Let the spirit of Secular-Shopping-and-Disordered-Eatingmas move you! Boys, buy us stuff. Buy us so much stuff! Girls too, for sure. Girls, buy us stuff! Consider the economics of girldom and you will be moved!
Let the spirit of Secular-Shopping-and-Disordered-Eatingmas move you! Boys, buy us stuff. Buy us so much stuff! Girls too, for sure. Girls, buy us stuff! Consider the economics of girldom and you will be moved! You will also be moved by the resounding disparity in what girls have to pay for that you don’t have to pay for (like for every one of your crispy-crunchy button-downs, for every pair of box-fresh shoes, she has 100, and has to have 100 to participate fully in her nation of women). I mean, you have to buy a girl presents around now anyway, so, don’t you think it should be a little bit cooler, a little bit smoother, than whatever you are thinking about? This was a really bossy introduction, right? SORRY I’M JUST EXCITED!
ONE SHINY, GLITTERY ITEM
The trick of adulthood (THE KEYSER SÖZE OF ADULTHOOD) is that when you see a visual montage-type pile of glittery sparkly shiny things all at once—like at a store at the mall, all laid out and lit up—it is so wantable and overwhelming, but when you separate these items and consider them one by one and realize that on their own they don’t embody the glittery sparkly shiny like you thought they would, and in fact look pretty shite-ish, it is such a banoner-killer. So instead of doing like “A fun stocking with so many fun things!” for a girl just get one glittery sparkly shiny and maybe also a pile of candy and then something actually good and useful, and make a big deal about it.
I know iPad and iPhone and MacBook cases are on every retarded Gift Guide, but I promise that it is a bad idea to choose the visual identity of a girl for her. Much like a wallet and a keychain and a bag (a bag!), a rubbery case is a weighty source of me-ness for a woman. Don’t do it.
Not sleepover camp, but, like, a spa where instead of sitting in buzzy chairs getting pedicures there are rooms that are black and silent and lightly lavender scented and there is a super-plush bed and ultra-fresh ironed-but-cool trillion-thread-count sheets (but for real, not the fake ones) and a pillow with your monogram (“Who, me?”) and maybe a fur throw to wrap around your shoulder and head area (this is how I sleep usually; I am sort of next-level, don’t worry about it) and no clocks or phones or anything allowed. And you pre-pay a flat rate so you just go and have the most amazing sleep for as long as you want and that’s it. So a gift certificate to Kate’s Super Sleep Camp would be something cool to get.
Buying your girl jewelry is eternally sweet (aren’t you a lil’ nugget?!) because it is like branding her but without pain, violence, or fire. I don’t know what my problem is that I find diamond rings and wedding rings kind of scary and suspect, but LOVE the idea of a real trashy name necklace all huge like “JAMES” or whatever? If you are both pre-adults and she is less likely to be poisoned by corporate jewelry values you should totally get her whatever you think she would look pretty in and say “I thought you would look pretty in this” or something. Kiss kiss kiss kiss. Snowflake nose. Kiss kiss. But yeah, if she knows any shits about jewelry and you don’t have Fuck You Money, than maybe go another direction? Sawwrrrry.
If I could have one present from every boy I know it would be lisssstening. Recently I have found myself hysterically laughing (like to myself, like hysterically silent laughing, which might also be some textbook definition of loneliness?) during conversations with men when I say a thing and instead of relating to that thing or asking a question about that thing or bringing that thing into their own similar thing they are off on another whole tangent. They jump on to a whole other racetrack that is like several blocks south of the racetrack that your conversation is taking place on, so that while they appear to be hearing what you’re saying, none of the things they are responding with have anything at all to do with your half of the conversation.
This has happened so many times before but maybe I am being extra sensitive to it because I expect more from like grown fucking men with careers and fun style and a lot of friends? In these situations I immediately give up and just tend to their conversational needs, just tend it like it’s an annoying ice-garden, because I can do that, I am good at that, and I can instead entertain myself by marveling at the incredible self-regard that this kind of approach must require? So yeah spend one conversation with a girl actually paying attention to the words and paragraphs and ideas and sentiments that are happening in front of you and participate with and in them like a normal person should.
Also my new theory is that the reason so many women talk SO THE FUCK MUCH is because they are unconsciously rebelling against that fact that very few men—even the goodies, even the besties—actually listen to them.
BEDSIDE ESPRESSO MACHINE
With a “Christmas” button for peppermint mochas eeeeeeeeeee!!!
Gift cards, paying her cell phone bill or credit card bill or w/e bill (I first heard about this from Teens On The Subway and was the most scandalized), cash. I think that secretly paying someone’s bills or rent without them knowing is only the move if you are a girl’s shadowy and maybe-gay-maybe-not? friend-possible-future-lover-boy-slash-patron; if you are anything else it is sooooo creepy and domineering and “UNGH!”-gruntish as a gesture.
How could this happen, pragmatically speaking? No idea. Liiiiike… I dunno. Getting adequate protein sources to your girlfriend—especials if she is busy and has a big job and is always hustling around town doing her busy things, like a Richard Scarry archetype, like Busytown’s Busiest Girl—would really be the most thoughtful thing to do. Like obviously the best present of any kind for anyone is anticipating a secret, unknown want or need and appearing with it like a glowing orb in your hands, but you’re just smiling all sneaky and stuff like “Yeah, I get you.” Related: Have a cold-pressed cleansey juice in your bag when you show up to meet us for a movie and we’ll feed you popcorn and even nachos out of our hands like you’re a sexy bird.
Did you know that “X” means “Christ” so “Xtina” is calling herself “Christtina”? Does that cat-scratch the fuck out of your nerves the way it does mine, so that they are frayed and tangled up under your skin? Yeah? Cool. Really, this is my semi-Christmas-related Christmas wish.
Give your best friend or girlfriend or sister or who/e three Relationship Wishes and then abide by them all through January or until she forgets. My Relationship Wishes would be: 1) Tell me all of your feelings to the best of your ability without me having to throw darts at your communication-cortex for hours until I land on them 2) Care more about your job or art or construction project or whatever than “relaxing” and beer procurement and “PVG” which is my new code for “playing video games” because if I hear myself complain about something I am actually totally fine with in theory if not in the way it is commonly practiced by men in my social sphere I might have to self-flagellate by playing video games and 3) Don’t put me in a position of having to request basic life things and motivations and ideas to you like I’m your mean mommy a.k.a. see #2.
A NEW HAIR THING
Since we’re over ombre and over long, infinity x infinity ropes of tangles (RIP Gossip Girl) and over perfectly coiled ballerina buns and over messy sleep-in buns with those little pokey pieces escaping all over the place and over the 90s (wait, are we??? Are we over the 90s??? Did it happen???) I am deeply interested in what the next hair thing will be in 2013, like, do you have any guess? I don’t have any guesses. I’d really like those jeweled headbandy things worn at princessy angles to return immediately because I was too “Zuhhhhg” to get into it the first time around, can it be that?
Leopard flats without any embellishments (fuck a bow; fuck a bedazzle; fuck a buckle. Fuck a buckle!!!). La Mer The Eye Concentrate. Any product that smells like anything real, like flowers or food, minus those Demeter sillinesses. Socks with crazily insulated toes and mittens with crazily insulated fingers. Whatever Taylor Swift’s shade of red lipstick is that actually looks red instead of pink in photos. iPad in “galaxy” instead of “black” or “white.” Gumball machine, like a BIG one. Every Mason Pearson brush on the market. Cashmere jammies. Toblerone. World peace. Etc...
Follow Kate on Twitter @KateCarraway
Previously - Girls and the Worst Thing