Thanksgiving in 2025 has blossomed into that rare occasion when Americans unite (if only to argue over politics and who gets the last crescent roll). Once a heartfelt harvest feast between Pilgrims and Native Americans, it’s now the annual festival of dodging awkward questions from relatives who see you twice a year and casually pretending you actually like cranberry sauce. The only thing more traditional than turkey is the family debate over whether the stuffing belongs inside the bird or, in a true act of defiance, cooked separately for “health reasons.”​​

Friends and family (by now often indistinguishable between actual kin and people you met at last year’s Friendsgiving) gather around not just to share gratitude but to secretly judge each other’s mashed potato sculpting skills and exchange thinly-veiled sarcasm. There’s always that one uncle who roasts the host instead of the turkey, a cousin who arrives three hours late with store-bought pie, and the inevitable gravy-fountain fiasco someone swears was “Pinterest-inspired”. In many households, “idiot confessionals” and competitive naps have become modern rituals nearly as sacred as football (or at least as competitive).​​

Tradition has also found its way into irony: Americans gather to celebrate thankfulness by consuming enough food to stun a herd of wild turkeys, followed by an enthusiastic sprint to the couch or the mall for Black Friday. Calories, like politics, apparently don’t count on this holiday, and leftovers have become proof that Thanksgiving is the gift that keeps on reheating. In the end, it’s a day where everyone is reminded, between bursts of laughter and gravy-induced comas, that family and friends—no matter how odd—are what truly makes Thanksgiving unforgettable.