A few years ago, Kurt Neesley of Redondo Beach, California, found himself brainstorming a new location for his family’s Elf on the Shelf. Fueled by what he calls “three glasses of wine,” he staged an elaborate scene for his three children to discover.
Using Tootsie Rolls, he built an elf-sized climbing wall on the kitchen backsplash. He then posed the doll, Elfie, with a paintbrush, having seemingly scrawled a message reminding the kids to behave. Neesley even added paint splatters on the floor for effect. “Elf on the Shelf can be very stressful,” he admitted, noting he had planned to repaint the wall anyway.
For millions of parents, the holiday season is synonymous with the nightly ritual of moving the elf, a tradition that blends creative fun with occasional panic. Now in its 20th year as a commercial product, the Elf on the Shelf has become a staple of family memories and laughter.
The concept is simple: a scout elf is dispatched from the North Pole to watch over children and report back to Santa Claus. The modern tradition traces its roots to the 1970s, when Carol Aebersold introduced her twin daughters to a family elf named Fisbee. Each morning in December, the girls would wake to find Fisbee in a new spot after an overnight trip to the North Pole.
Her daughters, Chanda Bell and Christa Pitts, recall telling the elf their Christmas wishes, believing he was their direct line to Santa. A key rule was that the children couldn’t touch the elf, or he would lose his magic—a tenet that remains central to the lore today.
In 2004, Aebersold and Bell co-authored and self-published “The Elf on the Shelf” book, which came packaged with a doll. With Pitts handling sales and marketing, the product eventually became a global sensation. Their company, Lumistella, now oversees a brand that includes Netflix specials and a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
For some parents, the tradition extends beyond December. Antonia Katsanos of Franklin Lakes, New Jersey, uses her family’s elf, Twinkle, as a year-round presence to encourage her two daughters. Twinkle might leave a note asking them to pick up their Barbies or simply remind them, “The elf is watching, you have to eat your dinner.”
Katsanos is known for her creative setups, once placing Twinkle in the shower dressed as a mermaid and another time finding her hanging upside down in the car. But the effort can be draining. “You do go dry at some point,” she said. “I’ve popped up from sleep at 3:30 a.m. remembering I need to move the elf.” The joy on her daughters’ faces, she added, makes it worthwhile.
Other parents prefer a low-key approach. “We don’t get elaborate, we just move the elf,” said Ashley Zavala of St. Paul, Minnesota. As a bartender who works late, she doesn’t have the energy for complex scenarios. “Our kids like it and they don’t know the difference because they haven’t had their elf do crazy things.”
For those feeling uninspired, actor Alan Ritchson suggests a “cheat code”: recruit an older child who no longer believes. His 13-year-old son has taken over the duty with enthusiasm. “He becomes your little Elf on the Shelf weapon,” Ritchson said. “They’ll never miss a night. And you get a kid who’s coming up with ideas for you.”
The phenomenon has also inspired other holiday traditions. Inspired by the elf, Ohio father Neal Hoffman created Mensch on a Bench, a doll and book combination that teaches children about Hanukkah. The concept gained national attention after a successful pitch on ABC’s “Shark Tank.”
But for some, the pressure of maintaining these daily traditions becomes too much. Sandi Celentano, also of Franklin Lakes, introduced both the Elf and the Mensch to her interfaith household but eventually stopped. “The amount of time and energy that it took thinking of creative ways to display these things every single day—it just took over everyone’s lives,” she explained. “I’ve boycotted it for about three or four years.”
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