The latest John Lewis Christmas advertisement serves as a clear indicator of one of the UK’s most urgent national conversations: the crisis facing boys and young men. Widespread anxieties—from the ascent of the “manosphere” to escalating mental health crises and profound loneliness—have become major public topics. These concerns have been voiced by prominent figures like Sir Gareth Southgate, who, in his Richard Dimbleby lecture, warned of “toxic influencers” supplanting traditional father figures, and are reflected in the massive success of the Netflix series Adolescence. Now, these societal worries have permeated even that dependable cultural barometer, the department store’s yearly festive campaign.
It seems appropriate that as this holiday institution reaches its 18th year, it chooses to tell the story of a middle-aged father and his quiet, headphone-clad teenage son. The ad’s narrative hinges on a gift: a vinyl record of Alison Limerick’s 1990 dance anthem “Where Love Lives.” This artifact transports the father back to his 90s clubbing era, culminating in a moment where the generational divide is bridged. In classic advertising fashion, the son regressively de-ages to a toddler and then an infant. The scene resets to their impeccably designed living room for an emotional embrace, a moment engineered by Saatchi & Saatchi to elicit tears nationwide.
The depiction of a white, middle-class family, particularly during a cost-of-living crisis, is scarcely revolutionary. What does capture the current cultural moment, however, is its focus on the father-son connection. This is a deliberate shift; last year’s ad, famously shot in-store, featured two sisters and prompted headlines like, “John Lewis Christmas advert doesn’t star any men.” This year’s focus on men is intentional. The mother and daughter are relegated to the background (though it’s notable that the mother is the only one who speaks). The nostalgia for the 1990s evokes a seemingly less complex era of masculinity—a time before social media, selfies, and Spotify. The ad pointedly contrasts the communal, joyful abandon of a 90s dancefloor with the fearful isolation of today’s screen-centric youth.
This preoccupation with contemporary masculinity and fatherhood is mirrored in the literary world, a sphere recently dominated by female voices. Two novels shortlisted for this year’s Booker Prize, David Szalay’s Flesh and Ben Markovits’s The Rest of Our Lives, handle these themes with a tenderness and originality that elevates their potentially bleak subject matter. Both books delve into male inarticulacy and the complex thoughts men struggle to express.
Similarly, Stephen Graham, star and co-creator of Adolescence, has initiated a project, due for publication next year, inviting fathers globally to write letters to their sons defining modern manhood. New ventures like the independent press Conduit Books, founded to champion male writers and these “overlooked narratives,” are emerging alongside male talking circles and men-only book clubs, which aim to build community as much as to encourage reading.
For years, the long-neglected stories of women and girls have rightfully taken center stage in our cultural conversation. It is crucial, however, that the stories of boys and men are also given a voice. While a commercial isn’t necessary to remind us to connect with our sons amid the darkness of the modern world, the message in this year’s John Lewis offering has clearly resonated with a genuine public sentiment.
