Fear of Christmas has a name, and it’s hard to spell.
As the Christian festive season kicks into full retail swing, fans of TV sitcom Seinfeld invariably recall with delight an episode that first aired on December 18, 1997, which introduced the concept of Festivus.
Non-Seinfeldians can stop reading now, but for the rest of us, there will always be Festivus.
More specifically, the terror triggered in the character George by the mere mention of Festivus – a celebration invented by George’s father as rival to Christmas for non-Christians – is singularly memorable.
And while Festivus never really caught on in the wider community, a dread fear of Christmas is somewhat more commonplace.
We are not alluding here to the justifiable aversion to shopping malls blaring out Bing Crosby, inflatable Santas swaying on suburban nature strips and overconsumption of Ferrero Rocher.
We are talking about christougenniatikophobia.
Described as an offshoot of a broader phobia offshoot called heortophobia, which is a fear of holidays, christougenniatikophobia often begins in early childhood and is often triggered by traumatic events associated with the yuletide.
Events such as being forced as a child to sit on a weirdy-beardy stranger’s lap while another costumed critter takes your photo?
Well yes, and that’s just for starters. Not only is there santaphobia, other associated fears include opening gifts (doronophobia), snow (chionophobia), burning logs in fireplaces (pyrophobia), parties (simbosiophobia), flashing lights (selaphobia) and loud noises (phonophobia).
Symptoms of christougenniatikophobia include rapid heartbeat, quickened breathing, nausea, fainting, and feeling of dread.
Recommended treatments include talk therapy and hypnotherapy, although we suspect emigrating to Saudi Arabia might do the trick as well.
Still, as scary as Christmas might be for some, we reckon the traumas of Festivus, with its feats of strength and airing of grievances, will still take some beating.
If you see something stupid, say something stupid … send your holiday horrors in a stocking to felicity@medicalrepublic.com.au.
