News

Do you remember Christmas at Grandma’s, when the tree was almost collapsing under the weight of ornaments, with garlands everywhere, and baubles competing with tinsel for space? And perhaps Mom would sigh, “That’s too much, Grandma,” and Grandma would reply, “Too much? There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ at Christmas!” As Maryla Rodowicz sang, “Long live the ball!” – and a maximalist Christmas is exactly that: a ball, but with a festive touch. Pillovely understands that “for those who want more” isn’t just a slogan – it’s a lifestyle. And that’s precisely why maximalism at Christmas 2025 isn’t chaos, but a celebration.

Do you remember elementary school, right before Christmas? The whole classroom turned into a factory. Tables were covered with colorful paper, tissue paper, glue sticks (which magically glued everything together except paper), and scissors with rounded tips. We made chains so long they could wrap around the entire school, and paper hedgehogs that looked more like accident victims.

Do you remember the boxes in Grandma's attic, full of glass baubles from the 70s, 80s, or even earlier? Some shiny, some matte, scratched, with peeling paint. And you remember the feeling when Grandma said, "This is a keepsake from your great-grandmother, it would be a shame to throw it away." But at the same time, you saw that these baubles no longer looked like they used to - the paint had peeled off, the glass had darkened, the shine was gone. As Czesław Niemen sang: "This world is strange" - but even stranger if you own a bauble that reminds you of the communist era and don't know what to do with it.

At the end of November, the world holds its breath. We wait for that one sign. No, not the first Coca-Cola commercial. We wait for the moment when the neighbor across the street finally turns on their lights. Then we know: It has begun. Christmas.

Do you remember Christmas at your grandparents' in the countryside, when the house smelled of gingerbread for a week and the tree was decorated with pinecones from the attic and straw angels made by grandma? A wooden bench under the tree, linen tablecloths on the table, wicker baskets full of nuts. And that smell – cinnamon, cloves, honey, burning wood. That was rural idyll, long before the term existed. As Marek Grechuta sang: "The world is open to us" – but sometimes the most beautiful world is the simplest, the closest to nature.