For more than a century, the unveiling of Christmas windows has marked the true beginning of the festive season in cities around the world. From New York’s Fifth Avenue to London’s Oxford Street and Dublin’s Grafton Street, the ritual of pausing before a glittering shopfront is one of the small joys of winter. What began as a clever piece of retail theatre has become something far more enduring – a tradition that connects generations.
It’s a tradition that, in my family, has resonance. My grandfather Kieran, a wheelwright from Ireland, arrived in New York in 1927 only to find there was little need for wooden wagon wheels in the age of the motorcar. Like many immigrants of his generation, he adapted, turning his hand to carpentry. By the early 1930s, he was working as the in-house “build-stuff guy” at Gimbels department store on 34th Street – Macy’s great rival, both in real life and on screen in the classic Maureen O’Hara Christmas film Miracle on 34th Street.
Each autumn, Kieran and his small team would disappear into the store’s basement workroom, cutting, painting and assembling elaborate props for Gimbels’ Christmas windows. My older American cousins remember being brought into the city each December to see the magical displays their grandfather had helped build – and, if they were lucky, to have a pretzel from a street vendor for lunch.
These weren’t simple shopfronts of mannequins in fur coats. They were miniature theatres of movement and light. Carousels turned, angels strummed harps, toy soldiers marched in step, teddy bears pedalled bicycles through artificial snow, and tiny rivers carried paddleboat swans beneath twinkling stars. There was music too – faint and slightly tinny, which somehow made it more enchanting. My cousins, naturally, were convinced that Gimbels’ windows were better than Macy’s.
RM Block
The origins of the Christmas window can be traced back to a simple technological breakthrough: plate glass. By the late 19th century, large panes of sturdy glass were being produced cheaply enough for shopfronts. Retailers quickly realised that the window itself could become a stage – a storytelling space to draw in passersby.
At the same time, Christmas was transforming from a religious observance into a season of spectacle. These early windows were, in many ways, the first advertisements to sell not just goods but feelings and nostalgia. The visual language they developed would later be refined and amplified by the “admen” of Madison Avenue, whose campaigns made Christmas one of the most potent emotional seasons in the commercial calendar.
Macy’s, already a pioneer in retail innovation, was the first to bring the two ideas together. In 1874, it unveiled what is considered the world’s first Christmas window display: a scene featuring porcelain dolls and toys arranged behind newly installed plate glass. By 1883, Macy’s had introduced movement and animation, setting in motion a tradition that would spread across the US and beyond.
But it was Saks Fifth Avenue that turned the Christmas window into an event. In 1914, Saks hosted the first official “unveiling”, a public countdown to reveal its lavish windows. From then on, the moment became part of the seasonal calendar – a cue for children to write their letters to Santa.
Across the Atlantic, British retailers were quick to seize on the magic of illuminated shopfronts. Selfridges, the Oxford Street store founded by American entrepreneur Harry Gordon Selfridge, was among the first in London to light its windows after dark, starting in 1890. His aim was to transform shopping into entertainment, a philosophy that made Selfridges not just a store but a spectacle.
Even during the blackouts of the second World War, the pull of Christmas windows was hard to suppress. Retailers on Oxford Street reportedly lobbied for the construction of a lightproof arcade to allow after-dark window shopping without breaching wartime restrictions – a testament to how ingrained the custom had become in London’s seasonal life.
In Dublin, it was Switzers, on Grafton Street, that came to hold the same place in the city’s Christmas imagination. From the mid-20th century onwards, families would gather to peer at its windows, then climb the stairs to visit Santa in his grotto. For many children, the trip marked the true beginning of the festive season.
When Brown Thomas acquired Switzers in 1995, the store inherited not just the building but its traditions. The Christmas windows, by then an institution, remained central to the Grafton Street experience. Today, Brown Thomas continues to invest extraordinary effort in their creation, unveiling new themes each November to crowds gathered outside in the cold.
Planning begins almost as soon as the previous season ends. “By January, we’re exploring creative directions and mood boards for the theme,” says Ciara Crilly, creative and marketing director at Brown Thomas. “From there it becomes a meticulous process of design, craft and collaboration.” The in-house creative team works with craftspeople and partners across Ireland to bring each concept to life – from intricate sets and handcrafted props to lighting, animation and character design. In the final days before launch, work often runs late into the night before the street is transformed.
This year’s theme, This Is Christmas, centres on the joy and anticipation of the season, brought to life through two playful characters, Holly and Jolly. “We wanted to create a moment that feels instantly festive – elegant, joyful, and filled with magic,” says Crilly.
Though the designs evolve each year, the spirit remains rooted in tradition. “There’s a sense of nostalgia and shared memory that surrounds the windows,” Crilly says. “Generations have grown up coming to see them as part of their Christmas ritual. We’re constantly reimagining that experience through a modern lens – balancing heritage with innovation.”
The essence of the Christmas window – whether in New York, London or Dublin – is storytelling. Each December, as people pause before the Brown Thomas windows on Grafton Street, I think of my grandfather – an Irish wheelwright who once built festive scenes for Gimbels in New York. Nearly a century later, the tools and materials have changed, but the impulse behind the glass remains the same: to craft something fleeting that endures in memory.
