Every Thanksgiving, long before putting the turkey in the oven or frantically cleaning a bedroom that no one is going to see, millions of Americans gather around their televisions to watch a festive procession of floats down Central Park West. Approaching its centennial anniversary, the Macy’s Day Parade reveals what we believe should be larger than life.
To many, the parade is a warm soundtrack of Broadway ballads and marching bands, filling the kitchen with holiday cheer as Thanksgiving preparation begins. It’s racing your siblings to get the best spot on the couch and fighting over who has more of the blanket. It’s nostalgia narrated by Al Roker.
Especially as a New York City native, the parade is an instrumental part of my holiday celebrations, a rare tradition that has followed me from childhood to college. I grew from a kid who pressed her face to the television screen to a college student who returned home, alarm set to wake up early for the parade’s start, still glued to the screen with a cup of coffee in hand.
“To me, the parade evokes the childhood wonder that characterizes the holiday season, reminding me that home is a feeling rather than a place.”
Yet, looking past the collective nostalgia it inspires, the parade also acts as a cultural barometer of what America thinks is iconic. Snoopy, the elder statesman of the sky, floats by as a reminder of a simpler time when old-school animation bound millions together. Newer characters from Labubus to Bluey signal a shifting cultural imagination. The cheery smiles of high school marching bands and Broadway stars alike remind us of the possibilities the future holds. It’s true what they say: if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere. Each balloon, each performance is an inflated declaration of what America stands for.
In a way, the blatant honesty is refreshing. In a culture where advertisements present themselves as entertainment and entertainment disguises its commercial focus, the parade makes no such effort. It is unabashedly commercial, yet strangely sincere in its intentions. At least a giant Pikachu tells you what it is.
Despite the commercial focus, what really makes the parade so special is the gentleness and warmth it inspires. On the streets of New York City, little communities form amidst the windy, crowded stands. Someone hands a stranger their lost scarf. A kind bystander takes a family photo. The overprepared mom passes out handwarmers to everyone in her reach. Most importantly, everyone takes a moment to look up. In a world where much of our attention is demanded by our screens, the parade with its long-winded pomp and circumstance demands our collective attention. If you take the time to observe the people watching the floats go by, you will notice how their faces lift. Even in a world that often feels too heavy, wonder still rises.
The parade is kitschy and commercial and undeniably odd. But, it is also radical in its presence. It’s a massive public ritual that requires everyone to slow down, to share space, to care for one another in a way that the holiday season is meant to celebrate. While culture today prioritizes the nonstop grind, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade endures because it is one of the last patient and collective rituals that makes us feel like part of something larger, kinder, and strangely hopeful. In a time as fractured as now, that brief unity may be its greatest gift.