(Headline in The Huffington Post, 11/19/11)
If you’re talking about the naked Santa standing on my left, one is too many. I’m all for naturism, but this guy… Put on your costume, dude. You’re offending the rest of us.
The first things you notice are how many women are Santas these days, and how many Santas need a lot of padding because they’re so scrawny.
You’ve got to figure that Santa loves snow. He lives up at the North Pole, or he used to before it started to melt. He’s probably moved into a meat locker in Philly by now, but the point is, he’s a cold-weather kind of guy. They tell me that he only drops his fur bathrobe after the shower is steaming, it’s so cold up there, even in his bathroom. This is why you won’t see Santa walking around in a Speedo or John Varvatos silk PJs, much less nude.
Plus, he’s an icon. Not a god or anything, but he’s registered, with Coke, I think. He isn’t free to climb out of that suit and get comfortable. He’s legally bound. You’ll never see his tats. Which is another thing you notice with these naked Santas, the tats. Not a reindeer or elf or wrapped present in sight. Instead, Santa appears to be fascinated with barbed wire and entwined serpents. North Pole Rattlers.
The first thing they teach you is how to behave with a little kid sitting on your lap. There is going to be a photo ($5 or $10 or worse) and if this event ends up in court, the last thing you want is you “standing out” in the pic, embarrassing or even convicting yourself.
The second thing they teach you is how to go Ho Ho Ho without sounding like a complete pervert. It’s harder than you think, no pun intended.
The third thing they teach you is not to offer the kid candy.
Why do it? Hey, it’s a job. You won’t find any 1% Santas sitting up there naked in Santa’s chair. Or if you do, watch out. They’re not there for the $7.98/hr.