corporate manipulation behind every twinkling holiday light. “Humbug!” one might all-too-easily exclaim. There is a cure for your Grinchiness! Get yourself down to South 13th Street, Philadelphia, and witness the miracle: a neighbourhood that puts on a community light show for no other reason than to celebrate the holiday, and to do so with a uniquely Philly twist.

I happened to be in Philadelphia the first weekend of December, visiting my adult son Josh and his partner Cara. The evening I arrived, they invited me to join them for a cookie party at a friend’s house on South 13th Street. I was prepared to be mildly amused. We had no idea of the glittorious splendor that awaited us. It’s not as if I’m an aficionado of Christmas decor. I like a nice light display, but on my own would not have bothered to saunter across town to gawk at some flashy bulbs. This is what greeted us:

We were utterly overwhelmed, overstimulated with all the color, the creativity, the crowds on the street. It took awhile to adjust as the three of us plunged into the light swarm.

One of the first houses we passed had elves all over a faux-snow lawn, fussing over an upturned sleigh. Nearby, there was a pair of red-and-white-striped elf legs sticking up in the air from an ersatz snowbank, as if the poor creature had fallen from the sky. This was crazy.

Above them, hanging off the building were three or four elves wearing open parachutes, as if gliding to the ground. This elaborate display was getting weirder and weirder. Finally, when we looked up to the rooftop, three floors up, we saw Santa peering down over the edge, and next to him, Rudolf, plus all of the other reindeer. Suddenly, this dramatic vignette made sense!

Santa’s sleigh, having landed on the roof, must have slid off the edge and come crashing to the ground, carrying several unlucky elves with it—most of whom survived, thanks to their parachutes. Okay, perhaps a Santa disaster scene seems a pretty macabre tableau, but what meticulous, wicked story telling! I’ve never seen anything like it. The display pretty much set the tone for the rest of the block, which was by turns flashy and overblown, quirky and kitschy, subversive and sly, and classically sincere.

On the classic side, there was a choir carolling in front of the Catholic church on the corner. As well as a real-live Santa, there was a pair of costumed reindeer prancing in the street, and also the Abominable Snowman (from Rudolf), and my personal favorite, the Grinch:

I noticed, though, that while much of the decor was typical, if extravagant — snowmen, stars, a snow-making machine — there was an unusual preponderance of penguins. Now, call me a Canadian, but I know for a fact penguins don’t live in the North Pole. They are strictly South Pole critters. It bugs the heck out of me to see one in a Christmas display. South 13th Street contained so many penguins, they could have formed a viable colony had they been real birds. At first this annoyed me; then I began to wonder: are the residents purposefully planting a plentitude of inappropriate penguins? Because they know it’s preposterous?

And— how to explain the Christmas winged unicorn? The Christmas llamas? The festive dinosaurs? The Mario Brothers Christmas display? Was the whole street having a laugh — at itself: sincerely celebrating Christmas while poking fun at the holiday tropes at the same time? Was South 13th Street enjoying a merry little Metamodernist Christmas?

A friend of mine, Samuèl Lopez-Barrantes — a talented 30-something author — recently threw the word Metamodernist into our conversation. I had no clue what he meant and so I did a deep dive online to better grasp what the hell he was talking about (because that’s the kind of hairpin I am). Here’s a good definition from the aptly named site, whatismetamodern.com:

[Metamodernism] engages the conflicts between modernist conviction and postmodern relativism, in part by embodying an aesthetic that braids the sensibilities of modernism and postmodernism with an emphasis on felt experience.

If you still find this whole concept abstruse, I can explain it better in context of the various ways in which one might celebrate Christmas:

Traditionalism: Celebrating family and religious traditions; doing it the same way every year: the classic tree, carol singing, getting all dressed up for Christmas mass or church on Christmas day. Even if you don’t enjoy it, you convincingly pretend that you do.

Modernism: Going all out with fancy techno light-and-sound shows, buying lots of presents (high tech gear, please!), lots of glitter and wrapping paper, but no real spiritual dimension to the holiday.

Post-Modernism: Ironically going through the motions of celebrating the holiday, perhaps with one’s “traditional’ or “modernist” parents while rolling ones eyes at boring rituals or the fake, crass, commercialism of it all. Giving your friends ugly Christmas sweaters and all wearing them ironically at a hipster Christmas party.

Metamodernism: Embracing the traditional, Modernist and Post-Modernist modes of Christmases past. The family decorates their neighborhood, house, tree, and selves with a calculated mismash of all these elements, revelling in it all with sincere joy and a spirit of playfulness (“ironesty”) because, ultimately, the holiday is what you choose to make of it.

Maybe you think I’m reading too much into holiday decor? Well, then take the last step with me into the Christmas cookie party at the end of our South 13th Street lights tour: the table was festooned to overflowing with cookies, the air thick with aromas of sugar and spices. (Oh, how I cursed my gluten allergy!).

Now look closely at that tree: mixed in with the traditional are these kinds of ornaments:

And, below, this amazing Metamodernist mother and daughter who gave me permission to take their picture wearing identical dino-Christmas sweaters. (Faces have been cleverly digitally altered because I don’t know them and belatedly can’t ask their permission to post their faces). The mom sported a mini-Mohawk, the top of her hair dyed green. The image on the front of the daughter’s hat is Baby Yoda surrounded with Christmas presents.

So, here’s to you, South 13th Street, and to Philadelphia! Have yourself a merry little Metamodern Christmas.

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This story is my first blogpost for In Living Color (thank you JoAnn Ryan) and my entry into the publication’s December monthly challenge.

Please check out my new book, Mature Flâneur: Slow Travel Through Portugal, France, Italy and Norway.