IT’S high time there was a serious challenge to the creepy modern trend of the “Elf on the Shelf”, which involves a grinning little fellow in a red suit putting children under surveillance in the run-up to Christmas, then reporting back to Santa whether they’ve been naughty or nice.

The idea is that this little grass comes to life when everyone is asleep, and gets himself into all sorts of amusing situations. Cue frazzled mums and dads spending their evenings creating icing-sugar footprints and the like.

It’s one more potential pressure added to parents – and also to children, who will enjoy waking up to find the elf abseiling down a chest of drawers but may then experience an existential crisis after being monitored having a meltdown.

Keep the elves in the toy factory, I say, and let the humans embrace the ways of the goblin.

This year, for the first time, Oxford put its “word of the year” to a public vote. By a landslide, the winner was “goblin mode”. Yes, it’s technically two words, but they are two words that convey so much about the way of life many people have embraced since the start of the pandemic.

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The Oxford University Press is, of course, in the business of offering definitions, and it describes this as “a type of behaviour which is unapologetically self-indulgent, lazy, slovenly, or greedy, typically in a way that rejects social norms or expectations”.

The notion that these are viewed as traits of a goblin as opposed to a human says a lot about the expectations we put on ourselves, and that society puts on us.

Should we ordinarily feel the need to apologise for being self-indulgent? Assuming no-one else is being neglected or harmed in the process, don’t we deserve to indulge ourselves on a regular basis?

How should we define “laziness” in a society where just to break even (or at least keep debt recovery firms at bay), nearly every adult is required to work at least full-time, often in addition to being reachable by phone or email outwith those hours?

What is classed as “slovenly” when following fast fashion trends is the norm and beauty standards have evolved almost to the point where an averagely-skilled teenage girl with a contouring kit is achieving goblin-standard shapeshifting?

And when does buying luxuries like candles, face masks and sweet treats cross the line from “self-care” (not a self-indulgence, we are told, but essential for our “wellness”) into greed and decadence?

For young children, existing in goblin mode is not considered a violation of social norms. Indeed, the mischievousness and malevolence associated with that type of creature are to be expected. It’s only as we age that we are expected to keep up appearances, constantly put others before ourselves and have the ability to climb a career ladder while simultaneously maintaining a spotless home.

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It’s little wonder so many people in their twenties and indeed thirties struggle with “adulting”, and gratefully seized the opportunity to retreat and regress during the pandemic lockdowns.

Is it actually regression though, or is goblin mode in fact a legitimate lifestyle choice, a rejection of social norms and expectations that are at worst entirely unreasonable and at best just not for everyone? A New York Post article published last spring claimed that the term “entails a glorification of slothfulness and antisocial behaviour”, citing as one example “women filming zombie apocalyptic-seeming vlogs in their PJs without make-up”. It went on to report a spike in business for plastic surgeons as “cosmetically-minded employees get work to go back to work”.

In the kind of worlds that goblins traditionally inhabit, it’s surely the plucky fresh-faced woman who would be the heroine, not the one gazing into a mirror and asking if she’s the fairest of them all. Have our perceptions really become so distorted that it literally feels like the end of the world if a woman hasn’t put on some concealer and mascara?

It’s fitting that another dictionary publisher, Collins, last month chose “permacrisis” as its word of the year, defining this as “an extended period of instability and insecurity” and observing, rather bleakly: “Much more of this and we might have forgotten what stability and security ever felt like.”

With the costs of living (and especially the costs of adulting) continuing to rise, even those who’ve remained proudly free of goblin-like traits thus far may be having to seriously consider how many baths they are taking and whether they need to be doing quite so much laundry. What if goblin mode becomes our new norm, with the old one rebranded as “high-maintenance mode”? Yes, sloth and gluttony may be sins, but so is pride, remember.

Humans are adaptable creatures, as the last few years have shown. We’re also diverse, and many people enjoy the rituals of grooming and styling as well as the end result.

Returning to our old ways is perhaps an expression of hope that a crisis-free period is just around the corner. But exiting goblin mode should be a choice freely made, not a demand for conformity to standards that require superhuman effort.