A Guide to Christmas Gifting in Mexico

Christmas is that glorious time of year when the world seems to collectively decide that sobriety, moderation, and financial responsibility can all go hang. In the UK, it's about panic-buying presents for people you barely like and attempting to cook a turkey the size of a small child. But travel across the Atlantic to Mexico, and you’ll find an entirely different—and possibly saner—approach to the festive madness.

Now, before you roll your eyes and think I'm about to go all travel-brochure on you, let me clarify: Christmas in Mexico isn’t just about presents. It’s a full-throttle, turbo-charged celebration with more pageantry than a Formula 1 podium. There are rituals, foods, and fiestas that make our little carol services look like a damp pub quiz.

The Parade

The run-up to Christmas in Mexico involves a nine-day festival called Las Posadas. Each evening, a group of children—and adults, who probably have more tequila than common sense in their system—re-enact the journey of Mary and Joseph looking for shelter. They go from house to house, singing and praying, and are either turned away or welcomed. It’s like trick-or-treating but with more spirituality and fewer fun-sized Snickers.

At the end of the night, there's a party with food, drink, and a piñata. Now, I’ve always thought smashing a papier-mâché donkey full of sweets with a stick sounds like something you’d see on a stag do gone wrong, but in Mexico, it’s an essential Christmas tradition. It teaches children valuable life lessons: persistence, teamwork, and the satisfying crunch of candy underfoot.

Gifting

Unlike the relentless consumerist juggernaut we’ve perfected in Britain, Mexican Christmas gifting is—brace yourself—relatively restrained. Gifts are often modest and practical, more about thoughtfulness than price tags. Socks, homemade crafts, and small toys are common, which, let’s face it, makes perfect sense. After all, what child actually needs a smartphone at age six, and why on Earth would you spend a month’s wages on something that’ll be obsolete by Easter?

Instead of drowning in a sea of wrapping paper and credit card debt, Mexicans focus on experiences. Families gather for meals that last for hours, and the real gift is being together. It’s the sort of wholesome sentiment that makes you want to punch the air and shout, “Yes! This is how it should be!” Or, you know, just grumble quietly in British.

Nochebuena

Christmas Eve, or Nochebuena, is the big day. While we Brits are slumping on the sofa, bloated and regretting that third helping of pudding, Mexicans are gearing up for a night of serious celebration. The midnight feast includes bacalao (salted cod), romeritos (a kind of herb stew), and tamales. Think of it like Top Gear’s Christmas specials—chaotic, full of surprises, and, ultimately, brilliant.

But the real magic happens after dinner. Families exchange their modest gifts and then attend Misa de Gallo, the “Rooster’s Mass.” Now, I can’t say I’ve ever voluntarily gone to church at midnight, but there’s something appealing about the idea. Perhaps it’s the solemnity, the sense of tradition. Or maybe it’s just that, by that point, everyone’s too full to cause any trouble.

The Epiphany

Just when you think it’s all over, January 6th rolls around with Dia de Reyes (Three Kings’ Day). This is when Mexican children get their “big” gifts, courtesy of the Three Wise Men. Santa, it seems, takes a back seat here, which is probably for the best—imagine trying to explain to a five-year-old why a bearded bloke in a red suit gets the credit for their new football.

On this day, they also eat Rosca de Reyes, a sweet bread with a tiny plastic baby Jesus hidden inside. Whoever finds the baby has to host a party on February 2nd, which, let’s be honest, sounds like a clever ploy to keep the festivities going until spring.

So, what can we learn from Mexican Christmas gifting? For starters, it’s not about how much you spend or how many presents are under the tree. It’s about tradition, family, and, yes, a bit of common sense. It’s about remembering that sometimes, the best gift you can give is your time, your attention, and maybe a piñata full of sweets.

In Mexico, Christmas is less of a commercial marathon and more of a cultural sprint—short, intense, and incredibly meaningful. And frankly, I think we could all use a bit more of that. Merry Christmas, or as they say south of the border, Feliz Navidad. Now, where’s that piñata?