Being Santa Claus is acting out a fragile and intricate lie. I’m wearing the stereotypical red suit stuffed with a pillow that gives me awkward pointy nipples and a front-butt. My white wig is pulled down far over my face to cover my dark hair and eyebrows. I can barely see. The beard hangs loosely on my face, and if I open my mouth wide, the elastic snaps off my ear.

“Just be careful about that,” my coworker says. It would be pretty awkward if it fell off in front of the kids.”

This is my third year dressing up as Santa Claus for kids, and each year I’m still nervous about it. In Japan, you don’t see kids lining up at department stores to sit on Santa’s lap. Instead, someone (almost always a foreigner) dresses up as Santa and comes to a school assembly. Kids get the chance to ask Santa questions and maybe get a present from him.

Stepping out onto the stage, you can hear all the kids gasp, “Santa-san!” And then for the next 30 minutes or so you panic as you do whatever the school asked of you. Dance to “Jingle Bells,” take part in a performance of a J-pop song, give 200 kids presents, pose for photographs with an entire school – I’ve done all that.

Today, as the curtains open, I can see there’s a TV crew here from the local channel. I look at my co-worker as she nervously looks back at me. “Ho ho ho,” I bellow. “Have you all been good boys and girls this year?” There is a horrible silence. We’re standing there waiting for the teacher at the school to say something, but no one is doing anything. “I’ve brought lots of presents for those of you who have been good,” I say, trying to fill the silence. One of the teachers finally realizes she was supposed to say something and comes to the rescue by letting the kids ask me questions.

For me, the hardest part is the questions. You never know what the kids’ parents or teachers have told them, and a wrong answer could cause this charade to become horribly apparent. In Japan, kids are told Santa lives in Finland, so sometimes saying you live at the North Pole cause ripples of disbelieve through the crowd. Maybe the teachers have told kids Santa likes to eat onigiri (rice balls) instead of milk and cookies or Rudolph’s nose is red because of the cold not magic. Often you have to change answers to fit Japanese culture. I tell children Santa simply uses magic to come into their houses because chimneys are almost unheard of. I remember to tell kids I’ll leave presents near their bed, or under their Christmas tree. Sometimes you have to leave things out entirely. Japanese kids are unaware that if they misbehave they could get coal from Santa Claus (a shame, I think, remembering how often my mom used that story to make me behave a bit more during Christmastime).

You know you’ve answered poorly when you hear kids whispering to each other excitedly, as if the whole time you’ve been on trial and finally slipped up during the cross examination. At this school, it seems that another foreigner has been a little too sarcastic with the things he told the kids about Santa. Apparently, Santa likes whiskey instead of milk. I laugh and tell the student who has pointed out this discrepancy that I do like whiskey, but I like milk a bit more.

After they ask their questions, it’s my duty to give each student a gift. Looking at the stacks of gifts, all I can think about is how bad my back is going to hurt after this is all over (the year before I actually threw out my back during this same time of the year, caused in part by having to bend over so many times for children).

Andrew as Santa-san in a teacher's lounge. Photo: Kashiko Kikuchi

Giving kids gifts is nerve wracking. You have to put yourself face to face with them. For some kids, this is the first time they have ever seen a white person. They stare at you like an animal in a zoo. Some skirt around you like you might kill them. And to be honest, after bending over so many times, you do feel like you might want to strangle them a little. You try hard to not let them see any creeping strands of hair that might be peeking through the wig. You move from side to side so they can’t touch the pillow stuffed under your shirt, because kids know instantly what it is when they feel it. If you move too fast, your wig might come off, or, like one time, the beard slips off your ear. I managed to catch it, but for the remainder of the assembly, I had to hold part of it up with the side of my face. It looked like I was talking on a cell phone.

As the students take their presents, I hear them making comments to each other:

“His nose was huge.”

“He doesn’t look that old.”

“Why did his boots have Japanese on them?”

“I thought Santa wore glasses.”

Once the kids have all received their gifts, I’m asked to sit to the side and watch the teachers give a performance for the students. This year it seems “performance” means lip-synching to a medley of AKB48, a J-pop idol collective that resembles a harem more than a group of singers. After it’s over, a teacher out of sight rings sleigh bells, and I pretend that I need to leave because my reindeer are calling.

Each time I change into the costume, I just have to take a deep breath and remind myself it’s for the kids. Sometimes upholding a lie brings enough joy to a kid’s day that it feels a little bit worth dressing up like a fake, fat old man. Sometimes.

Photos: Kashiko Kikuchi

Tags: Japan, Santa Claus, Santa-san, teaching, Tokyo