I’m at my family’s place last December watching everyone couple up under the goddamn mistletoe and pretending I’m totally fine being single during the most aggressively romantic time of year. Then my ex who ghosted me in October has the audacity to text “miss u, happy holidays” with a fucking Christmas tree emoji. I’ve never wanted to weaponize a 12″ candy cane more in my entire life, and I’m not talking about hanging it on a tree. But he’d probably enjoy that too fucking much. Cooper Mae gets it. ‘Mistletoe (Kiss My Ass)’ showed up on my Spotify like the universe knew I needed permission to be petty as hell during the season of forgiveness. And you know what? I’m obsessed.
This is the anti-holiday anthem we deserve. Cooper Mae took every fake-cheerful breakup text and every “can we talk?” DM that shows up right when Mariah starts singing and turned it into the most satisfying kiss-off ever. The production sparkles with all that festive energy except she’s using it to tell someone exactly where they can shove their apology. It’s holiday music with venom. It’s Hallmark Channel meets tell-him-to-fuck-off energy.
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Mae opens with “Bet you thought you’d sneak on by / Like elves on Christmas Eve / Wish me a ‘Merry Christmas’ / Like you didn’t up and leave.” The imagery is chef’s kiss. This man really thought he could slide back in with some seasonal sentimentality after pulling a disappearing act. The audacity of men during cuffing season never fails to amaze me. She calls out that fake sweetness with “Now you’re acting sentimental / Candy-cane sweet, oh please / But I wrapped up all your bullshit / Tossed it out with last year’s tree.” I actually laughed out loud. Taking out the trash has never sounded so festive.
Here’s where Cooper Mae really understood the assignment. She says she writes music for people who overthink everything and we can tell because this track nails that specific flavor of holiday breakup bullshit where someone thinks nostalgia equals a free pass. The chorus: “The only thing you can kiss / Under the mistletoe this year is my ass.” Subtle? Absolutely not. Necessary? Fuck yes. She follows it with “Go ahead and make a wish, babe / But I’m not your Christmas pass / Hope you savor that holiday flavor / A big ol’ bite of ‘don’t come back.'” The phrasing is delicious. Holiday flavor. The big ol’ bite. She’s serving sass with a bow on it.
The second verse destroys any remaining chance he thought he had. “Now you’re blowing up my phone / Saying ‘it’s the season to forgive’ / But you weren’t so jolly / When you told me you needed ‘space to live.'” Oh, the selective memory men develop when they’re lonely or horny or both. Suddenly it’s all about forgiveness and fresh starts. Mae’s not buying it. She’s got boundaries now: “Well I’ve decked my halls with boundaries / No tinsel, just my pride / Santa checked his list twice, baby / You’re out, no more room on this sleigh-ride.” The double meaning? He’s not riding anything this year—not her, not back into her life, fucking nothing. Sorry babe, you’re on the naughty list permanently. Meanwhile I’m putting myself on next year’s—hooking up under other people’s mistletoe, no strings attached.
Cooper Mae as an artist thrives on this kind of storytelling—the emotional honesty wrapped in sharp humor. Her indie-pop sensibility leans into the soft production while her lyrics cut deep. She’s built a following on social media precisely because she captures these messy, relatable moments without trying to make them prettier than they are. This track feels personal in the way all her best work does, even when it’s dripping with sarcasm.
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The bridge gives us the final emotional gut-punch wrapped in festive cheer. “I’ve got cocoa, cozy nights, / Cookies baking, twinkling lights / You’ve got… well, whatever you’ve got / (It isn’t me anyway).” That little parenthetical aside? Devastating. She’s moved the fuck on and she wants him to know it. Hope he enjoys whatever’s in his stocking this year—a lump of coal and the realization that his right hand is his only date for New Year’s. Then she hits him with the knockout: “So type your little ‘Merry Christmas’ / But leave it in the drafts / Santa’s got a better gift for me— / And it sure ain’t your ass.” The real gift? Not having to pretend his mediocre dick game was worth suffering through another family dinner with him.
What makes this track work is that Mae never loses the holiday aesthetic even while she’s thoroughly eviscerating someone. The production stays sparkly and festive, and somehow that makes the rejection hit harder. It’s the musical equivalent of smiling sweetly while telling someone to go to hell—gift wrapped with a bow and everything.
Mae closes with “All that festive nostalgia? / Let it go, it’s in the past / May your season be delightful / But your chance? It’s long surpassed.” She’s cordial, she’s seasonal, she’s fucking done. The politeness of “may your season be delightful” right before shutting the door permanently is the kind of petty I aspire to achieve. Cooper Mae turned mistletoe from a kiss invitation into a kiss-off, and honestly? He can take his holiday regrets and shove them up his chimney. She’s too busy decking her halls with better options.
