A shot from the movie "How the Grinch Stole Christmas:" Two female Who characters with distinctive facial prosthetics and elaborate hairstyles look at one another with expressions of shock or surprise. The woman on the left wears a brown dress with a white lace collar and a green brooch, while the woman on the right wears a dark patterned dress and a festive red and green beaded headband. In the foreground, the blurry green fur of the Grinch is partially visible.
Credit: Universal Pictures

It’s easy to feel out of place during the holidays. Christmas, the beacon of pious Christianity and nostalgic Americana that it is, doesn’t read as queer at first glance. Even the uttering of “Christmas” evokes a Norman Rockwell-esque image of the perfect family gathered around the skirt of a Christmas tree. Sweet little Sally is elated to unwrap a baby doll, rowdy little Timmy is overjoyed to receive a toy gun. Of course, a placid mother and father watch fondly as the idyllic scene unfolds. Christmas packs a punch loaded with the triple threat of cisheteronormativity, religion, and family—a punishing blow for many in the LGBTQ+ community. 

Thankfully, as progress marches on, queer representation has become more and more prevalent in Christmas media. The existence of films like “Happiest Season” and “Single All The Way” changes the face of the holiday itself, exploring themes like contentious family relationships, coming out, and queer romance. Hell, even Hallmark premiered its first gay Christmas romcom in 2020 and has been pumping them out ever since. 

Even as queer characters make their mark on the holiday genre, there is one festive flick to rule them all. One that depicts a queer family, the yearning to belong, and the process of recovering your Christmas spirit: “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” Yes, in my opinion, the 2000 blockbuster hit starring none other than Jim Carrey is the queerest Christmas movie of all time (and not just due to the sheer femme cunt that is Martha May Whovier). Now, children, gather ‘round the fireplace and let me tell you why.

In the Seussian land of Whoville, something strange blows into town on the night of Christmas Eve. The Grinch arrived the way all Who babies arrive—in a bright pumbersella drifting down from the skies. The Grinch landed on the doorstep of his hopeful parents, Clair Nella and Rose Who. That’s right, the Grinch was raised by dykes. Some will try to convince you that Clair Nella and Rose are actually sisters. But according to Clair Nella, the couple were having their annual key party at the time of his arrival. This detail swiftly disproves the theory that the Grinch’s mothers were a pair of spinster sisters. Who the hell is having a sex party with their sister? I rest my case.

Despite the loving upbringing provided by his two moms, the Grinch’s eccentricities, odd appearance, and disdain for Christmas resulted in his own struggle to conform to Who society.  Even the support of Rose and Clair Nella was not enough to alleviate the pain of social persecution. Eventually, the Grinch self-ostracizes from Whoville, isolating himself in a dank cave to be consoled by his dog. Similar to queer folks, the Grinch was taught that Christmas is not for people like him.

However, it’s not all “bah humbug.” Like the Grinch, queer people still have an opportunity to reclaim Christmas for themselves and reconnect with holiday cheer in their own way. Unlike the Grinch, we also have access to a community full of individuals with similar experiences and challenges, ready to accept us as we are and create new traditions together. Personally, I find the idea of rewriting holiday conventions for ourselves an immensely empowering prospect. 

Beneath the incandescent swirling arches of Whoville, queer stories are told between the lines. When combined with the sheer camp served to us on a silver platter throughout the entirety of the film, I simply must deem “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” the ultimate LGBTQ+ Christmas movie. So, next time you’re swiping through Netflix during the holiday season, give “Carol” a rest and show some love to Rose and Clair Nella.

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This article appears in Nov. 27 – Dec. 03, 2025.