December 23, 2025
MANILA – Every year, on or about Sept. 1, something unmistakable happens in the Philippines. Radios dare to play the first Christmas song. Malls quietly roll out red and gold. Social media erupts with jokes about Jose Mari Chan. And the public response is not outrage, but relief. And the Christmas genie awakens.
To outsiders, this early start looks excessive. But to Filipinos, it feels natural, earned, and oddly necessary. Our long Christmas season is not an accident of marketing. It is a social system—carefully evolved, widely consented to, and deeply revealing of who we are.
At its most basic level, early Christmas is economic common sense. Many Filipino households operate with tight margins and uneven cash flow. Buying gifts early—especially in Divisoria or Baclaran—means cheaper prices, better choices, and expenses spread across months instead of being crushed into December. This is diskarte, not decadence. Merchants benefit too: longer selling seasons smooth demand, reduce congestion, and improve cash flow.
But economics alone cannot explain why the season is so warmly embraced. The Philippines is unique in how media and public space coordinate the timing. Radio announcers famously turn “the first Christmas song” into a playful contest. Radio, in this sense, acts as a cultural seismograph—testing when society is ready, and then locking in the moment.
Malls, especially in high-traffic places like Cubao, perform a similar function. In earlier decades, the COD Department Store in Cubao was known for its animated “Christmas on Display.” When malls put up Christmas displays early, they are signaling to millions of commuters. These displays externalize what many households already feel: they are ready to think about Christmas. Christmas in September works only because the public welcomes it.
Places like the Paskuhan Village, and now the Giant Lantern Festival in San Fernando, Pampanga, reinforce this logic. By making Christmas crafts and lanterns a year-round livelihood and tourist attraction, they normalize the idea that Christmas is not just a date but a culture, a craft, and an identity. It gives us Filipinos permission to prepare early without guilt. Our evening trip last week from Vigan to Manila showed how local governments outdo one another in splurging on Christmas lights and decor.
Yet for all this early anticipation, Christmas still has a sacred crescendo—and it arrives later. Puto bumbong and bibingka, sold outside churches during Simbang Gabi, remain among the most powerful markers of the season. They appear only in Advent, only in certain places, only at dawn. They tell us: Now it is truly Christmas. In a season stretched thin, these ritual foods prevent fatigue and restore depth. They ensure Christmas still peaks, not fizzles.
Another crucial, often overlooked factor is the overseas Filipino workers diaspora. Millions of Filipinos abroad begin thinking about Christmas months ahead because remittances and balikbayan boxes take planning. Money is sent early so families can buy gifts gradually, prepare reunions, repair homes, or simply breathe easier. In many households, the arrival of an early remittance is the real signal that Christmas has begun. The diaspora, in this way, helps stretch the season—not through nostalgia alone, but through material support that makes celebration possible.
All of these point to a deeper truth: Filipinos want a long Christmas. In a country marked by economic precarity, disasters, and political uncertainty, Christmas functions as a collective emotional shelter. Lengthening it spreads joy, anticipation, and social warmth over time. It softens the year’s edges.
And yet—this is where the story turns: Christmas in the Philippines is also a threshold.
After the lights come down, something changes. January often brings what many quietly recognize: a period of material and emotional drought. Bills arrive. Savings are depleted. The mood hardens. Historically, this post-Christmas season has coincided with sharper political discourse, protests, and public frustration. It is no coincidence that turbulence often follows festivity. The season of abundance gives way to reckoning.
In this sense, the long Christmas is a necessary prelude—a gathering of strength before leaner months. When Filipinos celebrate early and long, they are not denying reality. They are bracing for it.
So, when Christmas music starts in September, perhaps the right response is not amusement, but understanding. This is a society spreading joy carefully across time, coordinating markets, media, faith, family, and diaspora. It is a people collectively choosing to bask in hope—knowing full well that the year ahead will demand it.