Every Thanksgiving when I was growing up, my family held a Wacky Tacky Talent Show so needlessly competitive that at least one kid inevitably cried. And on the same special tablecloth we used every year, we would list with a felt-tip marker what we were most grateful for: I’d write my dog and American Girl doll; my mother would write me and my sisters; my college-aged cousin would write her boyfriend du jour (there were many crossed-out names on the fabric). Then I would sit down with a pile of buttered mashed potatoes and wait for midnight, when the real holiday would begin, the one that made my mini shopaholic’s heart beam: Black Friday.
This was long before you could do all your shopping on your phone, for sales that lasted all November. A few years, my cousin Michelle made matching T-shirts for the family members brave enough to join us: BLACK FRIDAY 2010 one said on the front, with IT’S GOING TO BE EPIC on the back. Like many families, we strategized for months—we’d hit Walmart for the TV doorbuster, Old Navy next for the BOGO puffer vests, Target for the discounted home decor, Bath and Body Works for the sickeningly sweet three-wick candles. But first, we’d all pile into the car and gossip about our grandfather’s dating life, about school and our friends, about whose parents were crazier.
The single day of massive discounts could, of course, get ugly. Starting in the middle of the night, consumers sprinted to as many stores as possible to gather as many Christmas gifts as their Honda Odysseys could hold. Teenagers working at big-box stores had to miss Thanksgiving dinner entirely to set up before the shoppers descended. A friend who worked at Target told me that his manager always delivered a motivational speech before the doors opened. He’d climb up onto a conveyor belt and address the workers, as if they were “going into battle or the big game.” Then the shoppers flooded in. One year, my friend had to break up two fights—one between two women over a blanket that was on sale, and the other between a cashier and customer over a pricing dispute. He finished the shift hiding out in an empty produce aisle.
Bill Pawlowski, who’s now a production sound mixer for TV and film in Brooklyn, reported to a Toys “R” Us near Buffalo at 7 p.m. every Thanksgiving for years. One Black Friday around 2010, a coupon in the local newspaper promised customers a colossal discount on a three-foot-tall princess-castle play set. Most people missed the fine print, which clarified that the deal was valid for one hour only. Red-faced customers screamed at Pawlowski and his young colleagues that they were frauds and that it wasn’t fair. But even as a teenager, he felt sorry for them. It was the holidays, money was tight, and they just wanted to get their kid that princess castle.
[Megan Garber: The fading spectacle of Black Friday]
The transition to online shopping over the past few years, combined with a much longer stretch of discounts, eliminated this particular form of frenzy. Deals that once kicked off only at 8 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day are now available all day, all week, or even all month. James A. Roberts, a marketing professor at Baylor University and the author of Shiny Objects: Why We Spend Money We Don’t Have in Search of Happiness We Can’t Buy, calls it “Black November.” Roberts told me he sees the shift as “both good and bad.” On the one hand, consumers can take their time planning their purchases. On the other hand, shopping is now something that people do alone, on their phones, from Halloween to Christmas.
It’s not actually clear that the changes have taken any pressure off deal hunting, either. Targeted ads reveal a new bargain every few seconds. It’s 3 a.m. on November 15, and the ads are rolling in. Is this special-edition Dyson Airwrap the cheapest it’s going to get? Will there be a bigger discount on Black Friday itself? Websites are announcing “LOW STOCK! ONLY A FEW LEFT!” Is that a bluff? Panic buying has never been easier.
More choices online and more time to buy means that shoppers are spending more than they ever did during in-person Black Friday. Last year, worldwide Black Friday spending hit a new record—$74.4 billion over 24 hours, according to Salesforce. That’s a 5 percent increase from 2023. Roberts attributes the rise to mobile-phone transactions. “We spend more because there is less pain in paying” if you don’t even have to pull out a credit card, he told me.
This Black November, Roberts predicted, may be the biggest yet, because so many Americans are concerned about tariffs and inflation. “Money’s more real to them” right now, he said, and they’re more cost conscious. The irony is that people who are driven to take advantage of a deal may end up spending more than ever.
[Caroline Mimbs Nyce: When Black Friday is your Super Bowl]
Many of these shoppers may resort to buy-now-pay-later programs, which are predominantly used online and become particularly appealing during the holidays, when people find themselves spending more than normal.
Sure, we won’t see these people physically fighting in the aisles of Best Buy over the last flatscreen. But is this better? I don’t think so. There was at least some glory to be found in digging the last scarf out of the H&M clearance bin on the Black Fridays of yore. We were limited by what our arms could carry and by the stopwatch of a single day. And we did it together.
My cousin Michelle and I live far apart now. We won’t see each other for Thanksgiving this year, and it’s been a while since we caught up anytime other than a big family gathering or over some sporadic text exchanges. I don’t know where she bought her sweater or how discounted it was. I couldn’t tell you what she’s getting her kids for Christmas. And when did they get so big anyway? I miss our Black Fridays—the intimacy of those late nights, opening up to each other over a pretzel at the food court, and then driving home exhausted from doorbusting and deal hunting.
Bill Pawlowski definitely doesn’t miss his days at Toys “R” Us, but he’s still nostalgic for the camaraderie he found among the workers there, a few of whom remain his close friends. They are, he said, “the closest I have to friends I served in war with.”
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