The Mariah Carey Effect

Halloween has come and gone and Thanksgiving’s glorious presence is just around the corner (seriously, a holiday that bears the sole purpose of getting people to eat and visit without any burden of expectations or extravagant present buying? Sign me up), which means that America’s first love, the Christmas holiday season, is upon us. It is an infatuation whose utter devotion continues to startle and amaze me, yet one that apparently has not yet hit its deepest depths. This year I would like to write about a concept that has intrigued me for sometime now: the female fascination with Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

First released in 1994 on her album “Merry Christmas,” Ms. Carey’s holiday anthem hit the collective feminine psyche like a one horse open sleigh on a mission from God, permanently imprinting itself into their own special collective unconscious (which we ALL know they have) and forcing them to lose control when it is played. Signs of control loss include bopping with hands clenched tightly together, incessant humming, and repeated utterances of the phrase “I LOVE this song!” I myself have been witness to this disturbing glimpse into girly goofiness on several occasions; here is my story.

Exhibit A: Christmas 2000, Butterfield Gallery of Dance. The world was enthralled with the 2,000th anniversary of its relationship with one Jesus H. Christ and dreading the prospect of a computer meltdown that, by all reports, would inevitably occur a mere six days later. I was at the dance studio for a rehearsal, but in the finest of dance traditions, we had decided to have a bit of an impromptu holiday party instead. Some festive music had been put on the sound system and everybody was have a generally good time drinking punch and chatting when all of a sudden, it happened. “All I Want for Christmas is You” came over the speakers and the girls in the room lost control, clutching each other, singing, and dancing like those famous followers of Dionysus, except without all the bother of cruelty, murder, and mayhem. It was four minutes of pandemonium the likes of which I had never seen, an image that haunts and confuses me to this day.

Exhibit B: November 2005, Offices of Principal Resources. It was a normal workday around the office, a day filled with fear and loathing as my co-workers and I struggled to make it to the end with what little shreds of our dignity and sanity we could manage to hang on to. The melodic tones of 102.9 Lite FM drifted through our cubicles, emanating from our telephone speakers and reverberating down the hall into a nothingness that could only begin to imitate the nothingness of that stations music lineup. Without warning, “All I Want for Christmas is You” began playing and drove the women of the office into a frenzy. They began singing and excitedly chattering about “loving this song sooooooo much.” Now, this may not sound all that extraordinary, but compared to the usual subdued nature of these individuals, their reaction marked an explosion of reckless abandon due to this song. Jason, the other male of the office, and I did the only sensible thing: hid under our desks and waited for the song to change.

Exhibit C: Later November 2005, 1715 Lindig Street. It was the end of another long day and I was happily brushing my teething, attempting to stave off decay from at least one part of my body and thinking about what I needed to get done the next morning. Megan was in bed with her Lappy making preparations to watch our nightly episode of Friends, one of the more enjoyable parts of may day to be sure. As I placed my toothbrush in its “floating fish” toothbrush holster, I heard from my left (your right) a sharp *click* *click* and the beginnings of Mariah’s irrepressible “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Like a woman possessed, Megan sprang to her feet on the bed and began shaking her hips in a spitting image of the Supreme’s performing their hit “Stop in the Name of Love,” complete with imaginary microphone. She then proceeded to sing the entire song while bopping around the room and otherwise having a hi-ho time. Flabbergasted by her behavior, I quickly grabbed my camera in an attempt to finally obtain some photographic evidence of the effects of this ode to holiday cheer. The results can be seen below.



What is it about the song that causes girls to lose their damn minds? Is it the irrepressible beat, the themes of love and dedication, or a secret frequency being tested by the government for mind control purposes? I honestly haven’t a clue, but I do know that it is wise to exercise extreme caution whenever you find your ears beset by the melodious tones of Ms. Carey within 60 days of the Winter Solstice. Good luck everybody!