The holiday season is officially upon us, so it’s that time to hang that mistletoe, haul out the holly or, in my case, break out my nutcracker that kind of looks like Rick James.

Right now he’s standing on my mantle, lording over the stockings and twinkle lights between Santa Shemar Moore and Christmas Queen Diana Ross.

No, these wooden figurines are not official replicas of those famous people, and none of them are actually able to crack nuts, so technically they’re sort of cosplaying as nutcrackers. That doesn’t matter. It’s the time of year when we cling to the magical, to things that shine a fanciful light against darkness. We are finding joy in the most unlikely of places, and boy, do I need that this year! So since 2021, my joyful place just happens to be among Yuletide-related statuettes that happen to resemble Black celebrities.

People collect all sorts of Christmas items: quaint little snowy villages, trains, Hess trucks and ornaments. My jingle bell jam is now peering at nutcrackers in stores or online and thinking, “Which member of Destiny’s Child do you remind me of?”

I didn’t set out to make this my thing — my previous collections have included trinket boxes, weird thrift store lamps and bad dating stories. Like the best pastimes, this one happened organically, tied in equal parts to memory, whimsy and effortless too-muchness, which is very much on-brand for me.

I was at Target a few years ago, trying in vain to stick strictly to my shopping list, when I walked by a display of holiday tchotchkes. In the middle, I saw a regal vision in pink, a bejeweled crown atop her flowing dark locks and a billowing cape. I was not in the market for a nutcracker, but I instantly recalled the Diana Ross concert I went to with my mother where The Boss appeared on stage with no fewer than five different capes, elegantly tossing each behind her as a brave assistant ran out to retrieve them as unobtrusively as possible.

That is, until the last cape, which remained unfetched on the stage for the entire length of the song. Miss Ross kept singing, but she made a quick displeased glance at the offending garment that sent a chill through me. “I am very worried about Cape Fetcher’s future employment and possibly his life,” I whispered to my mother. We both cracked up, but silently, because we didn’t want her to hear us and fire us, too. It’s such a treasured moment for us, summed up in a foot-and-a-half-tall doll. I had to have it. There was only one of her, which I took as a sign that she was there waiting for me.

Christmas Queen Diana Ross stayed on my mantle past Christmas, New Year’s and then the rest of 2022 because she fit so well into my décor. When the holidays came around that year, I added to my merry miniature menagerie with a little guy in a white turban holding a golden jar on a tray and wearing a purple cape. (Capes are very important.) I think he was supposed to represent Balthazar, one of the Magi who has been depicted as Black, but to me, his bright eyes and long dark hair were giving, “He’s a very freaky king, the kind you don’t take home to Jesus.”

And that’s how King Rick James came to be the second member of my Black nutcracker crew. (Myrrh, to paraphrase the late Mr. James, is a hell of a drug.)

King Rick was followed in 2023 by not one, but two new friends. First was a golden-skinned Santa who is a combination nutcracker and Advent calendar, with little white number blocks you change every day. There was something very smooth, handsome and dramatic about him under that staid white beard, so I dubbed him Santa Shemar Moore, for the very fine star of “SWAT” and “The Young and the Restless.”

I thought we were done for the year, but I was back in the store the next week and came across the cutest little girl majorette, hair swept to the side in a red, gold and green ensemble and killer boots. There was something very fierce and funky about her, and I instantly dubbed her Kelly Rowland, after my favorite girl group child of destiny.

And this year, we brought home something completely different: a mostly felt soldier that almost looks more like a fancy art project than a formal nutcracker. He was thoughtful, distinct and covered in red, gold and green. We’re calling him Nutcracker Bob Marley.

“So we are doing this every year?” my son asked. YES, WE ARE.

You might wonder why I’ve curated my collection exclusively to nutcrackers that look like famous Black people. I’m a pop culture devotee, so there’s something fun about targeting only figurines that work as an entertainment reference. I’m also following in the footsteps of many Black Americans who collect Americana depictions of us, like mammy cookie jars and minstrel dolls, in an attempt to reframe their inherent racism. While I understand that desire, I don’t want to have things that were meant to be harmful in my house, because it’s upsetting and sounds like a setup for the next Jordan Peele horror movie. Not today, possibly haunted Aunt Jemima doll!

Nope, we’re all about joy here in Black Nutcracker Central. As my collection continues to grow, I’m going to focus on the things that make me smile, that make me start humming “Three Little Birds” when I see it. I want to look toward happiness, even when it’s silly.

Maybe in 2025 I’ll find a Nutcracker Denzel, or perhaps try to complete my Supremes or Destiny’s Child roster. I’ll know when I see the figurines whether they fit the bill.

It might sound nuts. But that’s part of the fun.