XOXO, Philanthropy: When Giving Goes Viral (Part 1)

In the past year, our feeds have been flooded with videos that turn generosity into content: screen recordings of complaints about Angel Tree gifts, stitched reactions dissecting who “deserves” help, and creators calling churches on camera to ask whether they would buy baby formula. Millions of views. Thousands of comments. Strong opinions everywhere.

What we’re really watching isn’t just charity, it’s the collision of poverty, public expectation, and, in some cases, performance.

In the first part of this series, I want to focus on the Angel Tree.

When a Classic Program Becomes a Show

The Angel Tree has long been one of the most recognizable holiday giving programs in the country. The concept is simple: donors select a child’s wishlist from a tree and purchase gifts so that the child has something to open on Christmas Day.

What’s new isn’t the program; it’s how often the Angel Tree now shows up as content.

Last month, we saw creators film themselves pulling tags, loading carts, and posting the entire process online. Some go far beyond what’s listed, adding extras, brand-name items, or entire additional bags and making sure the audience knows it. Others do the opposite: rigidly sticking to the minimum amount for each gift, ignoring the spirit of the program. There have even been stories of creators who film themselves going all out for their chosen Angel, only to abandon the cart once the filming is done.

All of it racks up views. All of it sparks wars in the comments. And all of it centers the giver — not the child.

When the Angel Tree becomes a backdrop for self-promotion, generosity shifts from relational to transactional. The question stops being, “What does this child need?” and becomes, “What will play well with my audience?”

I’ve worked at organizations that offered their own versions of the Angel Tree, some focused on supporting entire families rather than children alone. I’ve watched donors pull out all the stops, purchasing everything on a wish list and more. I’ve also seen people sign up and never bring anything at all. Others purchase one or two items while ignoring gifts for additional children or adults on the list.

While we know not every donor will go above and beyond, we also know from experience that we will need to compensate for those who ghost us or don’t follow through.

So what do we do?

We can’t simply sit back and allow families to go without. Instead, nonprofits create backup plans. Those plans can take many forms. Some organizations create Amazon wish lists of frequently requested items and share them on social media, inviting supporters to contribute in smaller, more manageable ways. Others encourage financial donations so staff can purchase missing gifts directly. Some organizations even create duplicate Angels to increase the likelihood that needs are met, redistributing to families who received little or nothing at all.

While some may view the latter as deceptive, many nonprofits feel compelled to take these steps simply to be prepared for donors who flake out. The goal isn’t abundance. It’s coverage.

Policing the Wish List

Another recurring theme in the Angel Tree discourse is judgment.

Creators and commenters alike scrutinize wish lists as if they were evidence in a trial. Sneakers are deemed too expensive. Toys are labeled as unnecessary. Requests for Stanley’s, tablets or gift cards are dissected line by line. The subtext is familiar: If you’re asking for help, you should want less.

What’s rarely acknowledged is how these lists are created in the first place. Most Angel Tree requests are guided by staff with strict parameters, dollar limits, and categories meant to balance fun with feasibility. Yet judgment persists.

There’s an unspoken expectation that people experiencing poverty should perform restraint, humility, and gratitude at all times. That their needs should be purely functional. That joy, preference, or normalcy are indulgences they haven’t earned.

But a child asking for a specific toy isn’t asking for luxury; they’re asking to feel like their peers. A parent requesting something beyond socks and underwear isn’t being greedy; they’re trying to preserve a sense of normalcy in a season already marked by scarcity.

When creators publicly critique wish lists, they reinforce the idea that help comes with surveillance. That generosity is conditional. That dignity is not for everyone.

And once again, the focus shifts away from supporting our neighbors to enforcing moral boundaries.

Compassion Is Not a Performance

Instead of asking whether someone did too much or too little, or whether a family is truly “deserving,” a better question is this:

Did this center the child or the camera?

Not everything meaningful needs an audience or critique.

If this viral moment leaves us with anything, I hope it’s a moment of reflection. An opportunity to think about why we give, and if roles were reversed, how we would want to be given to.

Come back next time when I will talk about those church calls for formula and how you can vet your church (or other nonprofit).

XOXO,

Sonia

You know you love funding.

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