Montreal's ugly tree should've become an annual Christmas tradition

It was a holiday flop that almost started something special.

In 2016, city organizers ambitiously promised a tree that would rival the Rockefeller Center spruce. What they got instead was a 26ish-meter or 88-foot balsam fir that, despite a grand lighting ceremony hosted by then-Mayor Denis Coderre, looked like it had been through a bad breakup.

Skinny, crooked, and patched with awkwardly sparse branches and mini red Canadian Tire logos for decorations, the tree stood in the Quartier des Spectacles as the world laughed, with social media calling it things like "erectile dysfunction", "sub-contracted... to Charlie Brown", and that "it was just released from Xmas tree rehab and (needed) spare change".

#TreeShaming became a trend on what was then Twitter.

By comparison, Rockefeller’s tree owes its picture-perfect appearance to a mix of meticulous planning, cosmetic enhancements, and sheer spectacle. Unlike Montreal’s balsam fir, which was proudly “authentic” (read: scrawny and sparse), Rockefeller’s Norway spruce regularly undergoes a full glow-up before its big debut.

New York's selection process itself is like a beauty pageant for evergreens, with scouts combing the northeastern U.S. for a tree that already has a near-perfect conical shape. Once chosen, the tree gets trimmed and shaped, with additional branches grafted in to fill out any gaps—essentially a botanical facelift.

Then there’s the placement: Rockefeller Center’s iconic plaza, flanked by gleaming skyscrapers and reflective ice, provides a dramatic stage. Add a Swarovski crystal star topper and about 50,000 LED lights, and it’s easy to see why the Rockefeller tree looks like it stepped out of a Hallmark movie—while Montreal’s tree embraced vibe comparable to low-budget B-movies.

Despite being broadcast across the world—and for the wrong reasons, to some—it was taken down.

We were so close to something special

But in classic Montreal fashion, the city revisited the narrative of an ugly Christmas tree in what would no longer be a gaffe, but a deliberate statement. New York had played into the grandeur and polish of its global image, while Montreal would doubled down on self-deprecating humour.

Enter the Village du Vilain Sapin: Unveiled in 2017, it was Montreal’s cheeky response to the global ridicule of its infamous 2016 Christmas tree. Now located in the Plateau on Prince Arthur, it formed the heart of a holiday village and a celebration of imperfection. Smaller than its predecessor but equally quirky, its crooked branches touched on the aesthetic that had sparked headlines.

The installation fed on the infamy of the 2016 tree too, appearing a bit like a shanty town—albeit with a bar and kiosks.

Far from a polished, glitzy display, visitors could wander through the market, pick up holiday goods, and, in one particularly oddball feature, tickle a specially designed tree that laughed in response. It was a absurd, but endearing.

By celebrating flaws and individuality, it offered a refreshing counterpoint to the cookie-cutter perfection of traditional displays.

The thing is, by 2018, it had almost grown into a full-on holiday tradition fed by a moment of international mockery. But much like how the X account created for 2016 tree has become a semi-crank that yells at companies and politicians, the potential for the tree's comeback became little more than a neighbourhood curiosity.

In a lot of ways, we gave up

For some, these trees were an affront to the Platonic ideal of Christmas symmetry. It was like the arboreal equivalent of showing up to a black-tie event in sweatpants. For others, they were a reminder that beauty isn’t about perfection—it’s about personality. The original scraggly fir became a symbol of the city in a lot of ways, its branches a defiant shrug in the face of oversized expectations for the season.

Montreal’s ugly trees were a testament to the city’s irreverent spirit. They embodied the city's combination of chaos, endearing qualities, and pride.

Perfect trees are for postcards, and ugly trees are for people—something to consider for the next year.