a 2021 guide to holiday gift guides
what your fave online shopping listicle says about you
It’s that time of year again—that time you spend anxiously scrolling through gift guides online. You know the ones: the kind that pop up when you manically type into the Google search bar either “husband, man who has everything, funny” or “gift for neighbor who seems really cool and I’d like to be her friend but also we’ve never really spoken for more than 3 seconds before so ????”
There is no greater anxiety-driven internet writing genre than the holiday gift guide. I will die upon this hill.
But not at all gift guides are created equal. And I would argue that your taste in gift guide—whether looking for a loved ones gift or, let’s be really honest here, just a gift for yourself—tells me a helluva lot more about you than anything else during the holiday season.
So here’s my unsolicited, unscientific, yet still completely accurate description of what your preferred gift guide says about you and your gifting style. (Personally, the greatest gift I have received is this absolutely unhinged profile of Succession’s Jeremy Strong in The New Yorker so please don’t take anything here seriously.)
The Strategist (NY Mag). You are a millennial or Gen X burnout with an anxiety disorder, a love of numbers and statistics, as well as a little disposable income. You like to help other people find great gifts for people in their lives because you love tumbling down an internet rabbithole instead of considering our dire collective descent into late-stage capitalism. When playing D&D you align as chaotic good, always. You get a not-so-secret thrill from buying something on super-sale and you like the object more because you didn’t pay full price. The Instagram gods have been bombarding you with ads for the spice-colored Always Plan but you’ve managed to resist the urge to buy it (for now). After bingeing on TikTok you often find yourself buying random mascara and a bedazzled car tissue holder based on what you saw an internet stranger recommend. For the holidays this year you want this juicer, but only if it’s on super-sale.
GQ Gift Guide. You are the person who loved ones say is “extremely hard to shop for.” You believe that gifts should be things you want and not things you need. And really, who needs a pair of paisley shot glasses? You have a record collection that you only occasionally use but you like to point it out to guests. You have a corporate job and you wish you could join a band. The #1 Spotify running playlist you use every morning prominently features both Dave Matthews Band and DMX. Despite your partner’s desire to help you find a skincare routine, you insist you’d rather not go to Sephora. The past few years you’ve realized you aren’t very woke, but you are trying haphazardly in order to catch up. You might be a Gemini, with some Sagittarius in there. This year you want Apple Airpods Pro or maybe down-jacket-looking slippers that you’ll call “slides,” or a plant baby.
Williams-Sonoma. The internet knows that the Williams-Sonoma catalogue copy has always been out-of-touch or written by someone who has not left the house since 1970 (see the annual Williams-Sonoma Catalogue for Haters tradition). But does Williams-Sonoma and its main customer base know that? Probably not. The Williams-Sonoma gift guide enthusiast is classy but, as the kids say, a bit cheugy. Not a lot, but just a little. They are tickled by the idea of giving out big tins of stale popcorn or ancient toffee brittle. Williams-Sonoma gift-guide-girls spend a LOT of time worrying about bringing the perfect hostess gift if they are traveling but they also stress out about hosting the holidays themselves. If they are married, they likely registered for a Williams-Sonoma wedding registry. That’s how they get you for life! First you get some sensible baking sheets, but before you know it you’ve got monogrammed towels, seven sets of whiskey stones, and “fresh” cheese fondue arriving by mail any day now (unless it gets stock in the supply chain somewhere for weeks on end).
nothing says “hmm ok so you haven’t watched that nxivm documentary yet, have you?” quite like a personalized meat brander! Wirecutter (NY Times). You’re a low-key person but you loooove to research whatever you buy. Some might see you as a perfectionist, but your way of feeling in control is buying with intention. You might be an engineer, or you might be someone who just really likes things. You schedule every Apple announcement event in your calendar and hate Elon Musk with a passion. At holiday parties, you like to talk to the person with an expertise you’ve never encountered before and then go down an internet rabbithole related to it when you get home. You talk to Siri on the regular even for the tiniest tasks. While you don’t know exactly what you’ll be asking for for Christmas, you do know you’re interested in sunrise alarm clocks; or maybe outdoor speakers for socially distanced gatherings with friends; or even a home robot. [also, solidarity Wirecutter’s unionization efforts this holiday season!]
GOOP. You tell people you read it ironically but you’re definitely earnest about it. Whether you’ll own up to it or not, you are VERY concerned with your follower’s engagement on Instagram. Not only are you vegan and gluten-free, but it’s all you talk about. You’d try being a full-time micro-influencer in the nutritional yeast community but you work for a venture capital fund that pays for your annual vacation to Tulum and your boss looks the other way when you micro-dose on the job. Your coworkers laugh along when you claim you are broke because they know you have a trust fund that you don’t talk about. You identify with Christine from Selling Sunset and your best friend from college looks like Succession’s Shiv. This year for the $30 office secret santa you’ve asked for a reasonably priced $170 fringey yoga mat; a $2,250 coffee table book about jewels; or if push comes to shove, a $68 virtual bath-time guided meditation session.
the GOOP reader definitely describes themselves as extra and i, personally, am here for it. NYT Well. Many of your social media posts include long screeds about science and links to “evidence-based” studies that you have never fully read. You read GOOP but you don’t tell other people, and you DEFINITELY don’t tell them that you bought the vagina candle and jade egg. When asked what your favorite movie is, you say always answer “Planet Earth.” Other people call you a moderate but you hate that term. The reason you rarely get trick or treaters is because you hand out apples and try to tell kids they are “nature’s candy.” You have a fifteen-year-old Vera Bradley bag that you still use and love. You have decided to give all of your relatives the gift of cold oatmeal:
Oprah’s Favorite Things. We all know you watched the Megan Markle interview live at a friends house and that the gifs you use most frequently on iMessage feature Oprah. You dislike gift shopping and would prefer someone else do the gift selection for you, but you also like to feel super on-trend. You like TV dramas that make you want to cry and after a hard day you still yell “TREAT YO’SELF” into the ice cream freezer at the supermarket (when you take that ice cream home you eat it while re-watching “Parks and Rec” because it is still your “comfort show”). Chances are that this year you’re particularly excited by an $86 travel make-up brush set; or $149 worth of olive oil foot lotion; a $2,200 “Outdoor Reality Rower” machine; and if you’re feeling extra fancy, a $112 soufflé mailed to you from Texas. TREAT YO’SELF.
this gif is the only gift i’ll ever need, KonMari Gift Guide. Your deep dark secret is that you rush home to take a shower after going to your semi-messy friend’s apartment. While babysitting as a teenager, you rearranged the family’s kitchen cabinets without their permission as a form of self-soothing (which you just called “going above and beyond”) and then you were surprised when they never asked you back. Though you will never admit it, you see minimalist design and clean spaces as morally superior to all others. Your favorite ice cream flavor isn’t vanilla—it’s bourbon vanilla. The best discovery you made in 2020 was Grammarly to help you obsess over your most important emails. You’ll kick that goddamn Christmas tree to the curb and have all the pine needles vacuumed up no later than 9:30am on December 26th. This year you asked Santa for a $190 pickling thing; $25 oversized branded paper lunch bags; a dinky $75 tuning fork and crystal set; and let’s not forget a fashionable $50
weird-looking rockdiffuser.
MoMA Design Store. If you are using the MoMA Design Store “Find a Gift” quiz function, you have a lot of money to spend but no idea what your gift recipients might actually want. Although you have expendable income, you can’t afford to invest in real art, so you invest in overpriced socks with Warhol’s soup cans on them. You tell people you simply must have objects in your life that have both “style and functionality” but you mostly just like the thrill of pricey things, like a $148 glorified Brita water filter or a $200 alarm clock that vaguely resembles a bird.
Gawker. Gawker’s “12 Days of Gift Guides” readers are told by their families that their sense of humor is “edgy” which then compels them to silently vape solo outside after Christmas dinner. You all still say things like “doing it for the lolz.” You’re forever a Bernie bro too. You’re reading gift guides not for any actual practical ideas, but to make fun of what other people might want this year. Most years you tend to give gift cards because the idea of taking a risk on a meaningful present is too earnest and intimate (and you find earnestness profoundly embarrassing). You may be a member of the Mass Resignation (or that’s what you told people). Last year, you told your younger cousin that back in your day, Jezebel was a cool website. You have a psychiatrist who you’re currently avoiding. What you’d be most excited about seeing on Christmas Day: a gift card for a virtual assistant or maybe an NFT of your best Instagram thirst trap.
