We Invented the Christmas Sweater Craze…

There was recently an abundance of news stories lately regarding Ugly Christmas Sweater Parties.  The Washington Post, ABC News and NPR have all dedicated space on their airwaves and newspapers to chronicling the birth and ascendance in popularity of these parties.  However, in spite of these institutions stellar journalistic track-record, they all failed to interview some key components of this story.  They forgot to interview the originators of this trend.

They forgot to interview me.

That’s right.  My friends and I invented the Cheesy Christmas Sweater party a decade ago. And for those of you rolling your eyes, I will provide proof.

The year was 2004.  The cold of winter had gripped Penn State University.  I was walking home from an economics class with my neighbor at the time, John DevAnanzio (better known to most as Johnny Bananas from MTV’s Real World).

He wasn’t a douche back then. He’s just been a victim of creative editing.

John and I got to talking about what we should do for the coming weekend.  It was frigid, dismal and boring in State College then.

“Man, this weekend is going to suck,” I said, typically pessimistic.

“We should throw our own party, like a Christmas party,” replied John.

“Ha.  That’d be pretty funny.  Except we should make it like we’re adults.  All the guys have to wear Christmas ties and sweaters and the women should wear gaudy brooches and Santa Hats and stuff.”

“That sound like it’d be fun.”

And on that day, the Cheesy Christmas Sweater Party was born.  All of my friends ran with it too:  Mike made spiced cider.  Justin decorated the apartment.  Reilly bought cheap wine.  Nate and Dave made Christmas cookies.  Howard just sat there.

2004

2005

 

2006

 

2007

2008

2009

Yes there were girls there (sometimes)

2010

But it wasn’t really about chicks…

A tradition was started.  And through the power of Facebook…the trend spread.

In addition to creating the Cheesy Christmas Sweater Party, I also invented standing with your thumbs in your jean-pockets and the phrase, “What the…????”