I think those folks were on to something when they referenced making the Yuletide gay.

For many, Christmas conjures images of gatherings, gift exchanges, and, perhaps, one-too-many eggnogs. But what if Christmas is more than just tinsel and tradition?

What if its roots are, dare I say, a little bit queer?

Susan Lanigan, an anthropologist and bioarchaeologist, spoke with LGBTQ+ Nation on the queerness baked into the origins of this beloved holiday. But before you clutch your pearls at the thought of Mary and Joseph sashaying into the barn, let's clarify: The "queer" in question isn't about contemporary LGBTQ+ identities. It's about those historical moments when societal norms were flipped on their heads, leaving room for fluidity, revelry, and a little transgressive sparkle.

Lanigan explained that Christmas's roots trace back to Saturnalia, an ancient Roman festival in honor of Saturn, the god of wealth, agriculture, and liberation. Picture it: Rome, 3rd century BCE. Romans of every social class mingled in what can only be described as the ultimate costume party. Enslaved people and enslavers swapped roles. Men donned women's attire. Saturnalia encouraged hierarchies to be upended, and revelry reigned supreme.

"Saturnalia was all about emulating the social freedom integral to Greek culture," Lanigan told the outlet. "Hence, drag was openly encouraged." It was a time of inversion, where the usual roles of society were temporarily put on pause. A social reset, if you will, where everyone got a taste of what life could be like on the other side of the power divide.

If that doesn't sound like a queer celebration, I don't know what does.

At its core, Saturnalia was about questioning societal norms and embracing a more fluid way of being. It was a carnivalesque free-for-all where the rigid lines of class and gender melted away, even if just for a week.

When Christianity began to spread, the early Church faced a marketing problem. How do you convert pagans when their parties are far more fabulous than your sermons? The solution: co-opt the festival and give it a Christian makeover. Enter Christmas, draped in holly and a thin veil of sanctity.

Rittika Dhar explains on the History Cooperative how early Christians "wanted to spread their religion around Europe" but knew it would be difficult for many to divest themselves of their ancient practices. "This included the celebrations for the winter solstice. They had to give the people something that was familiar and known." The Romans' penchant for decadence and delight wasn't so quickly snuffed

But what was lost in translation? Gone were the open displays of role reversal and the permissive mingling of classes. What remained were sanitized versions of Saturnalia's traditions: gift-giving, feasting, and a general sense of merriment. It's like when your favorite dive bar becomes a high-end cocktail lounge.

The spirit's still there, but the grit-the edge-is gone.

Christmas is like an ugly holiday sweater: its origins are odd, the patterns bizarre, yet the patchwork quality makes it fascinating. It's a holiday born from cultural compromise, borrowing liberally from the traditions of those it sought to convert. In that sense, it's inherently queer: a celebration of difference, adaptation, and transformation.

Take, for instance, the figure of Santa Claus. According to NBC News, that bearded man in red has roots in a mix of England's Father Christmas, a personification of the holiday, mixed with various pagan deities or spirits. Of course, there's also Nicholas of Myra, better known as Saint Nicholas, an early Greco-Christian bishop who habitually gave gifts to children. (With news of his tomb's discovery, we can now admit that Santa is...or was...real.) Even the Christmas tree, a symbol now synonymous with the holiday, originates in the ancient pagan practices of bringing greenery indoors to celebrate the winter solstice, according to History.com.

What would Christmas look like if we embraced its queer roots more openly? What if we leaned into its history as a time for questioning norms and celebrating fluidity?

For one, we'd see the holiday not as a fixed tradition but as a living, evolving narrative. It's not just about preserving the past; it's reimagining a more inclusive future. That could mean throwing a Saturnalia-inspired party where the only rule is to break all the rules. It could be about using the season to challenge the hierarchies and norms still holding us back. Or maybe it's as simple as embracing the queerness in the little things, from the sparkly lights to the over-the-top decorations to the unapologetic holiday cheer.

Christmas, at its heart, is a story of transformation. It's about light breaking through the darkness, about renewal and rebirth. And while its queer origins may not fit neatly into a nativity scene, they're there. From the flicker of a candle, the shimmer of tinsel, and the laughter of a room full of people who, for one moment, let go of the rules and just are.

So this holiday season, as you deck the halls and hang up stickings, take a moment to toast the dynamic history of it all. Because Christmas, like queerness, celebrates the unexpected, the unconventional, and the beautifully subversive.

And that's something we can all cheer to.

Marie-Adélina de la Ferrière is the Community Editor of equalpride, the publisher of Advocate.com.