EPIDEMIC: 2025 ends with over a million young Americans on OnlyFans — and counting



There’s a certain sadness to modern America that no statistic can capture. But this one comes close: with over 1.1 million American accounts on OnlyFans as of last year, and 84% of accounts globally belonging to women, the U.S. is on pace for a million of its young women to perform on the site in 2026, if it's not there already. A staggering sign, not of empowerment, but of a culture quietly eating its young.

For many of these women, the attraction is simple. Quick money. Fast validation. Digital applause that feels like affection. The promise is painted in neon: You can make more in a month than your parents made in a year. The platform markets itself like a modern miracle, offering flexible hours, creative control, and unlimited earnings.

And once in a while, someone does strike digital gold. Someone earns six figures. A few earn seven. One teen made a million in an afternoon.

Many of these creators are earning less than minimum wage.

But that’s the carnival barker’s pitch, getting the (relatively) innocent in the door. Most women make almost nothing. They join believing they’re one selfie away from superstardom. They discover they’re one of millions in a digital bazaar where the rich get richer and the rest get tired, discouraged, and drained.

The price is far higher than the subscription fee. More than just photos, OnlyFans sells dreams. Visions of one's future peace, future privacy, future opportunity, and, most damning of all, future dignity. One day. Maybe one day soon.

But the women who join for short-term relief end up trading away long-term hope.

The spiritual corrosion is slow but sure. What begins as a side hustle becomes a shadow that follows them everywhere. The digital trail never fades. It clings to job applications (those that OF girls still bother to submit). It lingers in background checks. It echoes in dating conversations. It stains marriage prospects in communities where character still matters.

A decade from now, many of these women will want real things — a husband, children, meaningful work — and they will discover that the internet never forgets what the heart desperately wishes it could erase.

The great irony is that many of these creators are earning less than minimum wage once time is counted. Yet the cultural machine sells them the fantasy of being “entrepreneurs,” when they’re really just the inventory. It’s empowerment dressed like exploitation and exploitation pretending to be liberation.

OnlyFans is arguably worse than prostitution. Not because of what it shows, but because of what it destroys.

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BENJAMIN HANSON/Middle East Images/AFP | Getty Images

Traditional prostitution, for all its evils, stays out of sight. OnlyFans turns intimacy into endless reruns — downloadable, screenshot-able, shareable, permanent. A mistake made once in real life becomes a scar. A mistake made online becomes a monument.

Add to that the spiritual damage — the slow destruction of the inner life, the steady erosion of self-worth, the growing sense that once you’ve sold pieces of yourself, you never fully reclaim them. And if anyone doubts evil still works in the world, remember the devil’s oldest trick was convincing people he didn’t exist. OnlyFans is proof that he does.

Most heartbreaking of all is that these young women aren’t evil. Some, of course, are reckless hedonists. But many are simply victims of a society that promised them everything and delivered nothing: rising rent, worthless degrees, sinking salaries, and a culture that treats young women as disposable entertainment.

Of course they’re looking for a way out. Of course they’re tempted by something that pays now, because everything else pays later, if it pays at all. Quick cash begets a slow crisis. The glow of instant income fades into the grim awareness that no one wants to build something lasting with a woman whose past is present on a server farm in California, waiting to be rediscovered by anyone with a wi-fi connection.

And this is where the tragedy deepens. Because the very thing that lured them in — visibility — becomes the prison they can’t escape. At 19, visibility feels thrilling. It feels catastrophic at 29, when HR departments are Googling you, in-laws are searching your name, and your own children, God help them, might one day stumble onto the digital debris of your 20s. The internet is merciless that way. It preserves everything, except innocence.

Meanwhile, the platform keeps expanding its reach, scooping up more and more young women who would never dream of standing on a street corner but will film themselves for strangers online. The stigma feels less severe when it’s filtered. Digital danger, at your fingertips, feels paradoxically distant. But the consequences are exactly the same and sometimes worse.

The truth every influencer-economy evangelist avoids is simple: The body isn’t a business model, and desire isn’t a pension plan. An entire generation of young women are being urged to monetize the very thing they’ll one day wish they had guarded. OnlyFans sells them the illusion of independence while turning them into sexual serfs — dependent on strangers’ attention, uncaring algorithms, and a market that gets bored faster than it pays.

This ends the same way every false liberation ends. A decade from now, when these women want stability, the past they broadcast will come roaring back. And the same culture that shouted, “You go, girl,” will look away, pretend it never egged them on, and then mercilessly judge them for believing the lie.

When did America start going to bed so early?



There was a moment — maybe early 2000s? — when people began talking about a new frontier in American life.

I remember there was a "Nightline" episode about it and articles in magazines.

In Portland, where I live, the last 24-hour diner-style chain, Shari’s, closed all its restaurants earlier this year. Too dangerous to stay open that late.

They described a new territory that was open for exploration. A place where most people were still reluctant to go. But this new space held new opportunities and prospects for growth.

This new frontier was called “late-night America.” It wasn’t a geographical location. It was a time period. It occurred from approximately 11:00 p.m. to 6 a.m.

Crosstown traffic

The idea was as the world became more crowded, with more cars on the road, more people packing into office buildings every morning, a natural evolution was occurring.

People were opting to change their schedules to avoid the crowds. They were staying up later, working later, and beginning to inhabit late-night America.

These early adopters preferred a less hectic world, so they adjusted their lives toward the “off hours."

Think of Midtown Manhattan at lunch time. The Seattle Fish Market at 9:30 am. Or your own city during afternoon rush-hour traffic.

Now think of all those places at 4 a.m. Pretty different, aren’t they? Not so crazy. Not so overwhelming.

The worst thing you might encounter at 4 a.m. is a garbage truck or an impatient jogging enthusiast with an early work schedule.

As more people began to see the obvious advantages of conducting their business and personal lives at a later hour, other businesses sprang up to serve them.

Instead of just one 24-hour restaurant in your town, now there were a dozen. Many gas stations went 24 hours as did convenience stores. Big cities added more night buses. Supermarkets began staying open until 11, then midnight, and then 1 a.m.

With more people inhabiting it, the late-night world became a more active place. It was fun working the late shift. It was easier to drive to work. The vibe was more relaxed. People weren’t in such a hurry.

San Francisco noir

I was always a night owl. My first job out of college I worked at a courier company in San Francisco. We did most of our business during normal hours, 9 to 5. But I quickly maneuvered myself into the swing shift position, coming in at 2:30 p.m. and staying until 11.

After 5, I was alone in the office. I routed the overnight shipping and spent the late hours on the phone with my cohorts at our company’s other branches in other cities.

The late-night crew got to know each other. We were the oddballs of our respective offices. We tended to be more eccentric, more interesting than the daytime employees.

When I was occasionally called in by my boss to work a normal 9-to-5 shift, I found the routine deeply disturbing.

Imagine waking up at 8 in the morning! Riding a packed, slow-moving bus downtown. Waiting in line for 10 minutes for a morning coffee. Standing in another line for a soggy sandwich at lunch.

All of this with robotic office workers crowded around me. Dan from sales. Sheila from billing. Their business outfits. Their terrible hairstyles. It was unbearable!

But to be on the late shift, alone in the office, with the radio on, my feet on the desk. That was heaven. And then leaving the building at 11, the downtown streets deserted, late-night San Francisco all to myself.

Truck stop scribbling

Later when I became a professional writer, I loved working in late-night cafes. Or 24-hour diners. Or truck stops, if there were one nearby.

I went there to work, but I liked having people around, a nice waitress, some foot traffic, someone to share a bit of conversation with.

Or on a bad weather night, there were the state troopers or the snowplow guys coming in from the cold at 2 a.m. for a hot coffee and a piece of pie — wasn’t that fun to be part of?

Thanks to late-night America, there were always such places available. It was a great time for a person like me. I always had somewhere to go. Some coffee to drink. And mostly good people to be around.

Closing time

By now, you probably know where this story is going. We are presently at the other end of the pendulum swing. Now NOTHING stays open late. Good luck finding a coffee shop that’s open after 4!

In Portland, where I live, the last 24-hour diner-style chain, Shari’s, closed all its restaurants earlier this year. Too dangerous to stay open that late. And nobody wants to work those hours.

The early-closing phenomenon had already begun before COVID, and then COVID finished the job.

Plus in many cities, there is now the constant presence of homeless and mentally ill people to contend with.

In response, business owners have decided it’s best to minimize their hours of operation. They lock their doors and lower their metal gates as soon as the sun goes down.

Last of the lounge lizards

Bars are still open, of course. But even that world is shrinking. Young people don’t go out as much these days. They have other ways to socialize, and they have multiple forms of entertainment right there in their homes.

Meeting people for romantic purposes was once the primary reason for being out late at night. But this seems to be on the wane as well.

Men are less eager to approach women in public places. And contemporary women, with careers and important jobs, don’t want to be out late at night. Swiping on dating apps during lunch hour is a much more efficient way to meet a potential partner.

Are there still jobs on the night shift? Sure there are. Trucking, loading, and delivering are still much easier during off-hours. But most of the other late-night jobs are ... well ... security guard, security patrol, security supervisor.

In other words, protecting people and property from the dangers of the night.

Goodnight, moon

So yeah, that last frontier? It’s closed.

For such a social space to function safely, you need a high-trust, high-functioning society. People need to feel safe. They need to trust each other.

Society is too fractured at the moment for that to happen. There is too much crime, too much drug abuse, too many zombies to venture into the dark.

But think of the romance lost! Think of the late-night walks you can’t go on. The moonlit skies you’ll never see. The late-night drives in a cozy car with the radio on.

These are not insignificant things for a culture to lose. The night should be ours. The night should belong to us.

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Forget 'Die Hard' — 'Brazil' is the ultimate Christmas movie



The cultural powers that be determined long ago that a film needn’t deal directly with the Nativity of our Lord and Savior to qualify as a “Christmas movie.”

Many films apparently qualify simply by virtue of their plot events’ proximity to December 25, their festive backdrops, and their occasional visual reference to Coca-Cola Claus, starred pines, and/or the birth of God.

In a way, the Christmas imagery does visually what the movie’s eponymous theme song does sonically: tease at something lovely and wonderful beyond the nightmare.

Rest assured as the bare-footed cop wastes German terrorists at his estranged wife’s office party; as the two burglars repeatedly fall prey to an abandoned adolescent’s mutilatory traps; and as the inventor’s son unwittingly turns his Chinatown-sourced present into a demon infestation — these are indeed Christmas movies.

Given the genre’s flexible criteria, Terry Gilliam’s 1985 masterpiece “Brazil” also qualifies.

State Santa

In truth, the Python alumnus’ film about a bureaucrat’s maddening investigation of his totalitarian government’s execution of the wrong man is a far stronger entry than “Die Hard,” “Home Alone,” “Gremlins,” and other such flicks.

Not only is there Christmastime imagery throughout, but such visuals are also of great importance, providing insights both into the treachery of the film’s principal antagonist — the state — as well as into what appears missing in Gilliam’s dystopian world.

In the opening scene, a man pushes a cart full of wrapped presents past a storefront window framed by tinsel and crowded with “Merry Christmas” signage, television sets, and baubles.

Next we enter an apartment where a mother reads “A Christmas Carol” to her daughter, a father wraps a present, and a boy plays at the foot of a well-dressed evergreen.

After numerous scenes featuring gift exchanges, mutterings of “Happy Christmas," and Christmas trees, we meet a kindly faced man dressed as Santa.

Jingle hells

This is, however, no feel-good Christmas movie.

The storefront window is firebombed.

Armored police storm into the family’s apartment, jab a rifle in the father’s gut, and take him away in a bag while his wife screams in horror.

The gifts exchanged and piling up throughout the film — besides the offers of job promotions and plastic surgery — appear to all be versions of the same novelty device, a meaningless “executive decision-maker.”

The kindly faced man dressed as Santa is a propaganda-spewing government official who rolls into the protagonist Sam Lowry’s padded cell on a wheelchair to inform Lowry — played by Jonathan Pryce — that his fugitive lover is dead.

With exception to the heart-warming domestic scene interrupted by the totalitarian bureaucracy’s jackboots at the beginning of the film, the Christmas imagery rings hollow and for good reason.

Extra to dehumanizing workplaces, purposefully meaningless work, bureaucratic red tape, and paperwork that’s so bad it ends up killing Robert DeNiro’s character — at least by the tortured protagonist’s account — the regime’s population-control scheme relies on consumerism.

The regime has, accordingly, done its apparent best to empty Christmas of the holy day’s real significance and meaning, donning it as a costume to sell and control.

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Beyond the nightmare

“Brazil” is not, however, an anti-Christmas film.

The emptiness of the costume prompts reflection about its proper filling — a reflection that should invariably lead one to Christ.

In a way, the Christmas imagery does visually what the movie’s eponymous theme song does sonically: tease at something lovely and wonderful beyond the nightmare Gilliam once dubbed “Nineteen Eighty-Four-and-a-Half.”

“I had this vision of a radio playing exotic music on a beach covered in coal dust, inspired by a visit to the steel town of Port Talbot. Originally the song I had in mind was Ry Cooder’s 'Maria Elena,' but later I changed it to 'Aquarela do Brasil' by Ary Barroso,” Gilliam told the Guardian.

“The idea of someone in an ugly, despairing place dreaming of something hopeful led to Sam Lowry, trapped in his bureaucratic world, escaping into fantasy.”

Whereas the recurrent theme from the samba references a fantasy the regime can crush, the various indirect reminders that Christmas is about more than presents and half-hearted niceties reference a hidden truth and source of eternal hope: that God was born in Bethlehem.

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Celebrate Christ's birth with the world’s best Christmas carol — and it's not the version you think



As the years pass by, it can feel like Christmas has become less about the birth of Christ and his salvific mission and more about secularism and winter.

Look no farther than some of the most popular “Christmas” carols of the past 100 years: "White Christmas," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "Deck the Halls," "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer," and on and on.

This Christmas, as you gather with your family, return to the meaning of the holiday — the birth of Christ — by reflecting on the original French version of “O Holy Night.”

The closing lyrics proclaim, without equivocation, that it is Christ who has saved us and we celebrate his coming. In other words, Christ is King!

For those in the French-speaking world, and especially the Acadian and Quebecois diaspora in New England, “Minuit Chretien” was a staple entrance hymn of midnight Mass.

While the English version “O Holy Night” is a beautiful song, the lyrics were adapted by Unitarian minister John Sullivan Dwight, reducing the theological weight of the original French.

Here are those English lyrics.

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining;
it is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,
for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!
Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!
O night divine! O night when Christ was born!
O night divine! O night, O night divine!

According to Chicago Catholic, the newspaper of the Archdiocese of Chicago, the song quickly became popular in Northern U.S. abolitionist circles due mainly to its third verse, which deals with breaking the chains of slavery.

Truly He taught us to love one another.
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother,
and in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we.
Let all within us praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! O praise His name forever!
His power and glory evermore proclaim!
His power and glory evermore proclaim!

Again, this is beautiful, but it downplays the truly salvific mission of Jesus Christ, God incarnate.

Before examining the French lyrics and their literal English translation, listen to the definitive version of the song, sung by Luciano Pavarotti at Notre Dame Basilica in Montreal, Quebec, in 1978. The concert in which he sang this rendition was a long-standing PBS Christmas special.

French lyrics

Here are the French lyrics, as compiled by the Oxford International Song Festival.

Minuit, Chrétiens, c’est l’heure solennelle,
Où l’homme Dieu descendit jusqu’à nous
Pour effacer la tache originelle
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux.
Le monde entier tressaille d’espérance
À cette nuit qui lui donne un sauveur.
Peuple, à genoux, attends ta délivrance.
Noël, Noël, voici le Rédempteur.

The tone is set right at the start. The verse boldly announces that this song is for believers. “Midnight, Christians, it is the holy hour.”

There is no mistaking this for secularism or a postmodern, easy Christianity. It calls the listener to remember that he is Christian and that Christmas is about the coming of the Savior, as the second line says, “When God as man descended unto us.”

The next part boldly proclaims the reason Christ became man: to save mankind from the stain of original sin. “To erase the original stain, and to end the wrath of His Father.”

The next two lines are very close to the English translation: “The whole world thrills with hope on this night that gives it a Savior.”

The end of the first verse brings it home: “Kneel, people, await your deliverance: Christmas, Christmas, the Redeemer is here!”

A bold declaration of what the night is about: the coming of deliverance that Christ the Redeemer brings!

The second and third verses are as reverent and hopeful as the first. The closing lyrics proclaim, without equivocation, that it is Christ who has saved us and we celebrate his coming. In other words: Christ is King!

Is 'Die Hard' a Christmas movie? And other questions about the true meaning of Christmas films.



"What is a Christmas movie?”

This is probably a question you’ve heard before in passing. Most of us instinctively have a good idea of what one is, but more than likely, that understanding is rather inexplicable, abstract, or trapped in the minutiae.

Only by leaning into my Christian faith did I begin to see these films and the unique glow that turns a regular film into a Christmas film.

We all know the tropes of Christmas movies — Santa Claus, joy to the world, peace and goodwill toward men, white snow on a warm Christmas morning, jingle bells, presents under the tree, hot chocolate and eggnog, sugar plums, figgy pudding, Nativity scenes, et cetera.

For most people, Christmas is a feeling and an idea as much as it is a day on the calendar. However, trying to put the abstract into words is challenging. In my capacity as a film reviewer, amateur filmmaker, and member of the Music City Film Critics Association, I have spent more than three years talking with friends and puzzling over the question for fun. For the most part, this debate was a lively intellectual exercise between my philosopher and cinephile friends and me; I can recall one particularly fun session of debate with my girlfriend as we discussed the Aristotelian implications of the definition of Christmas movies.

As it will become clear in this text, though, the answer to the question, “What is a Christmas movie?” is surprisingly hard to narrow down and answer definitively.

This was a problem I set out to try to formally solve in late 2024, during a rare moment of adult life when I had the time to sit down for three months and binge-watch out-of-season Christmas movies, while attending to a lengthy family hospice situation. As strange as it felt spending the month of October bingeing on Christmas movies, it was enlightening. Surveying films between the years 1935 and 2024, one sees a number of patterns and tropes fly by, evolving with the culture year by year.

Subsequently I partnered with my good friends at the evangelical ministry Geeks Under Grace to put my ideas to paper, publishing 10 weekly articles on the subject between November and December 2024. But even as I was penning those first essays, I struggled to find the right words; I didn’t have an answer in mind from the outset, merely a series of arguments and anecdotes. I would need to find my thesis in the act of writing this book.

There aren’t enough books written about Christmas films as a genre. If there are many, they are buried under an ocean of histories for specific films, best-of collections, or works written by obscure academics.

It’s easy enough to find resources on the production history of "It’s a Wonderful Life" but less so about the subgenre that flows out of it. Much has been said about the great entries in the subgenre: how "Miracle on 34th Street" became the first financially successful Christmas movie in 1947; how "It’s a Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Story" were popularized via television broadcasts; how "Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol" became the first animated Christmas special specifically released for television in 1962; how 2003’s "Elf" is the last Christmas film to be considered a blockbuster.

There is less said about what connects these data points.

One of the few experts on the subject I found was Scottish scholar Tom Christie, who has published multiple books on the history of Christmas films in the past decade through Extremis Publishing, including "The Golden Age of Christmas Movies: Festive Cinema of the 1940s and '50s" and "A Totally Bodacious Nineties Christmas: Festive Cinema of the 1990s." The rest of the insight I found was buried in individual articles and YouTube essays, to which I owe a tremendous debt for helping me shape the greater picture. They helped me break through my writer’s block and made the connections I needed to complete the project.

However, the seeds of insight I found in my reading turned me away from the films themselves.

From first principles, there can be no understanding of Christmas movies without first understanding Christmas. And there is no understanding of Christmas without understanding religion, society, secularism, consumerism, and the nature of what American society considers “normal.” It was only through this that the seed blossomed into what I think is the best achievable conception of a Christmas film, and only by leaning into my Christian faith did I begin to see these films and the unique glow that turns a regular film into a Christmas film.

I apologize to any secular readers who may have picked up this book imagining it would be relatively areligious, but I must beg their pardon in the necessity to discuss these issues through the lens of theology. I’m a practicing Christian, and I cannot help but think of life through the lens of a high-church Protestant. However, Christmas is a Christian holiday (at least tacitly), and I don’t think it’s possible to completely excise Jesus from the day bearing his name — at least not without turning the holiday into a parody of itself.

Christianity teaches us that Jesus Christ, the second person of the Trinity, became flesh and walked among us. He was both fully God and fully man and became the hinge of history. He was a paradox, described in His Nativity by the apologist C.S. Lewis, “Once in our world, a stable had something in it that was bigger than our whole world.”

The idea that a God so seemingly wrathful, distant, and lawful would be so humble as to allow Himself to be born as a fleshy human baby to a peasant woman in the backwater of the Roman Empire is strange. But this is the event Christmas celebrates — a contradiction and a miracle; the fullness of history fulfilled in humility; the logos breaching into the world; a quiet resistance manifesting against the evils of this rebelling silent planet.

Reflecting on this and the modern reality of Christmas, an idea began to unfold slowly in my mind. The realization came to me that Christmas movies are not defined so easily but are defined by a connection to the supernatural. They are downstream of something greater, containing within them a small drop of the divine-like spring water filtering into a mighty river.

That water may no longer be clear and crisp, or even drinkable, but its flowing is evidence of a source.

Christmas movies are utterly unique in modern film due to the way we interact with them. They are a subgenre unto themselves, intertextually linked with other Christmas movies and the holiday itself, but it is that very intangible glow that makes them unique. They contain an essence of what Lewis once described, in his book "The Problem of Pain," as “the numinous”:

Those who have not met this term may be introduced to it by the following device. Suppose you were told there was a tiger in the next room: you would know that you were in danger and would probably feel fear. But if you were told, “There is a ghost in the next room,” and believed it, you would feel, indeed, what is often called fear, but of a different kind. It is not based on the knowledge of danger, for no one is primarily afraid of what a ghost may do to him, but of the mere fact that it is a ghost. It is “uncanny” rather than dangerous, and the special kind of fear it excites may be called dread. With the uncanny one has reached the fringes of the numinous.

This is not to call Christmas movies dreadful but that they contain within them a sense of the supernatural, what we might call “awe.” Connecting with that awe is downstream of the supernatural source that created it. Christmas movies grab that stream like a third rail and feel electrified by it.

It may seem like a bit of a leap to say that mean-spirited and cynical movies like "Christmas Vacation" or "Bad Santa" are in some way a reflection of God’s divinity, but as we will come to see, the thing that sets Christmas films apart from other films is an embrace of the supernatural essence of Christmas.

A Christmas movie always contains an element of hope that warps cynicism and pain of its story toward an ideal.

A Christmas movie glows with Christmas spirit.

A phrase like “the true meaning of Christmas” does this too, alluding to some unspoken notion that culture agrees upon, that Christmas is meaningful because it changes people. It scratches upon something divine while remaining achingly human and unspecific.

That thing is not entirely limited to the faithful, as secular people enjoy Christmas too. Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, and atheists all celebrate Christmas in equal measure. And while I wouldn’t say they celebrate in the same manner as I do at the communion rail on Christmas morning, they are communing with something beyond the superficial layers of cheap plastic junk that Christmas would be if it were merely another day in December.

This book is the result of many months of thought and reflection, brought into the world by the good graces of my friends and colleagues who helped me write it, host it, critique it, and bring the original articles to fruition, here expanded to a thematically rounded 12 chapters. Each chapter has been revised to reflect the conclusions I discovered in the very act of writing the book. One often finds his destination only by setting out on an unknown journey!

So let us start by asking the most immediate and controversial question and then let our understanding unfold: Is "Die Hard" a Christmas movie?

From there, we will discuss Christmas as a secular phenomenon; explore Christmas movies as a subgenre; the role religion, consumerism, normality, and nostalgia play in Christmas cinema; and close on the incarnational implications of Christmas films.

What is a Christmas movie?

Let’s find out!

The above essay was adapted from the book "Is 'Die Hard' a Christmas movie? And Other Questions About the True Meaning of Christmas Films," which is available here.

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