So, Black Friday just rolled around last week. If you’re from the U.S., you’re probably thinking, “What’s the big deal?” You all started this shopping frenzy, which is now such a staple that when someone in the States says, “Guess what? It’s Black Friday,” everyone else instinctively knows what’s coming.
But in the U.K.? Well, let’s just say it was a whole different story until about midweek last week. Suddenly, it was everywhere! Like that summer when everyone couldn’t stop humming “Blurred Lines.” Out of nowhere, people were throwing around the term “Black Friday” without bothering to clarify what it actually meant. I felt as lost as someone who dozed off in 1954 only to wake up in 1956, clueless about all this Elvis fuss.
Even worse, people weren’t just chatting about it; they were asking what your plans were for this supposed occasion. It felt like the whole nation had collectively joined a peculiar cult, and I was left standing outside, confused, as everyone else discussed which antlers they would don for the Winter Solstice Horn Dance (which, I must say, is a true British tradition unlike this Black Friday business).
Before I knew it, folks who, just a day earlier, had no idea what Black Friday was were now strategizing how to navigate it. It seemed someone—whether it was the Prime Minister or an underground society—had declared Black Friday a thing in the U.K. And just like that, it was.
My irritation at how quickly folks embraced this American import was only matched by my annoyance at discovering what it actually signified. The term “Black Friday” sounds ominous and intriguing. I mean, it could be the name of a revolutionary holiday, a ghost ship lost at sea, or even a catastrophic stock market crash. But no, it’s simply a day for shopping discounts. Apparently, on Black Friday, retailers experience a surge in sales, hence the term—though you’d think it would have a more dramatic name like “The Onyx-Dark Equinox of Unredeemed Souls.”
And so, as usual, the madness of crowds took over, and Black Friday joined the ranks of The Black Eyed Peas, bizarre gang culture, and, yes, even Rob Schneider movies, in the big file marked “Things We Didn’t Ask For but Got Anyway.” Thus, Britain had its inaugural Black Friday, and it was pure chaos. There were crowds, police were summoned, and some people got into scuffles over must-have items. According to the news, “A woman was struck by a falling television,” which is unfortunate for her but at least gravity remained intact amidst all this madness. At the end of the day, though, the U.K. didn’t descend into mayhem, so I suppose we adhered to the unwritten rules of this new ritual.
Now, for reasons nobody can quite fathom, we have a new tradition. It may be a mere week old, but it seems to have firmly established itself. Retailers benefited immensely, and the press lapped it up, suggesting it’s here to stay. So, thanks, America—really, thanks!
In the spirit of this cultural exchange, how about we send a quirky British tradition your way? After some deliberation, I’ve settled on the Mari Lwyd, a New Year’s Eve custom from Wales. Picture this: a local chap parades around with a horse’s skull on a pole, complete with a spring-loaded jaw that clacks open and shut. It’s covered in a sheet and decorated with ribbons, looking like something out of a horror movie. The Mari Lwyd wanders from house to house, bringing good luck and likely terrifying the locals in the process.
Have you got your Horse Skull yet? Time’s ticking!
Good luck with your Black Friday, America!