Silver Sequins and Dayglow Cherries
I ‘ve proclaimed my love of fruitcake in this column once or twice over the past 19 years. But I’m quite sure I’ve never written about Cher. And I’ve never ever written about both at the same time. Has anyone? Well, if not, it’s time because I’m thinking there’s a good chance many of you might be gifted both this holiday season, considering Cher’s new memoir is out and at this writing sits at #1 on the New York Times bestseller list. And because fruitcake is, uh, fruitcake. It always shows up this time of year. I say that with a smile, not a sneer.
Fruitcake and Cher? I sense many of you clutching your pearls. At first glance, it seems an odd pairing. But fruitcake and Cher have a lot in common. They’re timeless, flamboyant, a bit divisive, and unapologetically themselves. And I like them both. So, without further ado, let’s dive in.
Most folks know that Cher reinvents herself with every generation—pop singer, disco diva, rock goddess, movie star—yet she remains quintessentially Cher. Fruitcake? Same deal. While other desserts fade in and out of fashion, fruitcake stays true to itself: dense, sweet, and packed with nostalgia.
Cher has survived decades in an extremely tough industry. She’s had comeback after comeback, proving that nothing—not age, not critics, not a bad movie role (remember Tess Scali in Burlesque?)—can keep her down.
Fruitcake operates on the same principle. People love to laugh about how long it lasts and that there’s only one that keeps getting passed around. Did you know TV comedian Johnny Carson started that joke back in the 1970s? But the truth is, its longevity is a testament to its recipe. A fruitcake’s dense texture, dried fruits, and generous doses of sugar and alcohol make it practically immortal. It’s not just a dessert or a door stop; it’s a survivor.
Case in point. A fruitcake over 100 years old was discovered in Antarctica in 2017 by the Antarctic Heritage Trust at the site of the first known human habitation on the continent. The fruitcake was found in a rusted tin, but it remained remarkably well-preserved, thanks to Antarctica’s frigid conditions. Despite a faint smell of rancid butter, the cake looked and smelled almost edible. They left it there…
Both fruitcake and Cher also have the unique ability to be rediscovered. Every holiday season, fruitcake reclaims its spotlight. It may vanish from our consciousness for most of the year, but come December, it’s everywhere. Left untouched for a while, a fruitcake can be revived with a splash of bourbon. Similarly, Cher disappears for a moment, only to reappear stronger than ever. She is the queen of comebacks. Just when you think she’s taken her final bow, she hits you with another tour, another album, and now a book!
I also think it’s not too big a stretch to say Cher is the queen of stage costumes. Cher gives us feathers, sequins, and rhinestones. Her collaborations with fashion designer Bob Mackie were showstoppers.
Remember that Oscar outfit where she wore a massive, spiked headdress resembling a punk rock Mohawk? Met Gala afficionados still talk about Cher’s almost nude evening gown featuring strategically placed sequins and feathers.
Fruitcake, on the other hand, is more like the matron of holiday packaging -- glossy wrappers, satin bows, and decorative tins. That is until you look inside. and see all the fluorescent debris, a cutting-edge fusion of culinary art and rave culture. Green cherries? Again, said with a smile and not a sneer.
Fruitcake and Cher. You might not appreciate them at first, but give them a chance, and they’ll win you over. Just like Cher’s vocals, fruitcake’s flavor has layers: the tangy bite of dried fruit, the crunch of nuts, the whisper of rum. It’s complex, much like the diva herself.
Together, they remind us that true greatness doesn’t fade; it evolves. No matter how much time has passed, some things never go out of style. Both fruitcake and Cher tell us that it’s okay to be flashy, different, or even a little too much so long as you are staying true to who you are.
So, this holiday season when you unwrap a fruitcake, think of Cher. Better yet, listen to her Christmas album. (Of course she recorded one!) When you dive into her memoir, consider nibbling on some fruitcake. I like a little peanut butter on mine.
Fruitcake and Cher. They’re both treasures that bring joy to those who take the time to appreciate them. And if you don’t? Well, that’s your loss. Because whether it’s belting out “Strong Enough” or sitting proudly on a festive platter, these two are here to stay. And honestly, the world is better for it.
Happy holidays!
