Give Me a Break
The search for the perfect gift never ends.
On October 20, leaves in full splendor, my friend zipped through the Starbucks drive-through for a pumpkin muffin. “Sorry,” the barista apologized, “but we don’t have them any more. The season is over.”
Pick up your jaw with me and c’mon, hurry! because the barista was right even if it’s wrong—the holiday season is here. And by holiday season, I mean “gifting” season. And by gifting season, I really mean gift guide season, those breathless weeks where every media outlet of any decent size rolls out a cornucopia of search engine optimized shopping lists. Now, I have some complaints to file about the gift guides that are published every year: chiefly, the items are too expensive, the recipient personas are unrealistic, and there’s nothing novel about the $80 Diptyque candle. Still, I’m helpless to resist the tidal pull of the gift guides every single year, enticed by the potential of discovering the perfect gift.
For my generation, the stakes for gift-giving have never felt higher. Or perhaps the pressure is not born solely by Millennials, but by anyone who’s living laughing loving in this cultural moment. We’re all so aware. We’re all so online. The possibilities unlocked by advancements with internet shopping and rapid shipping are both a key and a trap. Now that we can literally scour the whole globe in search of just the right gift, we feel as if we must until we find it.
What is the perfect gift? It’s the thing no one else thought of. It’s what they always wanted, but never said out loud. It’s something they never knew existed, but instantly adore. It’s well-timed. It’s a reference to an inside joke with the recipient or a callback to a fleeting conversation. It’s not about the cost, unless it’s so cheap, in which case it’s the point and must also be so clever or so charming. It’s a wink that says I know you or I pay attention to you. It’s surprise and delight. It fits your budget, but adequately communicates the size of your feelings. It feels like you read their mind. It blows their mind.
This kind of gift is a powerful thing to receive—and an even more powerful thing to give. I can name a few particularly meaningful gifts I’ve been given over the years, but I can name far more presents that I’ve given that really stuck the landing. And that’s because watching someone you love react in joy or surprise or awe to a present you gave them delivers a pure, lasting high—quite literally, your brain releases a cocktail of feel-good chemicals and endorphins when you give a gift. It is bliss to please the person we love so much. It feels like floating.
And.
The feel-good benefits of giving extend beyond altruism. A present can simultaneously demonstrate your love for someone and provide private reassurance of your place in their life. (Look at me, knowing exactly what they would like!) But by their nature, gift-giving occasions are rarely private, so there’s almost always an audience—and when there’s an audience, any action can unintentionally become a performance. A gift—and the recipient’s reaction to it—make a statement about the giver and where she belongs. We’ve all been in a room where the recipient unwrapped something, eagerly looked up to find the giver, eyes shining, and a pas de deux of shared intimacy unfolds. Sometimes this happens in mere seconds. Even so, everyone watching wants to be on the inside.
Romantic relationships bear the weight of meaningful gift-giving in a unique way, especially men giving to their female partners. In the context of love, a gift can become a story told about your story: We really get each other. He listens to me. She adores me. He’s the only person who can ever surprise me. She just knew I would love it. I don’t think there is anything wrong with this instinct, necessarily. Telling and retelling the story of your relationship—to yourselves, to the world—is a kind of glue. The problem comes when the present is expected to prove the truth of the bigger story, rather than add to it.
But female friendships can be equally fraught with the longing to get it right. Wrapping your friend in the delicious sensation of being known and treasured is, of course, the first priority when you shop for a gift. Riding right underneath, however, is the desire to give something original, meaningful, cool—something that confirms your good taste and your very distinct role in your friend’s life. You want your gift to be special because your friend is special, but also because you want to be special to her. Help! Has gift-giving always operated this way? Have we always packed our hopes and fears about our closest relationships into a few gift exchanges every year?
Or, am I simply aging into a moment where this has all gotten more challenging? More than a decade into marriage, I love my husband more, not less, but I have also checked off most of the main categories for memorable gifts. The same dynamic turns up the heat on gift-giving in my longest friendships, too. We have shared many different seasons of life together and have unearthed some truly splendid gifts along the way. The feeling I have is now what? If our friendship is a tree, we’ve climbed far past the low-hanging fruit.
Years ago on a whim, I made three kinds of compound butter for a few dear friends at Christmas. I shaped the butter into blocks, wrapped them carefully in wax paper, sealed with a stamp, and packaged them with a bag of fresh croissants from the local French bakery. The gift was unexpected and fun; the reaction was outsized in their delight and awe. Or there was the year when we didn’t have much, but I conspired with the payroll department to have a portion of my extra earnings deposited elsewhere so I could completely and totally surprise Jivan with the headphones of his dreams. I have been chasing this kind of experience ever since, ignoring, perhaps, the fact that truly special gift-giving moments can’t always be replicated.
If you were asked to reproduce exactly one of the iconic kisses of your life with all of its original intensity, desire, and thrill, you’d think the assignment insane. Some moments are singular. But a kiss is like a present: you can have more than one unforgettable kiss in your life—you can have many, even—and so it is with gifts. Giving a beloved gift is achievable just often enough to make the possibility always feel in reach, but remains elusive enough that it isn’t.
Our best gift-giving experiences are our most selfless, when we are exchanging something valuable of our own for the good or joy of another. Still—even in these pure, golden moments, we get something ourselves: the comfort of knowing someone closely, the security of a bond strengthened. The gift is not the bond, though. The intimacy we share with a dear one pre-dates even the most perfect gift and will long outlast it; it is in fact the construct for the gift’s very existence.
I will search for the most thoughtful, personal gifts I can dream up this holiday season, as I always do, but I am not going to spiral if I can’t outdo myself from years past. I’ll try to remember that my love is both too big and too gossamer a thing to be fully expressed in any one gift, and that the same is true for those who love me. Life is long and its gifts are many. Having people to share them with at all is enough.
just one more thing…
In deference to the season of overwhelming inboxes, I’m condensing my recs this month.
one to read :: If you want to laugh, “How Not to Buy A Timeshare,” where Caitlin Flanagan shares a woeful tale with her signature wit (she describes a mammogram as “life’s most pocketless experience”), will absolutely do the job. If you want to think, “Mere Belief” where Sallie Tisdale explores memory is one of the more interesting essays I’ve read in a long while. (Yes, I cheated sneaking two links in here.)
one to drink :: The Last Word // Sweet and sharp, this classic cocktail was invented at the Detroit Athletic Club in the 1920s, lost to time for a while, and then rediscovered in the early aughts. Balancing gin, green chartreuse, maraschino liqueur, and lime juice, The Last Word is sophisticated and bracing. Its iconic four-part harmony of equal proportions has gone on to inspire many variations, including one of my favorite cocktails ever, the Paper Plane.
one to play :: “Can’t Stop Cryin” (Austin Manuel) // A little wistful, a little sad, but I adore the brass (forever a sucker for horns) and vaguely tropical sound of this excellent entry in the Baby, You Broke My Heart genre. Optimal listening situation is evening in a room with low lamplight and half-melted ice clinking in your cocktail.
one to make :: Salted Maple Pie // Maybe you need to bring something new to your family Thanksgiving (or, more realistically, your friendsgiving) — here’s a great contender. Elegant, subtle, and seasonally appropriate anytime between October–February. Don’t skip the flaky salt and serve with a little after-dinner coffee.
one to wear :: Fenty Poutsicle // The holidays are the perfect time for a bold lip, and this lip stain offers a fresh take on it. Initially, the color is bright with a wet glisten—not sticky shiny circa 2004, but like you just finished eating a popsicle. As the lip stain wears over time, the intensity of the color softens, leaving your lips with the prettiest flush. (Zestie Bestie is my fave shade and reliably inspires more comments than any other lip color I wear.)
Until next time — stock up on colorful taper candles at Hobby-Lobby where they are v. cheap, look for moments of holy hush in a season of escalating obligations, call your mom.