Black Friday used to feel like a full-contact sport where you could witness someone tackle a stranger for a $20 crockpot. Now it’s just a never-ending parade of “early access” emails offering the same discounts we saw three months ago. The chaos is gone, the thrill is dead, and honestly? I miss when we all collectively lost our minds in a Walmart at 3 a.m.

The age of powdered wigs is over, but the performance of perfection isn’t. This time, it comes in syringes instead of starch.

Every year, we hang tinsel and pretend we’re fine, even as the holiday chaos slowly unravels our sanity. Maybe Christmas isn’t broken; maybe our expectations are.

T.J. Maxx and HomeGoods have become adult Claire’s, aisles of cheap dopamine disguised as “affordable luxury.” If your house is a shrine to beige throw pillows and “Live Laugh Love” signs, you don’t have taste. You have a shopping habit and a Wi-Fi connection.