Karly

I wanted to write something festive without being overtly Christmassy, mostly because when I’m home for the holidays I give the Grinch a run for his money. But gift giving is something I think about a lot. It’s one of those ordinary rituals that carries so much meaning, especially at this time of year. We do it for birthdays and anniversaries too, sure, but there’s something about December that turns it into a high-stakes emotional sport. Everyone’s trying to prove something with a ribbon on top. And I think that’s what fascinates me most, not the gift itself, but what it reveals about the people involved. A present says I thought of you. But it also quietly says I had the means, the time, and the energy to do so. And when someone receives it graciously, with the right blend of surprise and delight, they’re effectively saying I see what you did there, and I won’t ask how much it cost. It’s a whole dance of care and concealment. You’re not just giving an object. You’re performing a relationship.

It’s easy to forget that most gifting happens between people who already share some kind of mutual regard. Even if the occasion is obligatory, a Secret Santa at work, a distant cousin’s wedding, the giver still has to care enough to comply. And beyond that, they have to be able to participate. That’s where it gets tricky. Because giving a gift isn’t just about what you want to give. It’s also about what you’re able to give and what it’ll look like when you give it. When both people are giving freely and fairly, it tends to imply not just closeness but also similar circumstances. You’re speaking the same language. But if one person’s constantly giving more, in quality or cost or frequency, the balance starts to feel off. What used to be sweet suddenly feels loaded. You start second-guessing your gestures. You wonder if you’re saying too much, or not enough. Because gifts aren’t neutral. They’re charged. And not everyone is fluent in the same emotional currency.

Nobody talks about the price. That’s the first rule. You don’t hand someone a gift and tell them how much it cost. You take off the tag. You downplay the effort. You say it’s just a little something or I saw it and thought of you. Even if it took three weeks of online stalking to figure out the exact mug they liked last summer. You’re not supposed to say any of that out loud. You just wrap it and smile. It’s a form of politeness. A way of saving face. You don’t want the other person to feel indebted. You don’t want to make it seem like you’re keeping score. So you make it look easy. You act like it wasn’t a big deal. You let the gift speak for itself. And you hope they understand what you meant. But sometimes they don’t. A gift that’s too extravagant can make someone feel uncomfortable. One that’s too impersonal can make you seem cold. And if they don’t have something for you in return, the whole thing becomes a little tense.

Giving a gift is basically a one-person play. You’re being generous, sure, but you’re also being strategic. You’re showing the other person that you know them, that you remember things they’ve said, that you care enough to make them feel seen. A good gift can do that. A bad one can do the opposite. There are rules, and most of them are unspoken. In some circles, a bottle of wine is the standard dinner party gesture. In others, it’s something handmade. Some people love luxury. Others think it’s tacky. Cultural norms, class dynamics, aesthetics, it all comes into play. The same Diptyque candle might read as overdone in one setting and perfect in another. Gifting is all about context. It’s about the performance, the script, the delivery.

Let’s be real, some gifts come with strings. A lavish present from a new partner. A manipulative one from a relative who’s trying to stay in your life. A weirdly expensive offering from a boss who gives you a hard time every other day of the year. Not all gifts are acts of love. Sometimes they’re acts of control, or guilt, or status maintenance. And even if you don’t say it out loud, you can feel it. That’s why refusing a gift can be such a dramatic move. It’s not just no thanks. It’s I reject the dynamic you’re trying to create here. And that’s a bold thing to do. Most of the time, we just accept the gift, even if we feel a bit weird about it. Because the emotional weight of gifting is never just about the item. It’s about the history, the intention, the power.

If there’s a love language I understand, it’s this one. The soft kind. The unspoken I remembered. The tiny bag of cookies. The postcard with no return address. The book you mentioned once in passing. I love gifts that feel like you weren’t supposed to know they were coming. I love things that arrive without ceremony, without obligation. I’ve always been a gift giver, maybe because I can be a little emotionally distant sometimes. For me, a present is a stand-in for the things I don’t always say. It’s not avoidance. It’s affection. It’s a way to mark someone’s place in my life without needing to explain it out loud. And I’ve come to accept that even the smallest gestures cost something. Time, energy, money. You can’t give without giving. And I don’t mind that. I think that’s the whole point.

So yes, I wanted to write something festive. But not something covered in glitter or branded with sleigh bells. Just a little reflection on what it means to give, and what it means to be given something, even if it’s just a moment of thoughtfulness wrapped in paper and left quietly at your door.

Happy Holidays!