I was nine years old, living on the island of Marinduque, when I first heard the curious claim: “Sa Pilipinas, Setyembre pa lang, Pasko na.” In the Philippines, Christmas starts in September. At the time, it sounded like someone was joking, a bit of playful exaggeration.
On our sleepy island, September mostly meant the last stretch of monsoon season and the second half of the school year. Our focus was on Undás (All Saints’ Day) preparations, not holiday cheer. No Santa cutouts in the town plaza, no carolers roaming the barangay during the ber months. If a radio DJ dared to sneak in a Christmas jingle in October, it got a good laugh. Christmas for us began when the dawn masses did, mid-December signaled by the smell of puto bumbóng and bibingka outside the church. That was the tradition I knew.
But beyond our island, there’s a different story. In cities like Manila, by September 1 the holiday mood is unmistakable.
The Philippines famously holds the world’s longest Christmas season, spanning the “ber months” of September through December (and then some)[3]. More than a hundred days before December 25, the country “transforms into a veritable holiday wonderland,” with carols on the radio and festive displays sweeping across malls and other public spaces[4][5]. It’s a scene both enchanting and bewildering, with tropical streets suddenly aglow with string lights and giant artificial trees, despite the habagat humidity and flooded streets with the end of rainy season.
But is this really Christmas already or an enthusiastic lead-up? Is the notion that Christmas “starts in September” accurate, or an affectionate “”Filipino thing” we like to boast about?
The answer, I’ve found, is a bit of both. Culturally, Filipinos do begin gearing up once the calendar hits September. As one writer quipped, the Philippines has two seasons: “Christmas, and waiting for Christmas.” The moment the -ber suffix appears on the calendar, something in our collective mood shifts. Radio stations dust off holiday playlists. By mid-September, many households start unboxing décor. A Filipino in Canada reminisced that back home, “some TV shows start a countdown to Christmas as early as September…They say it’s the ‘ber’ months so you are near December”[6]. Even children get in on the excitement: there are accounts of kids “setting up Christmas trees and playing songs to give that Christmas vibe” as early as September[7]. In some neighborhoods, youngsters start roaming to sing carols by October, capitalizing on the warm weather and generous aunties and uncles, much as they would later in December[8][9]. Such anecdotes show that the early-Christmas phenomenon isn’t purely urban myth – it has trickled into the habits of many Filipino families, especially in towns and cities where the sights and sounds of Christmas are literally on display in public.
That said, the intensity of celebration in September is often lighter than the headlines imply. It’s true that malls and radio stations strike up “Joy to the World” well before Halloween, and that by October you can find faux pine trees for sale on many a store shelf. However, much of this early Christmas is a background score to everyday life, rather than the main event.
Many Filipinos still hold to an implicit rule: observe the solemn traditions of Undás (All Saints’ and All Souls’ days on Nov. 1-2) first, before going all-out for Christmas. As cultural observers note, Halloween decorations might briefly displace Christmas ornaments in late October, only for the Christmas décor to be “put back up when the spooky holiday passes”[10]. In other words, even in a city enthusiastic for Christmas, there’s a dance between seasons, a momentary pause to honor the dead, then a resumption of festive sparkle.
In provinces like Marinduque, this pause is more pronounced. There, September and October used to pass with nary a Christmas light in sight. Only after the town cemetery had been bright with candles on November 1 would households start stringing parol lights along windows, as if the saints themselves gave permission to commence Pasko. In fact, some Filipinos insist that traditionally you’d only “begin hearing [Christmas songs] after November 1, which is All Saints’ Day”[11]. This underscores that our famed September Christmas is a modern expansion of the season – one driven by excitement, yes, but also by deliberate anticipation.
So why do we do it? Why do Filipinos stretch Christmas into a four-month saga?
Historically, the core of the Filipino Christmas was imported by Spain in the 16th century. Catholicism introduced us to the Nativity story and rituals like the pre-dawn Simbang Gabi novena starting every December 16[12]. For centuries, the Christmas season proper didn’t truly begin until Advent, the four Sundays before December 25. Even today, the Catholic Church “does not start to prepare nor celebrate Christmas before the start of Advent”[13] – meaning late November at the earliest. This liturgical fact highlights how non-liturgical our long holiday season is. The early-September kickoff isn’t mandated by faith; it emerged from culture and, later, commerce.
It’s interesting to note that fiesta culture primed us for this lengthy celebration. As a people, we adore festivities and family gatherings. Every town has a fiesta for its patron saint, and often these are planned and anticipated for months. Christmas, being the grand fiesta celebrating the Holy Child and the family, naturally invites even greater anticipation. Sociologists observe that Filipinos have a “psychological framework to count down the days to big celebrations” as a way to build excitement and allocate preparation time[14][15].
We’re a nation of planners when it comes to feasts, we love “the chase” and the preparation as much as the day itself[16]. As one marketing professor noted, preparing and decorating is tedious, so “you must prepare early so that you can be more festive when Christmas comes”[17]. By starting in September, we stretch out the joy, ensure everything is ready, and amplify the eventual climax of Christmas Eve. This early start “essentially means the start of a countdown, raring to get moving in eagerness for the special day”[18]. In a sense, the long lead-up acts as delayed gratification. We savor anticipation itself – the way a slow cooker draws out flavor – believing perhaps that a four-month marinating of the Christmas spirit will make the actual holidays all the richer.
There’s also a practical side to the extended season. Brother Clifford Sorita, a Filipino sociologist, explains that the 100-day Christmas countdown (often marked every September 16) helps people manage their “Christmas anxieties” by giving them ample time to prepare[19][20]. “By knowing exactly how much time we have remaining to complete a task… we will be able to better allocate our time,” Sorita says, likening the long season to a national time-management hack[19]. The lengthy countdown becomes “a secondary motivator” that reinforces us to get all our Christmas to-dos done before the big day[19].
Indeed, early sales and promos have become part of the ber-month landscape. My mother loved the mall sales, snagging the buy-one-take-one spaghetti packs and the early bird discounts on toys, a strategy echoed by countless Filipino moms. One journalist noted how her mom would be “always one step ahead, buying buy-one-take-one spaghetti packages and gigantic cans of fruit cocktail” as soon as they go on sale, to beat fellow moms to the punch[21]. The result is a less stressful December; the gifts are wrapped and the pantry stocked well in advance. For many, this extended prep time truly “does the trick to alleviate our Christmas worries”[22].
I think of my mom, who by early November would already be buying fruit cocktail and queso de bola. By the end of the month, our outfits for Christmas day were sorted, no frantic shopping, no stress. Many Filipino families do the same.
Of course, not everyone sees it this way. Some argue that our September-to-December Christmas is less about tradition and more about commerce. Certainly, businesses have enthusiastically embraced the ber-months fever. By late August or early September, major retailers unveil Christmas themes and slogans. One of the country’s biggest mall chains even launched a “100 Days of Christmas” campaign, complete with light shows proclaiming the countdown[23][24]. It’s a savvy way to get shoppers in the mood to spend, and it has undoubtedly been effective. Marketers know Filipinos are, as one economist put it, “suckers for anything that will allow us to celebrate and spend more time with our loved ones”[25] – and what better excuse to spend than Christmas lasting four months?
As early as September, supermarkets start stacking up their shelves with queso de bola cheese, ham, and fruit cocktail (the holy trinity of Noche Buena foodstuffs). TV commercials and billboards follow suit, peppered with snowflakes and Santas even while typhoons still linger in the forecast. This trend became especially pronounced from the 2000s onward, as the Philippines’ economy grew and shopping mall culture boomed. With the rise of giant mall networks in the ’90s and 2000s, the Christmas decorations crept further forward on the calendar, each mall trying to outdo the others in igniting the holiday shopping spirit. By the 2010s, come September 1, you couldn’t walk into an SM Mall without hearing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” piped through the atrium.
You could say that this was less a spontaneous cultural quirk and more an orchestrated strategy by retail moguls.
Theology scholars Fides del Castillo and Fr. Noel Carbayas have observed that our once-simple Christmas traditions became “more festive and exaggerated because of commercialism,” with indigenous practices “extensively infused with Western and other influences, turning it into a holiday of noise and consumerism”[26]. We normalized “splurge” behavior – lavish gift-giving, over-the-top décor, endless parties – which is “seemingly different from the traditional silent and simple Christmas celebrations” of earlier generations[26].
An elder from my hometown would likely agree; he once mused that in the 1960s, Christmas was a quiet, reverent time marked mainly by church and family meals. Now, it’s music blaring in stores, lights on every house, and the season lasts for months.
From a religious perspective, some clergy worry that the “surge of commercialization and secularization” in stretching Christmas “takes away the image and message of Jesus”[27]. They note how this long season “exists in our culture not as a period of homage and spiritual preparation but as a season of festivity and celebration,” largely “perpetuated by the industries” to create an annual shopping frenzy[28][29]. In short, the criticism is that September Christmas is mostly a marketing gimmick, wrapping itself in tinsel to disguise the cash register’s ring.
As a Filipino who cherishes Christmas yet grapples with its modern excesses, I find truth in both views. There is genuine joy and togetherness that comes from our extended holiday season and there is rampant materialism it can engender. I recall stepping into a department store one late September day, greeted by a towering Christmas tree and a looping chorus of “Feliz Navidad”. Part of me smiled at the familiar warmth of the season; another part grimaced, thinking, “Ang aga naman!” – it’s so early, isn’t it?
One can hardly discuss this topic without mentioning Jose Mari Chan, the crooner whose gentle smile and iconic songs have become synonymous with the start of the season. Every September 1st, like clockwork, the internet floods with memes of this septuagenarian singer peeking around a corner, heralding that Christmas has begun[32]. Chan’s 1990 hit “Christmas in Our Hearts” is the unofficial anthem of the Ber months – you’ll hear it in malls, jeepneys, and offices on loop. If America has Mariah Carey defrosting each November, the Philippines has Jose Mari Chan as the harbinger of Yuletide. As Time magazine quipped, “Whereas Mariah Carey’s voice may ring in the winter spirit in America, it’s Chan’s carols that have, over the past few decades, become ubiquitous throughout the final four months of every year in malls, restaurants, karaoke bars, and radio broadcasts” across the country[33]. The man has embraced the fun, appearing in mall countdown events and commercials, even as he humbly reminds people that he’s not “Mr. Christmas,” and would prefer we keep the focus on the true reason for the season[34].
A writer in Vice captured this conflicted feeling well: loving Christmas but resenting its overlong hype. “Like any reasonable adult, I don’t want to be reminded of my responsibilities sooner than I have to,” he wrote. “If it’s a December problem, please don’t bother my September self about it”[30]. I laughed in agreement. By stretching the season, we risk turning a special time into a too-familiar backdrop. There’s the phenomenon of holiday fatigue, where by the time the actual Christmas week arrives, some feel they’ve had their fill of carols and candy canes. “The sooner we start celebrating, the sooner I want to stop. Come December…the holiday spirit [is] exhausted,” the same columnist wryly noted[31].
Personally, I wouldn’t go as far as to feel nauseated by December, but I understand the sentiment, the build-up can dilute the payoff. The pressure of gift-giving over an elongated period can also strain finances (and mental health).
Now I view the Ber-months Christmas as a fascinating blend of sincere cultural enthusiasm and savvy commercial amplification. It started from our genuine love of celebration and family, rooted in our Catholic, Spanish-fiesta heritage and our psychological penchant for countdowns and anticipation. Then, in recent decades, it was turbocharged by media and the market.
So, does Christmas really start in September here?
Yes and no.
Yes in the sense that the spirit and anticipation undeniably awaken at that time. The evidence is everywhere: by September, “gloomy and gray streets are covered with colorful lanterns, bright ornaments, and lights” and even Mariah Carey herself has acknowledged the “tremendous Christmas spirit” of her Filipino fans kicking off so early[1][35]. It’s a unique cultural reality that surprises outsiders and fills many Filipinos with pride, ang haba ng Pasko natin!
But also no because the full celebration is a slow crescendo, not a sudden explosion.
In places like my Marinduque hometown, September is more about the idea of Christmas drawing near than actual feasting or gift-giving. The traditions, Simbang Gabi, Noche Buena, aguinaldo exchanges still cluster in December. The months before are preparation, half-serious merriment, and yes, commercial prompting. The widely held belief holds true in broad strokes (we do love starting early) but is also exaggerated by generalization. Not every Filipino household puts up the tree in September; plenty wait until December 1, or even the week of Christmas. The Philippines is a mosaic of experiences: urban malls blaring carols in September, rural barrios where the first real sign of Christmas might be the Misa de Gallo bell ringing on December 16. Both are real, and together they form our uniquely long holiday season.
I’ve made my peace with our four-month Christmas. In true Filipino fashion, we’ve Filipinized the holiday,making it louder, longer, sometimes tackier, sometimes more joyful, than anywhere else. It’s our way of “reuniting and being together,” as Sorita puts it, for as long as possible[36]. It’s our collective pagbabalik-loob, a coming home to what matters, stretched over months of small reunions, office parties, charity drives, and family video calls counting down the days. If there’s a hidden gift in starting Christmas so early, it’s that it gives us time, time to remember far-flung loved ones and plan reunions, time to reach out to those in need, time to reflect on the year. One Filipino writer mused that our long Christmas “makes up for the lost times of reconnection and healing,” prompting us to strive to be better until the holidays bring us full circle[37]. I find that thought beautiful.
Back in my youth in Marinduque, I didn’t understand why anyone would play carols in September. Now, I see it differently. It’s not that we’ve moved Christmas earlier; it’s that we’ve extended its runway. We want the approach to be as special as the day itself. We light the lanterns early to banish the darkness a bit longer. We sing carols for months because one day of joy is not enough for a people with so much love to give. Yes, it’s part commercial gimmick, but it’s also a window to the Filipino heart.
[1] [12] [19] [20] [21] [22] [26] [35] [36] [37] What makes Filipinos start celebrating Christmas as early as September? – Asia News NetworkAsia News Network
[2] [10] Why many Filipinos celebrate Christmas from September 1 – ABC News
[3] Christmas in the Philippines – Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_in_the_Philippines
[4] [5] [14] [15] [25] The Philippines Has the World’s Longest Christmas Celebration | HowStuffWorks
[6] [7] [8] [9] Families from Philippines prepare for Christmas in September | battlefordsNOW
[11] A Very Filipino Christmas: 4 Ways to Celebrate Outside of the Philippines
https://blog.remitly.com/lifestyle-culture/keeping-filipino-christmas-spirit-alive
[13] [16] [17] [18] [27] [28] [29] Bells ringing early: Why Filipinos begin Christmas ahead of time – The Bedan
[23] SM Supermalls kicks off ‘100 Days of Christmas’ countdown
https://tribune.net.ph/2024/09/17/sm-supermalls-kicks-off-100-days-of-christmas-countdown
[24] Mall launches 100 Days of Happiness Christmas countdown
https://www.abs-cbn.com/life/multimedia/photo/09/16/22/100-days-to-christmas
[30] [31] I’m Tired of Christmas Starting in September
[32] [33] [34] Jose Mari Chan Is the Philippines’ ‘Mr. Christmas’ | TIME
https://time.com/6242847/jose-mari-chan-christmas-philippines
