When I was kid in Brooklyn, my family’s Christmas tradition was to drive our rickety minivan to a farm in New Jersey where we cut down a 12-foot tree that was either lashed to the van’s roof or jammed inside. We sometimes drove home with the back door wide open. This led to many misadventures. The tree flew off on the Jersey Turnpike. The van got stuck at the bottom of the icy ramp to the Staten Island Ferry, which, who knew, wasn’t running and hadn’t taken cars in years — thanks, Papa. There was the year we couldn’t get the tree in the house, and the year that we couldn’t get the tree out of the car and had to leave it unattended overnight on the street. We paid neighbors and sometimes strangers to help us maneuver our trees up the stoop and indoors. There was plenty of cursing, but we loved it and did it year after year.
Each of our hundreds of ornaments — mainly wood, felt, or papier-mâché — had a story to go with it. My mother and I made a yearly pilgrimage to Matt McGhee in the West Village to add a few carefully selected pieces at a time to our collection. We didn’t have sets of conventional red balls or baubles, and anything that flashed was off-limits.
I moved to Los Angeles 14 years ago. Christmas hits different in SoCal. Carols sound offbeat in warm weather. Christmas lights don’t pop under the endless sunshine. To an East Coast transplant, the holiday feels like a Hollywood simulacrum rather than the real deal. Strangest of all to me were the pop-up Christmas-tree lots where trees were sold in balmy weather often flocked with fake snow (sometimes in pink or blue). As Bob Dylan has said, “Santa in the desert can really bring you down.” After a few years I knew it was time to go artificial, fully embracing the artificial juxtaposition of wintry traditions and beachy vibes.
My first artificial tree was a traditional, robust eight-foot spruce that stood proud long into Twelfth Night without dropping a single needle. It didn’t smell like pine (in fact, it didn’t smell all that great and gave me a rash), but it satisfied me in ways the sad street trees didn’t.
The great thing about artificial trees is you can collect them. During the pandemic, I added a five-foot silver tinsel tree to my holiday spread — a slim number that I placed next to me at the dinner table. I quickly realized that tinsel trees, because of their sparse needles and reachable depths, devour ornaments like Hungry, Hungry Hippos. Suddenly, I was getting regular deliveries of vintage mercury-glass ornaments from Etsy and eBay. This was a major departure from the traditions of my youth, where each ornament had a story (as did each hand-cut tree).
I got divorced in 2021 and moved into a mid-century apartment. I left the fake spruce and tinsel trees behind because, you know, fresh start. I entered the holiday season with a clean slate, ready for a new narrative for me and my 8-year-old daughter, Loretta. Which is how I came to purchase a 7.5-foot pink tinsel tree, because nothing says starting over like something you’d never imagined doing (or being permitted to do) before.
I have always had a kitschy side. I love beaded curtains, garden gnomes, lava lamps — all the things that played against my analog childhood. And I figured this big old pink tree would be just one of those weird reflexive or reactionary things I did to be silly or different. I didn’t realize that it would deliver actual joy on a grand scale.
My friend Lisa came over to help us assemble the profane pink number. It took several hours to get it fluffed out in all its glory. To my surprise, the tree was really well made — sturdy and plush. It filled the living room with shiny pink delight. We took turns stepping out into the yard, marveling at how the pinkness popped from 50 feet away. The thing sang. It twinkled. It was downright fun.
It also swallowed lights and ornaments. I made three trips to Target for string lights and silver garlands. I went down an internet rabbit hole shopping for vintage Christopher Radko, Shiny Brite, and Kurt Adler ornaments. (If you haven’t whiled away a few hours on the Replacements website checking out holiday décor, I don’t think you’re taking your decorating seriously enough.)
It was hard to stop decorating the pink tree. It relished each ornament, coloring it with a lovely rose glow. At night, after Loretta went to bed, I would sit alone in my living room just staring at the tree. It was unique, beautiful, ridiculous, charming, and totally mine.
For two weeks, I tinkered with the tree, making new additions — always updating Lisa about the latest developments. Sure, there wasn’t an individual story behind each ornament, but tree itself was a tale in the making, a story Loretta and me will surely tell for years to come. I was a newcomer in my close-knit community, but soon I was known as the person with the pink tree. People paused as they passed my window. They went out of their way to take a look.
When Lisa’s son got married a few months ago, she and I went shopping for an outfit for the rehearsal dinner. It was two weeks before the wedding and Lisa was clearly feeling the stress of the event. As I was waiting for her to try on a pair of gaucho pants, she poked her head through the dressing-room curtain. “When are we doing the pink tree?” she asked.
I was too taken aback to answer.
“I just need something to look forward to,” she added.
The answer is soon. And I can’t wait. I know its story is just beginning. And I’m eager to see how it develops.
My Pink-Tree Ornaments
I love a classic ornament that is also irreverent, much like my pink tree. So this 2023 offering from Target was bang on the money and a great compliment to last year’s full-to-the-brim red wineglass, also from Target.
The pink tree loves garlands! They give it depth and make it shine. In addition to my numerous silver glass beads and vintage Shiny Brite mercury-glass strings, I added a few of these candy garlands that have a slightly deranged and delightful candy-rave vibe.
Last year, I hung two disco-ball necklaces I acquired during a weekend’s misadventure in Las Vegas right before the holidays on my tree. They looked so groovy that I went for the real deal this go-around with this groovy Cody Foster version.
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