Every December, without fail, the world transforms into a parade of holiday goodies. Cookies, candies, cocoa bombs, fudge, pretzel clusters, mystery bars that may or may not contain peanut butter—it’s like everyone collectively decided, “What if we all baked at the same time and delivered it to each other in an unregulated exchange system with no clear rules or exit strategy?”
And look, I’m not anti-goodie. I’m just saying the holiday treat ecosystem could use a user manual.
First, there’s the Cookie Exchange Enthusiast, who believes in their heart that December is a competitive sport. This person shows up with a cookie so detailed and structurally complex that it requires a cooling rack, parchment paper, and emotional commitment. Meanwhile, the rest of us show up with whatever didn’t stick to the pan. But sure—tell me again how “it’s just for fun.”
Then comes the Neighbor Drop-Off Surprise, when your doorbell rings and someone you haven’t seen in eleven months hands you a paper plate wrapped in Saran Wrap so tight it could survive reentry from space. There’s always at least one treat on the plate you cannot identify with confidence. You eat it anyway. It’s tradition.
There’s the Office Treat Table, which begins as a sweet gesture and quickly devolves into a 12-hour grazing frenzy. You walk past it saying, “I don’t need anything,” and then somehow leave with a brownie crumb welded to your sweater and a handful of caramel corn you didn’t even mean to grab. You don’t know what’s on that table. You don’t ask.
Then, inevitably, someone gifts you a Tin of Cookies, which is adorable until you remember those tins are the Matryoshka dolls of holiday chaos. Three layers. Four types of cookies. Zero labels. Every time you open one, it feels like you’re participating in a culinary trust exercise.
And let’s not forget the Home Kitchen Bake-a-Thon, where holiday ambition goes to die. You start strong, thinking you’ll crank out a gorgeous “Pinterest-level display.” Two hours later, the kitchen looks like a flour-based crime scene and the dog has eaten something he definitely was not supposed to. Half your cookies are overbaked, the other half are underbaked, and you’re seriously considering passing off store-bought as your own because really— who’s going to know?
All month long, it’s goodies. Constant goodies. Goodies you didn’t ask for. Goodies you feel weirdly obligated to eat. Goodies that appear in your house with no explanation. Goodies that come with handwritten recipe cards because someone, somewhere, wants you to commit to making their signature treat instead of the one you’ve made since 2006.
And through it all, December marches on, stuffing us full of sugar and expectation, daring us to pretend we have any control over our self-restraint. Spoiler: we don’t.
So yes, the holiday goodie tradition is charming, thoughtful, and full of community spirit. But it’s also sticky, chaotic, overly competitive, and impossible to escape.
And that feels about right.
