Shelve the Elf

If you’ve been living under a festively painted rock you may have escaped hearing about the Elf on the Shelf, Santa’s cute little plastic-faced, red felt-bodied emissary. Catapulted to national fame after Pottery Barn picked it up as a box set, the Elf on the Shelf is no longer the quiet staple of grandma’s sleepy craft boutique. Instead, the stealthy little elf that resides in American houses by day and flits back to the North Pole to report to Santa by night was interviewed at the 2011 Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and, now starring in his first movie, will shortly be coming to a cinema near you.

The proliferation of Christmas elves has all the hallmarks of an alien invasion. First, the accompanying book creates a plausible back-story to maximize human buy-in. Next, the elf bestows power on its new owners: children get to name it, love it and keep it, safe in the knowledge their personal elf will return each year. The more insidious concept of being constantly watched, analyzed, and judged as naughty or nice by a sort of ten-inch elfin child psychologist is not yet viewed by young children as creepy or tattle tale. Similarly, they overlook the clear double-agent role of elves working as an extension of the long arm of the parental law: “Remember, your elf is listening…”


Just as the Elf on the Shelf is becoming a mandatory purchase (“Mummy, why do all my friends have an elf that comes to live with them before Christmas, except me?”), no-one thinks to share the pressure that accompanies his arrival. Once you have an Elf, there’s no ditching him. You can’t just pack it in and tell the children that their elf (Small Paul for us) can’t be bothered to change location every night and has gone back to Santa to cool his heels in the lead up to Christmas. No. Every morning the children rush into our bedroom chomping at the bit to run downstairs and see where our elf has landed.

This means that at least twice a week I awake in a panic realizing I didn’t move our elf. I nudge my comatose husband. “Did you remember to move Small Paul?” “No”, he groans. If I’m lucky I can slip downstairs and swiftly change his location; if not I might find a small slippered child sitting on the floor beneath him worrying why he hasn’t moved.

This is where powers of parental creativity must not be underestimated. The addition of a cookie next to the elf guarantees he must have jumped down and helped himself to a cookie but forgotten to find a new spot. (Perhaps he was tired and hungry.) After a late return from date night, perhaps he had been nervous to fly home with a babysitter still awake in the sitting room. (Perhaps it left insufficient time to make the trip back to the North Pole between our arrival and the morning.) On very rare occasions, our elf has even been known to add to the mystery with a location change during breakfast. How he did it, we’ll never tell.

The elf book is a critical piece of packaging. Not only does it provide the essential back-story and explain the elf’s role in advising Santa, it reinforces the Big Guy’s omniscience. It also establishes the ground rules: 1. Your elf can’t talk to you (but you can talk to him). 2. You can’t touch your elf (or he’ll lose his magic and ability to fly). 3. Your elf can’t move while you’re there. In other words, your elf has a job to do, and even if you’re pounding the heck out of your little brother the elf’s only there to observe, not intervene. Sort of like a professional journalist.

Either as a demonstration of the total power over elf-hosting parents (remember the alien analogy?), or as an online aid to their frantic relocation efforts, Mission Elf grows every year. The craft website, Pinterest, has hundred of photos of creatively hidden elves absailing down cabinets, drinking maple syrup through straws, and toasting S’mores over a tea light. If you’ve been tearing your hair out over elf hiding places, this site will put a little sparkle back in your strategic repositioning.

The nocturnal pressures of relocating your elf can be tough, but now entering any big box store presents its own danger. The imminent Elf on the Shelf movie means shelves are now jam-packed with swag. Since you can’t touch the real elf, there’s a plush cuddle version (handy since that’s been on our daughter’s wish list since August). The androgyny of the original elf has been clarified: girl elves have long eyelashes, pom-poms and skirts; boy elves don’t. Though if you fancy modifying the gender of your existing elf you can buy a couture skirt for $6.95.

Lucky us. Now we can be fearful of (a.) forgetting to move the elf, (b.) getting caught moving the elf, or (c.) bumping into a display unit packed with a bunch of elves on sale. Roll on Christmas! It’s time to shelve the elf.