Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park turned 18 years old this year, I am told from its website. I had the (dis)pleasure of attending the event in November, after resisting the invitations of my family for many years.
My expectations were not high given my distaste for commercial fairs and large crowds, but the experience was so far down the scale that it almost came back around and became something I am glad I did.
The name “Winter Wonderland” evokes images of snow-laden villages and husky sleigh rides. I was pessimistic about the ability of the event to create such an environment in central London, but still, as I walked towards Hyde Park, I anticipated lights adorning trees, casting a cheery glow on a bustling market of kitschy goods and festive foods.
However, what met me after the long queue through metal-fenced lines, and an NSA-style pat-down of the whole family (complete with bag checks and security wands) was a twisted mockery of the “open-air Christmas market” it started as. Instead, huge rides dominate the skyline, distant screams adding to the clashing din of Christmas sounding music and fairground tunes.
Entering from the south, signs point to various “zones”:
There is ‘Show Town’, with two circus performances, ‘Skaters Corner’ — ice rink, ‘Market Square’ — a Scandinavian “inspired” series of artisan stalls and food and drink, ‘Thrillville’ — featuring the previously mentioned rides, ‘Santa Land’ — offering roller-coasters to the less thrill-inclined, ‘Bavarian Village’ – more food and drink with the addition of Bratwurst, as well as the 2 northern zones that I didn’t pass through —‘Arctic Circle’, and ‘Luminaire Lane’, which serve up the perfect opportunity for Instagram photos for those of us that need to show the world we are participating in the holiday season.
As we wandered forward through the mass of people, I became gripped by some sort of ironic despair at the environment around me. The whole place has a distinct fake-ness to it.
The zones attempt to imitate childlike ideals of festivity, and fail horribly. The Christmas market, once a community affair, is now a place to sell drop-shipped Chinese goods, where merchants have to pay what I am sure is a huge fee to access those of us trapped inside here. The “Scandinavian” themed log cabins of wares, backed by plasterboard. Entering the Bavarian hall, I noticed the wall was made up of some sort of plastic imitation wood facade, a good metaphor for the place in general.
The whole Bavarian section seemed disconnected from German culture, except for German-named hot dogs produced in McDonald’s-like factory line kitchens. Of which one could only order through large, again, McDonald’s-esque digital screens. Aside from this, how exactly the building and the surrounding area were Bavarian escaped me. The hall itself was a crowd of cafeteria-style benches, laid out parallel to each other. Overhead, coloured strip lights hung alongside warmer string lights, which combined with the eclectic playlist of festive songs and dance tracks, made the vibe confusing.
As we were leaving, a drum and bass song dropped into the start of a German rock song, played by a band starting on the stage at the far end. I felt bad for the band — clearly, no one was here to see them, and everything they played was absorbed into the continuing tone of the continuing conversation. Rough gig.
Outside, the illusion of choice presented by the endless stalls was shattered as I realised many of them were serving the same few things: hot chocolate, crepes, and spiral potatoes — a viral invention of the last few years that involves turning the dear potato into a long spiral before frying it, reinventing what we have realised for decades is a great idea, chips. There were other stalls, licensed out to businesses serving up the sort of food you see in Camden Market, cooked for TikTok and Instagram reels, albeit at a higher price point.
As I meandered, feeling dazed, I was gripped by confusion at what any of us were doing there. I mean, was anyone really enjoying this? Or were we all playing along with what we thought the holidays involved?
Upon reflection, however, this is my conclusion: what Winter Wonderland really is is a theme park. Don’t expect anything else from it. The marketing is besides the point; it evokes the same feelings as Thorpe Park. Expensive food, prices pushed up by the monopoly they have on the walled pen they create.
The area erected and created so inorganically that it seems all the more human. Crowds milling about, constantly on their way from one place to another. I am left disoriented, with a feeling of continually being lost and searching for an unknown destination. I can’t help but be puzzled at how Winter Wonderland continues to sustain itself year after year.
If you want the rides, go to a theme park. If you want the food, go somewhere like Camden Market. If you want the shopping and festive spirit, go to Leicester Square Christmas Market: they even have Bratwurst!
