Black Friday. The day when shoppers across the globe descend into chaos, elbowing each other for discounted kettles and queuing for hours just to save £5 on a toaster. It’s a quintessentially American export, all about excess and unbridled enthusiasm for bargain-hunting. And yet, over the past decade, it has awkwardly muscled its way into the UK calendar. But here’s the truth: most Brits secretly hate Black Friday. Let’s unpack why.

The Awkward Timing

Black Friday is sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas—a season we Brits have already mastered. November, for us, is about quiet preparation: writing cards, pretending we’ll budget this year, and buying mulled wine by the litre. The last thing we want is an Americanised retail frenzy barging in, demanding we sprint through shopping centres like contestants on Supermarket Sweep.

And let’s not forget that Thanksgiving, the holiday Black Friday follows, has zero cultural relevance here. It feels like starting a party halfway through because everyone else was already having fun. We don’t have turkey hangovers or pumpkin pie-induced guilt. Just rain and a vague sense that someone, somewhere, is queuing for a flat-screen TV.

Queuing Etiquette in Tatters

As a nation, we love a good queue. It’s an unspoken social contract, a line of calm, orderly civility. Black Friday throws all that out the window. People shoving and cutting in? No thank you. The idea of fighting someone for a discounted air fryer fills us with existential dread. We’d rather pay full price than be caught in an undignified scramble for a half-price hoover.

Online Chaos Is Even Worse

You’d think that Brits, known for avoiding conflict, would prefer online shopping. But even here, Black Friday manages to ruin the vibe. Websites crash, items sell out before we’ve clicked “add to basket,” and we spend hours refreshing pages like we’re on some kind of digital hamster wheel. By the time we finally snag that discounted smart speaker, we’ve already developed a personal vendetta against the entire retail industry.

The “Deals” Are a Lie

One thing Brits are universally suspicious of is being ripped off. We know deep down that most Black Friday “deals” aren’t real deals at all. That TV marked down by 50%? It was probably bumped up to double its usual price last week. We see through it, yet we still end up scrolling through endless sales, muttering, “Do I really need this?” as we hover over the checkout button.

The Dreaded Crowds

We’ve all seen the footage from America: hordes of shoppers storming through the doors at dawn, trampling anyone who dares to stand in their way. The thought of participating in something even remotely similar makes our stiff upper lip quiver. We’re a nation of introverts who’d rather quietly shop online at midnight than deal with the horror of rubbing elbows with strangers in an overcrowded store.

The Emotional Hangover

Black Friday isn’t just physically exhausting—it’s emotionally draining too. You spend hours searching for deals, only to feel crushing regret when your haul arrives. Do we really need that third air fryer? What possessed us to buy a set of Bluetooth-enabled coasters? Black Friday turns us all into impulse-buying maniacs, and we hate ourselves for it.

It’s Just… Not Very British

At its core, Black Friday goes against everything we hold dear as a nation. We like understated bargains, not flashy doorbusters. We enjoy casual browsing, not time-limited pressure to buy. And we value politeness over the kind of rabid consumerism that sees people wrestling over the last discounted Dyson.

The Quiet Rebellion: Cyber Monday and Beyond

Many Brits have quietly adapted to Black Friday by ignoring it altogether. Instead, we wait for Cyber Monday or, even better, the January sales. Why fight through a sea of humanity for a marginal discount when you can sit at home, sip tea, and wait for better deals after Christmas?

The Inevitable Conclusion

Black Friday isn’t going away anytime soon. Retailers will keep trying to make it a thing, and we’ll keep pretending we care. But deep down, most Brits would rather spend the day avoiding the madness entirely, tucked up at home with a cuppa and a bit of Come Dine with Me. Let the Americans have their turkey-fuelled shopping extravaganza. We’ll stick to complaining about it on Twitter, quietly judging anyone who queued outside Currys at 5 a.m.

So, if you’re braving Black Friday this year, good luck. May the bargains be real, the queues civilised, and your dignity intact. Just don’t expect the rest of us to join you. We’ll be watching from afar, sipping our tea, and shaking our heads in polite disapproval.

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James Henshaw

James Henshaw is a brooding Geordie export who swapped the industrial grit of Newcastle for the peculiar calm of Lincolnshire—though he’s yet to fully trust the flatness. With a mind as sharp as a stiletto and a penchant for science-tinged musings, James blends the surreal with the everyday, crafting blogs that feel like the lovechild of a physics textbook and a fever dream.

Equally at home dissecting the absurdities of modern life as he is explaining quantum theory with alarming metaphors, James writes with the wit of someone who knows too much and the irreverence of someone who doesn’t care. His posts are infused with a dark humour that dares you to laugh at the strange, the inexplicable, and the occasionally terrifying truths of the universe—whether it’s the unnerving accuracy of Alexa or the existential menace of wasps.

A figure of mystery with a slightly unsettling edge, James is the sort of bloke who’d explain the meaning of life over a pint, but only after a dramatic pause long enough to make you question your own existence. His wit cuts deep, his insights are sharp, and his ability to make the surreal feel strangely plausible keeps readers coming back for more.