You know the feeling. It’s December, you’re driving through the suburbs, and suddenly you see it—a house so bright it looks like it’s trying to communicate with a distant galaxy. We call them Griswold houses. It's a shorthand for "this person definitely has a ladder, zero fear of heights, and a terrifying electricity bill." But honestly, what most people don't realize is that the real story behind the Griswold Christmas house display is way more interesting than just a few thousand extra bulbs.
Most fans think they can just hop in a car and find the original house from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. You can't. Not really. The "house" where Chevy Chase almost met his maker while hanging from a gutter was actually a set on the Warner Bros. Ranch in Burbank, California. It sat on a street called Blondie Street. Fun fact: that same house was used in WandaVision, American Beauty, and even Hocus Pocus. Sadly, the Ranch was demolished in late 2023 to make way for new soundstages. The "real" original is gone.
But here is where it gets cool. Because the movie struck such a chord, "Griswold-ing" became a legitimate American subculture.
The Harbaugh Village: A New Jersey Legend
If you want to see what a modern, real-life Griswold looks like, you’ve basically got to go to Mullica Hill, New Jersey. Steve Harbaugh started out just trying to annoy his neighbors (kinda) or at least entertain them in Mickleton. He didn't just stop at lights.
He found a 1973 Ford Condor. That’s the RV. He parked it out front. He even put a mannequin of Cousin Eddie in a bathrobe out there, holding a hose. People loved it so much that the local traffic became a nightmare. Instead of shutting down, he went bigger.
The display moved and evolved into what is now known as Harbaugh Village. It’s basically a North Pole experience that raises massive amounts of money for a non-profit called George’s House. They provide transitional housing and toys for kids. So, while Clark Griswold was mostly doing it for a weird sense of personal pride, these modern displays are actually doing some real good.
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Why 25,000 Lights is Actually a Low Number
In the movie, Clark brags about having 25,000 Italian imported twinkle lights.
Back in 1989, that was an insane number. Today? Not so much. Most serious Christmas enthusiasts—the kind you see on The Great American Light Fight—are pushing 100,000 or even 500,000 LEDs.
Why? Because LEDs don't blow your circuit breakers the way old-school incandescent bulbs did. If you tried to run 25,000 old-school bulbs today, you’d probably need a dedicated transformer from the power company.
The Real Locations vs. The Fakes
There is a lot of misinformation about where the movie was actually filmed. Let's clear it up:
- The Sledding Hill: That was Peak 8 at Breckenridge Ski Area in Colorado.
- The Walmart: The one Clark crashes into at the end of the sledding scene? That’s a real Walmart on Summit Boulevard in Frisco, Colorado.
- The Office Building: Clark’s workplace was the Bullocks Wilshire in Los Angeles. It’s a law school now.
- The Mansion: The house belonging to Clark’s boss (the one Eddie "kidnaps" him from) is a real home in Glendale, California.
The La Mirada "Griswold" House
If you’re on the West Coast, the Jeff Norton house in La Mirada, California, is the gold standard. Norton is a fanatic. He doesn't just put up lights; he recreates the vibe.
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He’s been known to paint his house yellow to match the film’s aesthetic. He’s got the wood-panelling station wagon with the uprooted tree on top. He’s even got the "shitter's full" RV. The city actually has to close down his street because hundreds of people show up every single night. It’s free, but he collects toys for the Spark of Love toy drive.
How to Build Your Own Griswold Display (Without Dying)
Look, we’ve all seen the scene where Clark slips and hangs from the roof. It’s funny on screen; it’s a weekend in the ER in real life. If you’re planning on going full Griswold this year, there are a few things you actually need to know.
First, check your amperage. A standard household circuit can usually handle about 15 to 20 amps. If you plug in 25,000 old-school lights, you’re going to smell smoke, and it won't be from the fireplace. Switch to LEDs. They use about 90% less energy.
Second, use plastic clips. Do not, under any circumstances, use a staple gun. You’ll pierce a wire, the whole strand will go dark, and you’ll be up on a ladder in the freezing cold looking for one bad bulb. It's a nightmare. Trust me.
Third, don't do it alone. The reason Clark failed (initially) was that he was a lone wolf. The best Griswold Christmas house displays are usually neighborhood efforts.
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The Unexpected Reality of "Griswold" Tourism
There’s a weird downside to having a famous house. People will park in your driveway. They will leave trash. They will play "Mele Kalikimaka" at 11 PM on a Tuesday.
Most of these homeowners, like Jason Orsini in Smithtown, New York, do it because they love the "family atmosphere." Orsini actually started his display because he watched the movie on repeat after being grounded as a kid. It became his "happy place."
But the logistics are brutal. You’re looking at:
- Months of setup: Most "Griswold" houses start building in October.
- Storage: Where do you put a full-sized RV and 20 mannequins in July?
- Insurance: Yes, some of these guys actually have to get extra liability insurance because of the crowds.
Actionable Next Steps for Fans
If you’re obsessed with the Griswold aesthetic, don’t just watch the movie for the 50th time.
Go find a local display. Use sites like California Christmas Lights or local Facebook groups to find the "mega-displays" in your area. They almost always collect for charity, so bring a new, unwrapped toy.
If you're thinking of decorating your own place, start small. Buy a Cousin Eddie inflatable or a "Jelly of the Month Club" sign for the window. You don't need 25,000 lights to capture the spirit. You just need to realize that Christmas is, as Clark eventually figured out, about the people you're with—even the ones who show up unannounced in an RV and kidnap your boss.
The real magic of the Griswold Christmas house display isn't the electricity bill; it's the fact that some person in your town spent their entire weekends on a roof just to make a stranger smile for thirty seconds. That’s pretty cool.