Rituals of Autumnal Endurance: An Ethnographic Study of Post-Industrial North Americans
In the crisp and chilly days of autumn, when the skies began to darken earlier and the cold crept insidiously through the cracks of once-modern dwellings, the inhabitants of what was once known as “North America” engaged in a now puzzling ritual known as The Great Holdout (sometimes referred to more dramatically as The Wait). This peculiar practice, observed during the 20th and early 21st centuries CE, involved a curious competition of self-imposed suffering in which these ancient peoples sought to delay, for as long as humanly possible, the turning on of their heating systems.
Despite being surrounded by machines capable of instant warmth, The Wait required participants to endure the plummeting temperatures with nothing more than layers of fleece and hubris. While it appeared to be an act of asceticism, this ritual was less about survival and more about the social prestige gained by “holding out” against the cold. As one prominent ancient author noted in an electronic communication platform known (at the time) as Twitter: “No heat yet. #Winning.”
A Philosophy of Suffering
At first glance, The Wait would seem to be a paradox. One would expect a society so reliant on comfort and convenience to activate their thermostats the moment the air outside turned chilly. Yet to do so was considered a sign of weakness, even cowardice — a concession that one’s body and spirit could not endure the trials of autumn. The underlying belief was that turning on the heat too early diminished one’s character, leading to accusations of “softness” from friends, family, and one’s greater social circle.
Records suggest that this was especially pronounced in regions described as the “Midwest,” the “Northeast,” and the “Upper Plains” — geographic zones known for their harsh winters, where participants gloried in their ability to endure a level of discomfort that would have been baffling to outsiders. In a sense, The Great Holdout functioned as a form of communal self-discipline, binding individuals together through mutual suffering. Only the strong — or the foolhardy — would resist as long as possible.
The Sacred Calendar of Distress
Much like ancient societies relied on celestial events to dictate seasonal activities, post-industrial North Americans too revered certain dates in their heating rituals. They believed that to cross certain thresholds (usually arbitrary ones, like October 31st or, for the truly devout, the hallowed November 1st) without touching the thermostat bestowed honor and glory upon the household.
October became a sacred battleground, an endurance test where the truly devoted practitioners of The Wait dug in their heels. “Have you turned on your heat yet?” was asked not out of concern, but as a test. To admit that you had surrendered to the cold was to disqualify yourself from the collective reverence of the community. However, to defiantly say, “Not yet!” — with perhaps an added boast about a recently purchased blanket or a hot beverage — was akin to declaring victory in battle.
One key part of this ritualistic denial was the inexplicable belief that waiting to activate the heat until November would somehow significantly impact the amount of “money” saved on utility payments. This belief, passed down through the generations, was more akin to folklore than fact, as any tangible financial benefits were often offset by the cost of other comfort measures, such as purchasing additional garments, extra tea, or electric blankets, or firewood.
Weapons of War: Blankets and Sweaters
Societies throughout history have developed complex tools for survival, but many North Americans took this to an entirely symbolic level. The refusal to turn on the heat required a different kind of technological savviness, manifesting primarily in the use of layers — garments that would, in theory, stave off the cold without giving in to modern heating.
These layers consisted of elaborate, almost ceremonial, arrangements of items such as “wool socks,” “flannel pajamas,” and the infamous “fleece pullover” — a garment so revered that it often became a permanent fixture on the body, only to be removed when temperatures outside reached preposterously high levels again in spring.
Of particular note was the oversized, multifunctional “blanket scarf,” a combination of garment and protective fortification that symbolized the wearer’s commitment to the ritual. One could drape this voluminous cloth over themselves while sipping a hot beverage, further demonstrating that they were perfectly fine, thank you, and had no need for central heating.
The Great Economic Deception
Endurance against the cold was often couched in the language of financial prudence. The act of delaying the heat was perceived as a financially savvy move — a way to reduce the “utility bill,” which was the monetary offering made to mysterious entities known as “electric companies” and “gas providers.” Despite being members of an economically complex society, participants of The Great Holdout seemed to overestimate the actual savings this delay provided. The mythical phrase, “We’re saving money,” was invoked repeatedly, despite all evidence to the contrary. Indeed, historians now believe that the energy savings achieved by waiting a few extra days to turn on the heat were negligible at best, a revelation that would likely have shaken the participants to their core had they realized it.
As with many ritual behaviors, logic was not the primary driver behind this particular practice. The true essence of The Wait was not found in material gain but in the emotional satisfaction of holding out longer than one’s peers. The thrill was in the denial — of heat, of ease, of that delightful thermostat dial. Only through suffering, it was believed, could one achieve the higher plane of smug self-satisfaction.
Inevitable Capitulation
In the end, all participants of The Great Holdout had to face their limits. As autumn gave way to the even more brutal chill of winter, the tipping point arrived. Like the heroes of great epics, these stoic warriors against the cold finally capitulated, ceremoniously turning the heat on, sometimes with a deep sigh. While disappointing, this was not seen as failure — it was simply part of the cycle.
Upon the inevitable surrender, these individuals often performed one final act of public confession, using the sacred words: “I finally did it.” This admission, made across various channels of communication, including verbal declarations, digital broadcasts, and the aforementioned social media, was met not with scorn but with knowing approval from the broader community. All had faced The Wait; all had eventually succumbed.
And so this strange dance with the cold, stretching across weeks and even months, became a staple of North American life. Bound by pride, persistence, and a baffling attachment to suffering, inhabitants of this once great civilization together endured an imaginary thermal conflict. Though they are long gone, their stories of delayed warmth, cozy garments, and financial myths continue to captivate historians to this day, as a fascinating glimpse into the cultural absurdities of an ancient time.
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This satirical ethnography draws inspiration from a few places: most recently, the fantastic article from Robyn Faith Walsh entitled “The Mouse of the Mysteries,” whose title is a playful updating of David Macaulay’s “Motel of the Mysteries.” And, of course, the classic “Body Rituals Among the Nacirema” by Horace Miner.
