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Perhaps gifting is her love language.
I quite enjoy giving gifts. I think it’s a product of my admitted materialism. Capturing one’s idiosyncrasies in a sourced object is a wonderful expression of love—perhaps it is my love language. Nothing says effort like dishware that coordinates with the color palette of your mother’s kitchen. Or a pillbox monogrammed with the name of your best friend’s favorite musical artist—I hope to win Secret Santa this year if you can’t tell. Below, I’ve outlined the loved ones I need to gift with a glimpse into my extensive thought process surrounding each one—no gift cards in sight.
My mother, who has made her two Vizslas her personality, has a closet full of 300 semi-indentical white shirts, and constantly reminds me of the value of lipstick.
Last year, I bought my mom this splattered seashell plate, and it has since taken up a primary residence on her kitchen counter—to be honest, I now covet it myself. This year, I might add to her collection with dinner plates of the same pattern.
My parents live in Charleston, which means winter is a different beast—a much tamer beast. Instead of the furry Ugg slippers she used to wear, these Italian style Mary Janes would offer a much chicer substitute.
Despite my mother’s aesthetic prowess, sometimes she needs something that just makes her laugh. Her obsession with vizslas can take on a new level with this welcome mat—plus, considering their energy levels, this can be an important warning.
My 24-year-old sister, who is a baby nurse, spends no more than $10 on a single article of clothing, and considers Debbie Harry her idol.
I imagine this gargantuan Stanley cup as the perfect addition for her all-night shifts—it will keep her hydrated without necessitating multiple refill trips.
My sister is a recent transplant to the Northeast, and her wardrobe is still catching up to that shift. I’m going to have to stick a pair of these cashmere gloves in her stocking.
My 21-year-old brother, who is a sophomore at Boulder, suddenly likes camping (?), and now wears one of those weighted belts to the gym.
On a recent trip to Salter House, my straight male friends smiled and nodded as we picked up peasant blouse after puff-sleeve nightgown. They were, however, quite taken with these enamel camp-style mugs. I think my brother would enjoy these as a starter for his kitchen collection. And hopefully, they’re sturdy enough to survive his wares.
Nothing says I live in Colorado like a Carhartt flannel! At least this one I’ll be able to stand looking at throughout Christmas dinner.
In the first half of college, you’re always shuttling back to your parents’ house. Plus, my brother often descends upon the mountains for camping and debauchery. It’d be nice if he could do it in style—the multi-decade-old bright blue bag just won’t do.
My father, whose phone background is his custom-made bike, only drinks craft beer, and just recently finished a term on the local Parks & Rec committee.
My dad can be a bit stingy when it comes to spending on things like this for himself, no matter how much he may use it. This is an affordable yet practical present (that my mom would certainly enjoy, as well).
If there’s one thing my dad loves, it’s a challenge. I’m sure this will stir up some ravishing conversation around the dinner table.
Beer and cycling—my dad’s favorite things warped into one inexpensive gift. And I’m sure my mom will be thrilled that it’s intended to be mounted on the wall!
My Secret Santa Assignment: A 26-year-old woman who received three copies of the Joan Didion coffee table book for Christmas last year, left law to become an interior designer, and will always obsess over old Tumblr posts with me.
My friend grew up playing Scrabble with her mother and now often flexes her verbose muscles for our friends. This dictionary would give her argument even more weight as she slashes our words to smithereens.
My dear friend shares my Tumblr-coated past, so naturally, Lana Del Rey often tops her Spotify Wrapped. This pillbox, embossed with the queen’s name, would give her Advil a better home in her Mary-Poppins style everyday leather backpack.
Upon entering my friend’s Upper West Side apartment, I’m always offered a drink from her very well-stocked (and well-decorated) bar cart. Since the coupes I purchased her years ago have now broken (vintage often means delicate), I might replace them with a sturdier variety.
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