A Christmas story: many years ago, when my age was still in the single digits, I was watching TV at a friend's house. A Christmas-themed advert came on for a toy that was typical of the offerings foisted upon children in 1980s New York – Barbie's plastic surgeon's office, maybe, or a Cabbage Patch Doll nuclear power station, or perhaps a Monopoly set that came with fake piles of cocaine. My friend turned to me proudly: "I've already put that on my Christmas list." For what would not be the first time in my childhood, I mused that, sometimes, being Jewish sucks.

I am happy to say I no longer feel that way (l'chaim!), partly because I am now old enough to buy my own Cabbage Patch Doll nuclear power station (take that, Santa), mainly because I am no longer forced to attend Hebrew school. But there is another reason: just as a Christmas advert awakened me to the benefits of life as an unchosen person, Christmas adverts today make me think that perhaps, really, I dodged a goyish bullet.

Like John Lithgow in 3rd Rock from the Sun, desperately studying the people of Ohio in order to understand the human race, I have spent some time watching this year's Christmas adverts to get to grips with Christmas and, I'm not going to lie, I'm a little confused. The first thing I'm confused about is when Christmas adverts became a big deal in this country. I do not remember this from, say, just five years ago, but now the John Lewis Christmas advert has become Britain's equivalent of the adverts shown during the Super Bowl: awaited, unveiled with the fuss of the turkey on Christmas day and then parsed for some kind of cultural meaning. We can draw all kinds of pat conclusions about what this says about the cultural differences between America and Britain that one gets excited about a department store's festive advert and the other is fascinated by parodically expensive adverts shown during breaks in a contact sport that is now proven to cause head injuries. But I prefer to note the differences between the countries' Christmas adverts, with America's focusing on general consumption, Britain's opting for sentimentality and anachronistic depictions of family life. Merry Christmas, everybody!

Let's start with the alleged big festive gun, John Lewis, and its annual muzaking of a much-beloved 80s song. This advert is so soppy eyed it makes the Werther's Originals advert look like a gritty Ken Loach film. It has been described as "classy" because it doesn't actually show the name John Lewis. Personally, I wouldn't have noticed if it did, as I was too distracted wondering why a snowman would even need gloves, seeing as they are made of snow. Do snowmen make themselves cold? I think deep thoughts, you know.

Like its product, Coca-Cola's Christmas adverts remain teeth-rottingly consistent, still taking place in a strange world where cheery-cheeked strangers are united in festive joy by the sight of a bunch of trucks barrelling through their village, bringing brown sugar water to the masses. It's why Jesus was born, people!

But let's get to the women – because that's what Christmas is really about, right? Those long-suffering, present-hungry womenfolk. The very.co.uk adverts are, unless you are a devoted fan of Holly Willoughby and Fearne Cotton, not really a joy to watch at the best of times. Their image of Christmas this year is of Holly and Fearne bullying poor old Santa like something out of Mean Girls while wearing nasty red dresses. Dear Santa, can I have a sex change this year?

If this vision of festive femininity sounds depressing, ladies, then the Morrisons and Asda adverts will require you to put Prozac on your Christmas list. Both of these adverts labour under an attitude to the genders that will be familiar to the screenwriters of The Hangover or any BBC3 sitcom. This attitude is as following: men are idiots who can't do anything, women are packhorses who have to do everything, the end. "Behind every Christmas, there's Mum," intones the patronising voiceover in Asda's advert. And behind every Asda advert, there's an account director who phones in his ideas from the 1950s. I was briefly excited during the Morrisons advert when the music became distinctly similar to Danny Elfman's soundtrack to Edward Scissorhands. Ooh, is Edward this year's Morrisons' celebrity? And would he slice everyone in the advert to ribbons with his scissorhands? GOOD. Sadly, as I've often been in regards to Christmas promises, I was disappointed.

Why are Christmas adverts so miserable and lazy? Of course, Christmas adverts have as much to do with Christmas as reality TV has to do with reality. But British ones, I suspect, unwittingly catch the true spirit of Christmas better than American ones do in that they are an annual event that is long anticipated, full of cliches and adored by some and dreaded by many. But if Christmas itself still makes me a little sorry that I don't get to join in the holiday properly, Christmas adverts make me very, very happy that I'm Jewish. Praise heavens there aren't any Chanukah adverts. Thank you, Santa!