I drove past an enthusiastically decorated festive house the other day. On the sitting room window there were words rather chillingly applied in the same medium that one might use to simulate dripping blood at Halloween. “Elves at work here,” read the red gooey message, and a shiver went down my spine.
Elf on the Shelf is a scourge. Tout in the sprouts, more like. A rat in a hat. An army of tale-telling sprites sent to spy and grass on kids just doing their best in the run-up to Christmas. We’ve been warned for years that the phones and the Alexas and the Google Homes are listening to us and now we’re willingly adding magical beings with a hotline to Santa into the mix?
Far be it from me to criticise any of the diaspora of the North Pole. If Daidí na Nollag sees fit to send a legion of elves on shelves out across the world to keep an eye on who belongs on what list, then I’m loath to criticise. However, I believe the elves on shelves are the product of decentralisation and delegation. Some time in the past 20 years Santa’s workload became a little too much for the Big Man and he pondered getting some help to carry out all his duties. In stepped the Americans, who go absolutely buck wild for new traditions given their history is a millisecond long in the grand scheme of things. They developed this army of spying elves who move into homes for the month of December and report back to HQ in Lapland. I’m not blaming Santa here, let’s be clear. I doubt he even knows how serious it has become.
Parents get themselves into the cycle with a naive “what harm?” and next thing they’re cleaning tiny footprints off the kitchen counters at half seven on a Tuesday morning
We love nothing more than importing an American tradition, although mercifully the ammunition-fuelled gender reveal parties never took off. Baby showers are firmly ensconced though, and every day we move closer to inexplicably celebrating Thanksgiving and serving marshmallows for dinner. It makes sense that the Elf on the Shelf took hold here like a virus. Kids beg for the little blighters, and parents get themselves into the cycle with a naive “what harm?” and next thing they’re cleaning tiny footprints off the kitchen counters at half seven on a Tuesday morning. The words “rod”, “own” and “back” spring to mind but each to their own.
The elves don’t come to every home. Some parents don’t allow the elf to come in, usually going by the rationale that their children have never been on the naughty list before so why should they start worrying about it now? Besides, they’re the ones who must clean up whatever mess the elves have created overnight – skiing in the flour, spilling out the dog food, clogging the toilet with loo roll. Who has the bloody time? Even the elves that simply move around the house are not welcome in some families. These elves are somehow creepier than the destructive ones. Are they simply watching the children sleep? What’s their Garda vetting status? I want to see CVs and references.
There is a more serious – potentially too serious – conversation being had online about how the Elf is normalising surveillance of children and making them complacent and prepared for a life of being all watched over by machines of not-so-loving grace. They’re happy for the elf to watch their every move the same way I’m extremely blasé about giving my data to the supermarkets for €1 off yoghurts.
The only useful accessory I’ve seen is an “elf on strike” sign, which should go up on December 1st with the understanding that no scab will cross the picket line for the next 25 days
My question is: where does it stop? Do we need a petition signed by millions and sent to the North Pole demanding that the elves return to their traditional roles as toy craftspeople? Do we need to draft cease-and-desist letters stating that we do not consent to surveillance and that Santa has been identifying nice children since the beginning of time without resorting to tattlers in the toy box and snitches in the sock drawers?
As if the whole home invasion aspect isn’t bad enough, now parents are encouraged to buy things for the elf?! A few new outfits. A rocking chair. A bed, for the love of God! The only useful accessory I’ve seen is an “elf on strike” sign, which should go up on December 1st with the understanding that no scab will cross the picket line for the next 25 days. With any luck the whole industry will fold, and Santa can go back to his trusty analogue list. Let me ho-ho-hold the door while you show yourself out, Mr Elf. And take your weirdly long trousers with you.