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These are fictional stories, written for fun. The guidance is genuine.

The entire point of an ugly Christmas jumper is to be a bit much. That is the brief. But there is a line somewhere between “a bit much” and “a conversation with your line manager in January”, and the difference between the two is almost never the jumper itself — it is the room it walked into.

The same jumper, two different offices

A useful thing happened at a company that had recently acquired another one and held two Christmas parties in the same week — one for the original staff, one for the acquired team.

The same person wore the same mildly rude jumper to both. At the first party, an office of twenty-five people who had worked together for years, it was the funniest thing anyone saw all night and he was photographed repeatedly. At the second, a group of people he had met three times, it produced a polite laugh, a short silence, and a very slight adjustment in how two of them spoke to him for the rest of the evening.

Nothing about the jumper changed. This is the whole thing: innuendo is funny among people who already know you are joking, and ambiguous among people who do not.

The four questions

Before buying anything with a slogan on it, run these:

1. Who is definitely going to be there? Not who normally comes — who is definitely coming. Clients, partners, the board, people’s teenage children, the CEO’s mother.
2. Will it be photographed? Office party photos end up on internal comms, LinkedIn and the company Christmas card. A jumper you would happily wear in a pub is a different proposition on a slide at the January all-hands.
3. Could a stranger read it two ways? If yes, they will read it the second way.
4. Would you be comfortable if someone more senior wore it? A surprisingly reliable test.

What actually goes wrong

Politics, not rudeness

The genuinely difficult moments at office parties are almost never about innuendo. They are about political jumpers. A rude joke unites a room briefly; a political one splits it for the evening, and people remember it in a way they do not remember a snowman with an unfortunate carrot. Whatever your views, the office Christmas party is a poor venue for them.

Punching at a specific person

Every so often somebody has a jumper made that references a colleague, a project failure or a running joke about a named individual. Sometimes it is affectionate and lands perfectly. Sometimes the person it is about has had a difficult year and did not know it had become a joke. The risk is entirely asymmetric — a huge laugh versus somebody’s evening ruined — and you cannot tell which you are getting until it is on.

Forgetting who else is in the building

Jumper day is not confined to your team. You will pass reception, share a lift with a supplier, walk through a shared building lobby, and possibly go to a sandwich shop. Anything you would not wear on the way in should not be worn at all.

Getting a big laugh safely

The good news is that the funniest jumpers in any office are almost never the rude ones. Rudeness is the low-effort route to a reaction, and it reads as low-effort.

The in-joke about work itself. The single best-performing office jumper category, because it is about the specific room you are standing in. The spreadsheet jumper is the definitive example and has never once caused a problem.

The deadpan. Understatement beats volume in a room where everyone is shouting. The “This Is My Ugly Christmas Sweater” tee gets a laugh from every single person who reads it, and offends nobody.

The visual absurdity. Printed muscles, printed chest hair, a dinosaur — silly rather than rude, and it photographs brilliantly. See the 3D muscle Santa hoodie, the gym Santa “Brodolph” crewneck or the 3D Christmas dinosaur.

The mild, universal joke. Broad enough for everyone, specific enough to be funny. “Jolly AF” is about as far as most offices need to go, and the hipster Santa in sunglasses is funny without saying anything at all.

The film reference. Borrowed goodwill, pre-approved by decades of Christmas television. Home Alone, Elf and Christmas Vacation are safe in essentially any workplace.

The inclusive one. In a mixed-faith team, a jumper that acknowledges that gets a warmer reception than any Santa — the Chrismukkah jumper is a reliable choice.

If you are organising, say it out loud

One line in the invitation prevents almost every problem: “Anything goes, but keep it work-appropriate — photos will be shared internally.” That is enough. It gives people the information they need without lecturing anyone, and it means the person who was considering something questionable makes a different choice on their own.

Nobody has ever regretted wearing a slightly too tame Christmas jumper. The regret only runs one way.

Keep reading

• Nine office Christmas party jumper stories
• Film quote Christmas jumpers at the office party
• Christmas Jumper Day: dates and how to take part

These are fictional stories, written for fun.

Matching Christmas jumpers win competitions. They also carry more social risk than any other category, because a coordinated jumper is a public statement about a relationship, and the office Christmas party is not always the venue you would choose for that. Here is what happens when people match, and how to do it without incident.

The couple who had not told anyone

Two colleagues had been seeing each other for four months and had told nobody at work. They handled the Christmas party with real care: arrived separately, sat at different tables, made a point of not talking to each other for the first hour.

They had also, independently and without discussing it, both bought a jumper from the same “Naughty” and “Nice” matching set. They were wearing two halves of a pair, at opposite ends of the room, in front of forty colleagues.

It took the office eleven minutes. They are now married and this is the story they tell at every wedding they attend.

The lesson: a matching set is a public announcement whether or not you intend it as one. If you are keeping something quiet, coordinate on not coordinating.

The two-person jumper and the seating plan

A two-person jumper — one garment, two people inside it — is the highest-commitment item in Christmas knitwear. It is also, and people never think about this in advance, a decision about how you are going to spend the entire evening.

One pair discovered at the venue that the seating plan had put them at different tables. The organiser, who had produced the plan in October, was unmoved. They ate their Christmas dinner as a single unit at one table while an empty place setting sat six feet away, and the wearer on the left spent the meal eating left-handed.

The lesson: a two-person jumper is brilliant for a standing party and unworkable for a sit-down dinner. Check the format. For a seated event, use a two-piece pair like the couples crewneck set instead, which gives you the same photograph and lets you go to the bar alone.

The department that beat everyone by being boring

At one company the individual jumpers were genuinely outstanding — light-up designs, elaborate 3D prints, a man who had commissioned something. All of it was beaten by nine people from Finance in identical, fairly plain, unremarkable jumpers.

Nine of the same thing walking into a room is funnier than one exceptional thing, every single time. It reads as organisation, conspiracy and slight menace, all of which are funnier than a good graphic. They won Best in Show, and the following year four other departments copied the tactic, which ruined it completely.

The lesson: for a team, buy one design in a range of sizes rather than letting everyone choose. A plain unisex option such as the unisex crewneck or the AOBUTE unisex knit works better in a group than anything elaborate, because the joke is the repetition, not the jumper.

The matching set with one person missing

The one genuine failure mode of coordinated knitwear: a pair or set where somebody does not turn up. A “Naughty” without a “Nice” is not a jumper, it is a question, and the wearer will be asked it approximately every four minutes for six hours.

One man attended an entire office party as the “Mr” half of a matching couples set after his partner came down with flu that afternoon. He reported it as the longest evening of his life.

The lesson: if you are matching with one other person, take a spare standalone jumper in a bag. If you are matching with a group, this is not a risk — nine people minus one is still eight people, and the joke survives.

The family who took it to the office

At a company that runs a family-friendly afternoon party, one team arrived in full coordinated knitwear across three generations — adults in matching knits, children in miniature versions, and a grandparent who had been talked into it in the car park.

They won everything. Nothing beats a small child in a Christmas jumper, and everyone in the room knew it before the judging started. If your office party includes families, the children’s Christmas jumper paired with an adult Santa and snowflake knit is effectively cheating, and you should do it.

Rules for matching

• Coordination beats quality. Three identical mediocre jumpers beat one excellent jumper.
• Two-person jumpers are for standing parties only.
• Confirm the other person is definitely coming, and pack a backup.
• A matching set announces a relationship. Make sure that is what you want.
• For groups, buy one design in multiple sizes rather than letting everyone pick.
• If children are allowed, involve the children. It is over at that point.

Keep reading

• Nine office Christmas party jumper stories
• How to choose an ugly Christmas jumper
• Christmas Jumper Day: dates and how to take part

These are fictional stories, written for fun.

A film reference jumper is the cheat code of the office Christmas party. You are not being funny yourself — you are borrowing a joke that already works, that half the room has known for thirty years, and that requires no explanation. When it lands it is the easiest laugh available. When it misses, it misses completely and you have to spend the afternoon explaining a film.

The Christmas Vacation contingent

Every office of more than about thirty people contains at least two National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation people, and they will find each other within four minutes of the party starting. This is not an exaggeration. They have a homing instinct.

One year at a mid-sized insurance firm, two colleagues from departments on different floors turned up in complementary Christmas Vacation quote jumpers — “I Don’t Know, Margo” and “Why Is the Carpet All Wet, Todd?” — having never met, never discussed it, and not knowing the other existed. They found each other by the drinks table, said the lines to each other, and were inseparable for the rest of the night. Somebody photographed them and it was the company’s Christmas card the following year.

The film is the single densest source of jumper material there is, and it is where the modern tradition arguably began — Chevy Chase in 1989 was the moment the garment flipped from sincere to comic, as covered in our history of the ugly Christmas jumper. If you want the direct route, the Griswold Family Christmas pullover and the Marty Moose eggnog design are the two most recognised.

The Die Hard provocation

Nobody wears a Die Hard jumper by accident. It is a deliberate act. You are walking into a room and announcing a position on a contested question, and you know perfectly well that at least one person present holds the opposite view strongly enough to raise their voice about it.

At one company the argument was formally resolved by a vote at the 2019 party. The vote was 23–19 in favour of it being a Christmas film. The nineteen have never accepted the result, on the grounds that the ballot was held after 9pm and several voters were not in a fit state. The matter is reopened annually. Two people have since left the company and remain, by their own insistence, on the email thread.

This is the correct use of a film jumper: not to get a laugh, but to start something.

The Elf problem

Elf is the safest film jumper in existence. Everyone has seen it, everyone likes it, nobody has a strong opinion about it, and it is impossible to offend anyone with a nutcracker reference. The “Son of a Nutcracker” knit is the ideal jumper for the person who wants to take part properly but does not want to be the story of the evening.

The problem is that it is so safe that four people will independently arrive in Elf jumpers, and none of them will win anything. Safety has a cost.

The Home Alone timing gag

The Home Alone “Aaahhh” sweatshirt has one enormous advantage over every other film jumper: it comes with an action. You do not have to explain it, quote it, or wait for someone to notice. You simply do the face, and the room does the rest.

One colleague at a logistics firm did the face every time she walked into a meeting for the entire month of December. It was funny in week one, aggressively unfunny in week two, and had circled back around to genuinely hilarious by the Christmas party, at which point it received a standing ovation. Commitment is the whole thing.

The Star Wars faction

Star Wars Christmas jumpers are their own ecosystem. They do not compete with the film-quote jumpers, because they are appealing to a different audience entirely — and in most offices that audience is large, loyal, and has been waiting all year.

The Yoda “Silent Night” sweatshirt works on wordplay and gets a laugh from people who do not care about the films. The villain helmet design and the candy cane stormtrooper are for the faithful. The Porg jumper is, correctly, divisive.

Marvel occupies the same slot for a slightly different crowd — the Marvel knitted crew-neck is the standard choice.

The sitcom quote, which is a different sport

Film jumpers reference something everyone has seen. Sitcom jumpers reference something your specific office has seen, which makes them either the best jumper in the room or completely inert.

In an office that quotes The Office daily, the “That’s What She Said” jumper is the funniest garment available. In an office that does not, it is simply an innuendo on a jumper, and you will have a long afternoon. The gentler “Christmas Spirit — I’ll Help You Find It” is the version you can wear in front of HR.

Picking one

• Want a guaranteed laugh? Christmas Vacation or Home Alone. Near-universal recognition.
• Want an argument? Die Hard. It will work.
• Want to be safe? Elf or A Christmas Story’s leg lamp.
• Want to find your people? Star Wars or Marvel. They will find you.
• Want to gamble? A sitcom quote. Check the room first.

Keep reading

• Nine office Christmas party jumper stories
• How to choose an ugly Christmas jumper
• The history of the ugly Christmas jumper

These are fictional stories, written for fun. Any resemblance to your own Christmas party is entirely deserved.

Every office has a Christmas jumper story. Not the good ones — the ones that get told again the following November, when somebody asks whether we are doing jumpers this year and the whole room goes quiet for a second. Here are nine of them.

1. The man who wore the same jumper for eleven years

Derek from Procurement bought a knitted reindeer jumper in 2013 and wore it to every single office Christmas party thereafter. It was not a bit. He simply owned a Christmas jumper and saw no reason to buy another one. By year four people found it funny. By year seven it was a tradition. By year nine, new starters were told about it during induction.

In year eleven the jumper finally failed — a sleeve went at the shoulder during the raffle — and there was a genuine moment of silence. The team clubbed together and bought him a replacement knitted holiday pullover, which he accepted graciously and has now worn for three years. The lesson: a decent knit is a long-term investment, and consistency is its own kind of comedy.

2. The spreadsheet jumper that won by understatement

An office of forty people, and thirty-nine of them turned up in flashing reindeer, inflatable Santas and a jumper that played a tune. The fortieth was a data analyst in a jumper knitted to look like a spreadsheet.

It took about ninety seconds for each person to notice, and each one made the same noise. It won Best in Show unanimously, including a vote from the man in the musical jumper, who conceded on the spot. The spreadsheet jumper remains the single most effective piece of knitwear ever deployed in an office environment, because it is the only joke in the room that is actually about the room.

3. The client who turned up unannounced

A small agency held its jumper day on a Thursday. At eleven that morning a major client arrived unannounced to “see the office”, and was met by a receptionist in a jumper with a light-up Christmas pudding, a managing director in printed abs, and an account manager wearing a jumper that said something regrettable about mistletoe.

The client loved it. They stayed two hours, bought lunch, and asked to be invited next year. The account manager still maintains this proves the jumper was fine. It was not fine. But it worked, and the agency has run a jumper day every December since — with one rule added, which is that anyone client-facing wears something like the smart quarter-zip and keeps the innuendo for the pub.

4. The two-person jumper and the fire drill

Two colleagues bought a two-person jumper — one garment, two neck holes, both wearers permanently attached at the ribs. It is a strong look and it photographs beautifully.

At 2:40pm the building held an unannounced fire drill. Everybody has seen someone descend four flights of stairs in a shared jumper. Not everybody has seen it done in step, at pace, while a fire marshal with a clipboard tries to decide whether to count them as one person or two. They were counted as two, which they have described ever since as the correct call.

5. The Die Hard argument that lasted three years

Somebody wore a Die Hard jumper to a Christmas party. This was not a costume choice, it was an act of provocation, and everyone present understood it as such.

The resulting debate about whether Die Hard is a Christmas film consumed the first forty minutes of the evening, resumed in the taxi, was revived by email in January, and has been reopened every December since. Two people have left the company and are still on the thread. If you want to guarantee a talking point rather than a laugh, this is the jumper.

6. The jumper that was too warm

A colleague bought a genuinely magnificent chunky acrylic knit, layered it over a shirt, and arrived at an office where the heating had been stuck at 24°C since October. By ten past ten he had rolled the sleeves. By eleven he was sitting directly under an air conditioning vent with a look of quiet suffering. By lunch he had removed it entirely and spent the rest of the day in a plain t-shirt, being asked repeatedly where his jumper was.

Anyone in a warm office should be wearing print rather than knit — something like the Hanes ugly Christmas sweatshirt or the ACEPrints crewneck. There are no prizes for a jumper you took off at noon.

7. The entire department that coordinated

A twelve-person customer service team secretly agreed to buy the same jumper. They arrived at staggered intervals across the morning so the effect built slowly, and by half past nine the rest of the office had realised what was happening and could not stop watching the door.

They won Best Team Effort, Best in Show and a category that had to be invented on the spot. Coordination beats quality every time — buying one design across a team, like the unisex crewneck in a range of sizes, costs less than everyone buying separately and lands ten times harder.

8. The boss who took it too seriously

A regional manager announced a jumper competition with a genuinely good prize, then turned up in a fully wired, motion-activated, twenty-four-bulb light-up jumper that he had clearly ordered in September, and awarded himself the prize.

The office response was immediate and coordinated: the following year every single person bought a light-up jumper, and the meeting room at 4pm with the lights off reportedly resembled a small airport. The prize that year was awarded by secret ballot to the receptionist, and the manager has judged nothing since.

9. The one nobody could explain

Finally, the category every office eventually has to create: the jumper that defeats interpretation. A cat wearing sunglasses in front of a Christmas tree. A dinosaur in a Santa hat eating a snowman. A cowboy, for reasons never established.

These are the true heirs to the tradition, because the original ugly Christmas jumpers of the 1980s were not designed to be funny either — they were designed by people who genuinely thought a three-dimensional pom-pom nose was a good idea. If you want to honour that spirit, consider the Christmas cat sweatshirt, the 3D Christmas dinosaur or the genuinely unaccountable Christmas cowboy sweatshirt.

Keep reading

• How to choose an ugly Christmas jumper
• The history of the ugly Christmas jumper
• Six things that go wrong with light-up Christmas jumpers
• Matching Christmas jumpers: what could possibly go wrong
• Christmas Jumper Day in six different workplaces
• Film quote Christmas jumpers at the office party