“Do You Like Christmas?” It’s an odd question from a landlord any time of year, but particularly in May, when visions of sugarplums feel distant. But for someone moving onto Stanhope Place in Fairfax, it’s pertinent: The street is the seasonal star of the Middleridge neighborhood, renowned for over-the-top displays that would make Clark Griswold proud. There are synchronized light shows, giant blow-up characters, even a 12-foot skeleton in an ugly Christmas sweater. And if you’re trying to avoid all things holiday? You’ll have to invest in good curtains for the last two months of the year.
My landlord’s question gave me an inkling of what I could expect when I moved onto the street three years ago, but it wasn’t until that November that I realized how serious it was. Thanksgiving hadn’t even arrived and colorful lights began to pop up on rooflines, fences, and trees. By November 27, the street was dressed up like a Hallmark Channel “Countdown to Christmas” spectacle, with thousands of bulbs zigzagging across the treetops. Nearly every house on the block had already joined in on the tradition.
At that point, I had decked the halls inside my home with three Christmas trees, countless garlands, and a collection of vintage Christopher Radko Shiny Brite ornaments. However, having just moved from an apartment that prohibited outdoor decorations, I was at a loss for the exterior. Trips to HomeGoods, Homesense, Target, and Michaels helped me catch up by November 29—a delayed arrival by Stanhope standards. Inspired by a love for all things retro, nostalgic, and rainbow, I’d given my lawn the multicolor treatment with twinkle lights woven through the bushes and around the light post. I even had life-size candy canes and peppermint-swirl bonbons staked into the ground. But I soon realized that wasn’t enough: My neighbors were somehow adding even more lights to their displays. One day, the block became illuminated by twinkle lights galore. The next, I found myself falling asleep to the hum of Christmas music that accompanied one home’s sidewalk-to-chimney display.
In an effort to meet the moment, I grabbed a string of icicle lights to hang on the gutter, along with a step stool and an extendable Swiffer pole. At the time, I was a single 30-year-old woman with no prior experience hanging lights, but I had high hopes that my method would work. As I struggled through the task—and before I had a chance to topple myself into the bushes—my neighbor Melody appeared with a full-size ladder. She’s one of the premier Christmas decorators on the street, and she spent the next half hour chatting and steadying the ladder while I strung the lights.
That’s the beauty of living on a Christmas-obsessed street. The neighborhood has held a lighting contest for more than two decades, but instead of devolving into competitive high jinks, it’s an opportunity to come together and create a special destination for all who stop by. It’s the first place I’ve ever lived where neighbors genuinely lend a hand, and that was certainly clear during the holidays.
As I prepare to move to Colorado, I intend to take that lesson—along with the ornaments, wreaths, lights, and hanging hacks I’ve acquired over the last three years—to my new home out west. Our neighbors there are kind, but when we signed the lease this time around, there wasn’t a single mention of the holidays. Maybe that means it’s our turn to take the lead on ramping up the cheer.
This article appears in the December 2025 issue of Washingtonian.
