Every December I find myself doing the same slightly shameful thing: I search “London Christmas tree” on social media just to see if this is finally the year they get it right.
And every year, without fail, I’m greeted by the same sight: a towering but tragically skinny spruce that looks like it’s been on a crash diet since 1947, wrapped in the lighting equivalent of “we tried.”
This year was no different. The switch-on happened, the crowds politely clapped, and within minutes the internet declared 2025’s Trafalgar Square tree the saddest on Earth. Again.
The Annual Ritual of National Embarrassment
Let’s be honest: the tree looked rough. Branches so sparse you could play hide-and-seek behind them and never be found. Lights so minimal they seemed to be rationed. It stood there in the rain like a tired Christmas had come to London to die quietly in front of Nelson’s Column.
Social media didn’t hold back. Side-by-side comparisons with Prague, Warsaw, New York, even Bangkok flooded timelines. Memes of the Grinch personally decorating the tree went viral. Someone superimposed the tree onto a desert cactus and honestly? Improvement.
But here’s the thing nobody wants to hear: this isn’t new. This isn’t even a decline. London’s “terrible” Christmas tree has been terrible, on purpose, for almost eight decades.
A Gift That Keeps on Giving… Mixed Feelings
The tree is an annual present from Norway, sent every year since 1947 as thanks for Britain’s help during World War II. The people of Oslo cut down a 50-60-year-old spruce from the forests around the capital, ship it across the North Sea, and London erects it in Trafalgar Square with a short ceremony.
It’s a lovely gesture. Genuinely. A living reminder of friendship forged in dark times. The problem? Norwegian forest spruces that have spent half a century fighting for sunlight in dense woods aren’t exactly bred for beauty pageant glory. They’re tall, often slightly lopsided, and tend to be… let’s say “minimalist” in the branch department.
Add the fact that the decoration budget appears to be whatever change falls out of the mayor’s pockets on the way to the ceremony, and you’ve got a recipe for annual disappointment.
Why Does It Still Hurt So Much?
Part of it is expectation. We compare it to the glittering monsters in Rockefeller Center or the fairy-tale creations across European capitals. Part of it is pride, London is supposed to be a world city, and this feels like turning up to the Met Gala in tracksuit bottoms.
But I think the real sting comes from something deeper. Christmas decorations are emotional. They’re childhood and comfort and “things will be okay.” When the central symbol of seasonal joy in the nation’s capital looks neglected, it feels like the city itself has given up a little.
“It’s not just a tree. It’s a mood. And right now the mood is ‘meh’.”
– Random Londoner on social media, speaking for all of us
The Private vs Public Decoration Divide
Here’s where it gets particularly galling. While Trafalgar Square’s tree sulks under its energy-saving lights, areas like Covent Garden, Regent Street, and Bond Street are absolutely dripping in spectacular private displays. Giant baubles, cascading lights, animatronic reindeer, the works.
These are funded by businesses and property owners who understand that Christmas glamour brings footfall. The contrast is stark: walk ten minutes from the official tree and you’re in Narnia. Stay in Trafalgar Square and you’re in… well, Norway, apparently.
Is It Really Deliberate?
Some insist yes. That keeping the decorations simple honors the original post-war spirit of gratitude without commercial excess. That over-the-top glitz would betray the gift’s meaning.
I respect that view. But there’s a middle ground between “1947 austerity” and “Vegas showroom.” A few more strings of lights and some tasteful ornaments wouldn’t declare war on Norway. It would just make children smile more.
What Other Cities Get Right
- Prague wraps its tree in warm golden lights that make the entire Old Town Square glow like a fairy tale.
- Warsaw goes full baroque with red and gold ornaments the size of beach balls.
- Even Vilnius, no offense, manages to make their tree look like it actually enjoys being festive.
London could keep the Norwegian tree, keep the tradition, and still make it beautiful. Other cities with gifted trees manage it. Why can’t we?
Maybe We Secretly Love Complaining
Here’s a slightly embarrassing theory: perhaps the annual roasting has become its own tradition. Like complaining about the weather or the Tube in summer. We moan, we meme, we feel briefly united in shared disappointment, then we go drink mulled wine and forget until next year.
There’s something very British about turning a slightly underwhelming evergreen into a national bonding exercise.
Still… next year, maybe just a few more lights? For the kids?
Because even if we pretend we don’t care, every time that tree goes up looking like it’s been assembled from IKEA flat-pack instructions translated badly from Swedish, a little part of our Christmas spirit wilts right alongside it.
And in a city that knows how to do spectacle when it wants to, that feels like a choice rather than an accident.
Merry Christmas, London. Maybe send a fuller tree next year, Norway. Or at least one that’s eaten recently.
