Why We’re Stuck Trying to Kiss Someone at Midnight on New Year’s Eve

I’m a single man, but even if I wasn’t? I’ve never been a huge fan of public displays of affection. Whether it’s my blood or my upbringing, I believe that making other people witness physical affection is a rude, punitive form of hedonism. The only time I should ever see an adult human sitting on another’s lap is when the first human is a ventriloquist dummy — and even then, only with my express permission. 

So, any New Year’s that I’m single, as the clock ticks toward midnight, I’m filled with a mixture of dread and righteous Puritan fury.

I want no part of it. People’s less-than-casual shuffling around, starting at 11:30 p.m., to make sure they’re surrounded by at least one kissable individual. The winking, the shrugging, the little “oh well” dance we do. It’s a pox. Label me a sort of asexual New Year’s Ebenezer Scrooge if you’d like, but I stand by my dislike for any forced kiss. It’s the emotional gauntlet of high school prom, packed into less than a minute of time. 

To add insult to injury, if you’re left kissless, you have to think about that while staring at a legally drunk Don Lemon.

All of which is to say: I had a vested interest in finding out what ancient civilization cemented this nightmare into New Year’s tradition. 

As with many traditions of long-running, cross-cultural holidays, there’s no 100 percent confirmed origin. According to Snopes, however, it can be traced back to a specific group of American immigrants. Backed up by a New York Times article from 1863, the group given credit is… the Germans? 

You’ve got to be kidding me. A population about as emotive as an Easter Island head saddled us with a tradition of wanton affection? Was it the only time every year that German married couples were legally allowed to kiss? 

I’m not going to say it’s Germany’s most horrible legacy, because, well, you know. But it’s not great.