Attack of the Gift Guides

Shopping will not save us. But that doesn't stop us from trying.

There is a glass paperweight that lives on my desk — a round, saffron orb set against a grainy black background, like a navel orange suspended in the night sky. The word “courage” is emblazoned across it.

I bought it as a gift to myself nearly twenty years ago. I was out of work, unsure of what came next. I remember the heft of it in my hand — solid, substantial, the sort of item an established person might place upon their established-person desk. The power of the word courage as it looped around my mind.

The paperweight was $50, a ludicrous amount to spend on an unnecessary object in the face of unemployment. I had no papers in need of weighing. I didn’t even have a desk. But there was something reassuring about the memento, simultaneously soothing and aspirational. Gaze upon me and remember how far you’ve come, it seemed to say. Gaze upon me and trust in where you’re going. And so, I bought it.

It has the distinction of being a purchase that proved memorable, increasing in (sentimental) value over the years. It is the exception.

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Just when it seemed like the volume of election takes might very well kill us, in marched the gift guides. I picture them entering to The Nutcracker Suite, pirouetting into my inbox and across my targeted ads, leaping about my psyche.

Maybe it’s just me, but this year feels more relentless than ever. I’ve seen gift guides from brands and sites and individuals, boasting new and secondhand wares. There are lists for every price point, every person, and always — wink, wink — “a little something for yourself.”

Sometimes, they’re broken down by personality. The entertainer, the adventurer, the homebody. The bookworm, the collector, the home chef. The descriptions are as tantalizing as the items, each a shiny new persona, a little escape hatch to a neatly defined way of being.

If you published a gift guide this week, or if you shopped them — if you eagerly clicked like a hyena with a credit limit, hungry for distraction, please know that I harbor no judgment. I did it, too.

I’ve been thinking about this topic because I get it. I also want to get over it. Shopping is capitalism’s siren song, its dangling carrot of distraction. When things feel overwhelming, when we’re momentarily aware that we are the proverbial frog in the pot —the temperature slowly increasing around us until, oops, we’re cooked — it’s all too human to reach for something soothing. Substances or doom scrolling or Hallmark movies or escapist fiction or stuff. When we can’t opt out, we can add to cart.  

Multiple friends have reported that the stress of the last few weeks left them “in the mood to shop,” which is a most curious phrase. No matter how many wheels of emotions one consults — including the complicated ones with feelings like inadequate and detestable — “shopping” is not a mood.

But it is a little hit of dopamine, the illusion of productivity, the promise of life-after-purchase. If it feels like the pendulum swung from apocalypse to shop-ocalypse, it’s not a coincidence.

Shopping will not save us. Consuming will not create meaning. But that sure doesn’t stop us from trying.

The gift guides are not playing.

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There’s nothing like moving house to make one take stock of the tally of wishful purchases.

The clothing hastily purchased for some event, driven by insecurity. The supplemental powders that promised to alter my being in a dozen too-good-to-be-true ways. The lip balms rattling around in drawers and bags and pockets, as though I possess a small army of dehydrated mouths. The exercise gear that did nothing for my fitness (unless I actually exerted).

A pile of notebooks threatens to topple near my desk, each one purchased with the same delusional thought: This one will make me stop procrastinating, ease my panic, erase decades of self-doubt, cure writer’s block, and inspire me to finish my book, in record time. Any day now.

In decades past, I bought stuff to justify my misery. I may have hated my job, but it allowed me to buy stuff. To wear to my job that I hated. And around I’d go, an ouroboros with an AmEx, stuck on the treadmill of consumption.

Of all the things I’ve purchased, exactly zero of them succeeded in making me a different person. Wherever you go, there you are. Whatever you buy, it’s still you left holding the (shopping) bag. Not to mention the bill.

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Over the last couple years, I deeply curtailed my spending out of necessity. Pursuing my own projects (like this newsletter) meant a dip in my income, and the end of impulse shopping.

The ads continue. The urge persists. But I’ve found a few tricks for keeping it at bay.

For one, I rarely read shopping publications or follow recommendation accounts. (I know! They’re fun. But they always make me want to buy things, which is kind of the point.)

When I find myself confronted with something that makes my little heart sing, I’ll add to cart, but won’t click purchase. (This is especially true when something is discounted, which can feel harder to resist.) I’ll marinate on it until later that day, or the following. Often times, with a bit of space, I find I no longer want it.

I keep a running shopping list in the Notes app on my phone. This is reserved for items that solve a problem or fill a hole, in my wardrobe or life. Right now, for example, it includes a toilet brush — sexy! — and a slim console table for the entryway to our home. If I am seduced by, say, a cheetah print fleece pullover (true story), a quick glance at my list helps remind me that a pullover is NOT currently needed.

If I’m considering an item, I’ll ask myself what it is I’m truly after. Is it actually the item in question — its utility, beauty, added value? Or is it some shiny new future, a fiction I’ve developed around what I think it will bring?

And after all that, if I do buy something, I try to support small businesses, particularly those with values that align with my own.

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But gift guides are for gifts, you say. Gifts are for other people. (The loophole of shopping!) They’re generous and fun and practically socially mandated.

To which I say, I know. I’m not advocating for Scroogedom.

I believe in the power of a soft blanket or a luxurious personal care product or a much-wished-for gadget. I believe in beautiful objects that bring joy whenever you gaze upon them. I believe that thoughtful gifts, chosen with love, can brighten the spirits of those who receive them.

All I’m saying is that if the gift guides are a tad overwhelming, if the march of the merch leaves you desirous of a larger budget, or a bunker where you can be free from it all, well, you are not alone.

As with all seasons, this, too, shall pass. We can take comfort in the knowledge that Black Friday will soon be behind us, the holidays fresh on its heels. Just in time for January to arrive with its relentless campaigns for self-improvement.

But that is a conversation for another day.

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Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

The Lioness Oracle Tarot by Alejandra Luisa León

Growing up, I was committed to one of two career paths — actor or pediatrician. Never mind that they couldn’t be more different. That’s what I was exposed to, and consequently, that’s who I admired.

I had plenty of books, but had never met any writers. I was familiar with magazines and newspapers, but not the people behind them. I remained devoted to actor-or-pediatrician until young adulthood, when my horizons widened.

In order to believe something is possible, it helps if you are first able to see it.

The Two of Wands carries a message about visualization — plans, goals, aspirations. Where would you like to go? What do you want to create? How might it feel when you get there? Seeing — in reality, and in your mind’s eye — is the first step. 

This card wants us to craft a sort of Pinterest board, but on a soul level, urging us to gather what we dream about, to help it gain momentum.

If you’re feeling burned out, trapped, bored, anxious, meh, or blah — well, who hasn’t been there? But the Two of Wands encourages you to see the world with fresh eyes. Consult books, museums, parks. Study history or philosophy. Ingest images, textures, stories, songs. Strike up a conversation with someone new. Shake up your routine, just a little bit. Small ripples can create big change.

The Two of Wands knows that inspiration can strike anywhere. But it can be aided by approaching the same old scenes from a slightly different angle, going beyond the tried-and-true into the realm of what could be.

This week’s card doesn’t merely ask what we see when we think about the future. It’s also curious about how we access our imagination, and where we seek ideas, examples, and support.

Of course, this is one of the reasons why representation is paramount. It’s why we expose children to a wide range of stories, filled with varied demonstrations of bravery and kindness. It’s why we host career days and workshops and panels. It’s why “networking,” with all its negative connotations, and community, remain so very important. We don’t always prioritize the same kind of learning and exposure for adults. But don’t we all deserve to grow? And wouldn’t we all (collectively) benefit?

Step one is to see (whether in reality or your mind’s eye) that something is possible. Step two is to figure out how it’s done.

Still, “seeing is believing” goes both ways.

While it can be immensely beneficial to have role models who demonstrate their path to success, the narratives we see may amount to pure fantasy. Marketing touches everything, and sometimes we’re sold a lie: Careers that spring forth instantly and without effort. The houses and lives and narratives that are never as neat as they appear. It’s a fine line, navigating the space between healthy aspiration and unrealistic expectations. The Two of Wands advises that the way forward is by following your internal compass.

This week’s card wants you to stretch your notions of what is possible. Not just in the world at large, but for you, right now, exactly where you are.

Perhaps it’s a flash of insight about your talents and capabilities. Perhaps it’s feeling sick of the status quo and trying something different. Perhaps it’s exploring an opportunity that previously scared you. Perhaps it’s extending a call, a hug, an olive branch. To another, or to yourself.

We’re all starting from different coordinates, and progress will mean something different for everyone. So we needn’t concern ourselves with anyone else’s pace.

This is your story, your vision, your time. Where would you like to go?

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As always, thank you for reading. x