I’ve always enjoyed the process of buying gifts. Whether it’s for a birthday, holiday, or upcoming prison release, one of the most appealing ways to spend a day off work is picking up the perfect present. It’s not just the idea of stepping out of the house that gets me going, it’s the thrill of the hunt; it’s a primal feeling, almost instinctual, and something that I imagine even certain types of cavemen felt when approaching, say, their friends Grog and Urga’s third wedding anniversary. Nothing beats the feeling I get when I stumble upon that great find in some hole-in-the-wall craft shop or bookstore. As much as I enjoy receiving gifts, I enjoy the act of giving that much more.
That said, when it comes to presents, the best ones to buy are the ones that wander off the beaten path. Sure, shopping for Stephen King’s latest bestseller or a new blockbuster DVD release is fine, but it’s kind of like shooting fish in a barrel. Anyone can pick up these types of items. How hard is it to stop at just about any local megastore or go to an online retailer? The answer is: not hard enough. There’s no fun in it. Instead, if someone tells me they want something like that, I’ll start searching for a special edition or a limited release. If it’s a book, maybe there’s a copy that’s been signed by the author or an expert forger. For DVDs, why get it in the regular plastic case if there’s a version that comes in a collectible tin or a replica of a famous television spaceship? These little touches help differentiate my gift from just any gift and only sweeten the discovery.
For me, if a springtime birthday party is a joy to buy presents for, then the period of time from Black Friday to New Year’s Eve is the nirvana where my gift-giving glee is in full force. Last September, I received a phone call from my grandmother asking me for a few ideas for possible Christmas presents. The day she called was an unseasonably warm one, and I thought it strange that I should be sitting in front of a fan, sweating like a fugitive, and thinking about a wintry holiday almost three months away. Struggling for breath under the blanket of heat, I told her I’d think about it, though after passing out I forgot all about putting together a list for her. Later that week, I was walking around a department store when I noticed that the Halloween decorations they’d put up just weeks before were now quickly being downsized to a couple aisles and replaced with warm red and cool silver decorations. The temperature had leveled out by then, and it felt right — or, at least, better suited — for the approach of Christmas. The excitement I felt was encompassing, and by the time I stepped away from the rows of ornaments and dead-eyed animatronic reindeer I was already thinking about gifts I might pick up.
In my experience, I’ve found it easier to shop for friends than relatives. I don’t know if it’s because my immediate family and I rarely hold a conversation much beyond “Hi” or “I’ll see you later,” but my friends are always the easier group to shop for when I go hunting for gifts.
This is where the joy of perusing smaller stores and shops comes into play. What could be more relaxing than, on a beautiful day, taking a stroll along your local promenade or shopping district and seeking out stores that may or may not be open in a month’s time? When I was growing up near Alton, Illinois, opening a store specializing in overpriced, poor-quality artwork or ceramic figurines was an act of gumption to say the least. To this day I still enjoy checking out the wares of shops like these not only to see if, somehow, I can find a framed picture or small statue suitable for gifting, but also because, in rougher financial areas, I like guessing how long it will be until these stores go out of business. If you’re shopping with a friend, make a game out of it. Loser buys lunch!
When I’m browsing, I’ll always try to imagine the look on a friend’s face upon opening a certain present. Will it elicit a certain amount of enthusiasm? If I think so, I’ll jot it down on a piece of paper or make a note on my phone. If I’m unsure of my friend’s reaction but it’s something I would like to have, I’ll ask myself, how can I convince them to give it back to me? And if the gift wouldn’t interest either of us, I move on.
Whereas shopping for my friends can be a breeze sometimes, presents for my family can be problematic at best. It’s hard trying to scrounge up meaningful gifts for people who, sometimes, might as well be strangers, and it’s so disheartening to have to fall back on gift certificates to places like Home Depot or a certain megastore owned by a family of Bible-thumping nutjobs. Who enjoys something like that? I guess a place like Home Depot I can see — a carpenter, a handyman, someone who enjoys taking on the little around-the-house projects that require such festive utilities as a socket wrench or a rubber mallet. But a gift card to someplace like Costco makes me imagine somebody traipsing around a cold, expansive warehouse store, a smile stretched across his face, tossing into a squeaky-wheeled cart things like shampoo and motor oil, maybe thumbtacks or a plastic paper towel holder.
That just seems so sad.
At a Christmas party at my aunt’s house one year, I received a little decorated envelope as my gift from her. I could tell it was going to be either a gift card or a small folded-up piece of money, and so I opened it, expecting to be able to go get a novel from a bookstore or maybe a new shirt. Instead, much to my disappointment, the gift card was for Casey’s, a local gas station chain. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I wasn’t sure how exactly my aunt had imagined my reaction to something like that. In a couple weeks I would turn twenty, and so I’d already learned the joys of having to fill a gas tank, but still. Who wants to get gasoline as a gift? My brother, just fifteen years old, got the same gift, and so, after giving our aunt our most sincere-sounding thanks, we made plans to sell our gift cards to our grandmother.
That’s why, in my opinion, lists are a lifesaver. I have friends who think that resorting to a Christmas or birthday list is the ultimate form of gifting failure. My friend Jessica, for example, would almost never use a list, for others or herself, reasoning that if she knows someone and someone knows her, figuring out what to get for each other without being told shouldn’t be that difficult a task. As for me, a list has a certainty, a reassurance of perfection. Not that I don’t enjoy a little spontaneity in presents — I’ll pick up little knick-knacks or trinkets like a lighthouse figurine for my great-grandmother or a comfortable throw for a friend’s mother — but for the big gifts, I want something that won’t fail. There’s nothing worse than the naked look of disappointment that comes, if only momentarily, before being replaced by an exaggerated projection of joy.
Once I have my gifts purchased and at hand, the next step for me is finding the best way to present them. To some, the options for wrapping, bagging, and boxing might be overwhelming, but I enjoy the seemingly limitless possibilities that are available. In my humble opinion, getting the right wrapping paper or gift bag is almost equally important to the present itself. A gift’s wrapping can make or break the occasion.
I’ll stand sometimes in the stationery department of my local retailer, looking at all my options, weighing one hunter green bow against another one, slightly lighter, with a tag that reads “seafoam”. I can spend hours there imagining the opening of a particular gift and the recipient’s stare as they look upon my present, transfixed. As with a pet or a prostitute, the bag and paper must suit the recipient’s personality. You wouldn’t want a rambunctious puppy jumping up on your seventy-six-year-old Aunt Ida any more than you’d want your fifteen year old son’s first time with a woman to be spoiled by the fact that she has a penis because you didn’t do your homework.
So put a little thought into it. Dark hues on simpler patters, I’ve found, are good for manic depressives, as they’re often surprised that anyone’s bothered to remember their birthday or Christmas at all, so it’s best not to overwhelm them with ornate designs or bold colors. For circuit boys the opposite is true; one can’t go wrong with loud-colored gift bags and lots of tissue paper, especially if the recipient is still high on ecstasy. The bright colors will be mesmerizing and the sound and feel of the tissue paper as they rifle through it should make for lots of fun sensory moments.
I understand that when the gift is opened, the paper is going to be nothing but a shredded afterthought on the table and the decorative tissue a crumpled plaything for a house cat or unsupervised infant, but none of that matters to me. What’s more important is the aesthetic quality and the sense of anticipation a well-decorated gift inspires in the person for whom it is intended. That’s what makes it all worth it. In the end, for me anyway, gift-giving is an artform, no different than painting or nude interpretive dance. No matter how long or hard I have to search, no matter how hard a gift is to wrap, bag, or box, I enjoy knowing that I can make a person feel valued and cared about and that he or she will come, almost certainly, to regard mine as the greatest gifts of all.
