A Last-Minute Shopper’s Manifesto

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Not long ago, I was a considerate holiday shopper. In fact, I used to break my gay ass giving gifts. As early as January, I kept a list in my yearly planner of perfect presents for friends and family like I was a humanMartha Stewart Livingarticle. Then, by November, I would hustle through the city streets to find them. I thought I was being so organized and saving time, the real-life version of Jennifer Love Hewitt in a Hallmark Channel movie.

I stopped when I realized no one cared.

Now I see what I should have always known. It’s better to grab your gifts and go like they are sandwiches at Pret A Manger. Shopping last minute prevents wasted energy and wasted time, and lowers the risk of your heart shrinking to Grinch size when you see someone open your perfectly curated gift with glazed eyes as they hand you hand towels from World Market and then go back to their Chardonnay.

Being a thoughtful giver got me nowhere. It was, I realized, a sign of my bottomless need for approval from people who don’t really think about me. Even if they do, they never really know my size or style anyway. Like when someone vaguely remembers I am a writer and gives me yet another blank notebook, or worse, abook— likeAll the Light We Cannot See, which I have received twice. (I don’t care how good it is, I’m never reading it). It was so freeing the year I put down my planner and said:If everyone else is shopping last minute, why can’t I?

“I get a ton of people rushing up and saying, ‘Oh my God, I have no time, whaddaya got,’” says Tommy O’Malley, founder of Zaddy Earth, a line of bath, body, and home products that “make you feel f*cking good.” (They’re made in Brooklyn). O’Malley has been manning his booth at Union Square’s holiday shops for four years and has seen many a last-minute shopper — literally. He’s there till December 24, when, at 4 p.m., the clamorous maze of shops officially closes. That last hour is a madhouse. He is moving product till the stroke of 3:59, sells out his inventory, and then the frenzied crowd starts buying the booth itself: Christmas decorations, display boxes, and signage. (Someone offered to buy his “Beard Oil” sign for $300.) “At the last minute, everything is for sale,” O’Malley says. “My products, my displays, my body.”

And shopping last minute has actually opened my heart to others. Now, when I get that travel-size tube of hand cream, I appreciate the giver’s effort much more than the roiling magma of resentment I felt in my gut when I got themLe Labo 49 shower gelbecause, back in April, they said their favorite scent was ylang-ylang.

But when giving last-minute gifts, you do have to make some decisions. Either you should just come clean (“Here’s aStarbucks gift card. I spent $10 on you”). Or, if you are giving something to, say,your mother, you have to suffuse it with meaning. Give it to her holding it with both hands like it’s on a precious silver tray, and act like it was calling out to you: “I got you this sample-size mini-jar of New Jersey honey from this enchanting general store!” (… At the Vince Lombardi Service Area on I-95, but she doesn’t need to know that part.)

I have a friend who gives incense that I have a feeling she buys in bulk from Shamans Market. She has gifted it to me a couple of times, but she can do this because she is gorgeous and lights up a room when she walks in. For the rest of us, you have to be careful that you don’t double-dip. For example, I was giving out polished stones I got from some random crystal shop for a while. I put them in canvas pouches like they were magic beans, trying to make them look meaningful to me so, therefore, they must be meaningful to the receiver, until last year when my friend said, “Oh wow! I’ll put these next to the other ones you gave me last year that were so precious!”

You know what a perfect last-minute gift is? Poetry. It’s easy to pick up, cheaper (and shorter) than a novel, and looks inherently meaningful. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t read any of the content, because the giftee won’t either, and it will sit on their shelf until, in a couple of years, you may find it in a book barn on the corner of your street, next to a copy ofAll the Light We Cannot See.

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