I swear I’m not exaggerating when I say that at least once a week, my phone lights up with a panicked text message that goes something like: “HELP! It’s my sister-in-law’s birthday tomorrow and I have NO IDEA what to get her!”
This happened just last Tuesday, actually. It was my friend Devin, who I’ve known since university. His wife’s sister was turning 30, and he was absolutely bricking it because he needed to find something “thoughtful but not over-the-top” (his words) for a woman he’s spoken to maybe twelve times in five years of marriage.
“She likes plants,” he told me when I called him. “And, um… coffee? I think she mentioned hiking once?”
I mean, honestly. Bless him for trying.
This is my life now—being everyone’s gift-giving emergency contact. Jake calls it my “side hustle that pays exclusively in gratitude,” which is pretty accurate. I’m not complaining though. There’s something uniquely satisfying about helping someone else become the hero in their own gift-giving story.
The thing is, I’ve realized over the years that gift-giving is genuinely anxiety-inducing for a lot of people. Like, properly stressful. They freeze up, second-guess themselves, and then panic-buy something generic that they know deep down isn’t quite right. Sometimes it’s because they’re overthinking it, sometimes it’s because they’re underthinking it, but either way, the result is the same—a gift that screams “I left this to the last minute and grabbed whatever I could find.”
So when Devin called in his plant-coffee-maybe-hiking emergency, I went into what Jake lovingly refers to as my “gift detective mode.” I asked about twenty rapid-fire questions: Has Devin’s wife ever mentioned her sister’s home decor style? What kind of coffee does she drink? Is she an indoor plant person or a garden person? Has she traveled anywhere recently that she really loved?
“You’re kind of scary when you do this, you know that?” Devin said, but I could hear the relief in his voice. Someone else was taking charge of the situation.
After our chat, I suggested a gorgeous coffee table book on Japanese gardens (combining her love of plants and aesthetics) along with a small kit to grow her own tea herbs. “Add a handwritten note saying you thought she might enjoy growing something she could actually use in her morning brew,” I told him. “Trust me on this one.”
Two days later, I got a text with a photo of the unwrapped gift and a message that simply read: “SHE CRIED. ACTUAL TEARS. YOU’RE A WIZARD.”
And yeah, I’m not gonna lie—that felt pretty damn good.
I’ve been the unofficial gift consultant in my social circle for as long as I can remember. It probably started back in university when my flatmate Sonya was in a complete state about her parents’ anniversary. “They have everything they need,” she moaned, flopping dramatically onto our shared sofa. “Dad says he doesn’t want anything, and Mum just says ‘something thoughtful’ which is NO HELP AT ALL.”
I’d known Sonya for almost two years at that point, and I remembered her mentioning that her parents had met at a Rolling Stones concert in the 80s. “What about finding a vintage poster from that tour?” I suggested. “Or even better, get a map of the city where they met, find the venue location, and get a custom print made with a little heart marking the spot ‘where it all began’ with the date underneath.”
Sonya stared at me like I’d just performed actual magic. “How do you… I mean, how did you even think of that?”
I shrugged. “You told me about the concert while we were doing laundry last term. You said your dad still has the ticket stub in his wallet.”
The print was a massive hit. Sonya’s mum apparently burst into tears when she opened it, and her dad—who Sonya had described as “emotionally constipated at the best of times”—actually got misty-eyed. After that, word spread through our friend group, and suddenly I was fielding requests from people I barely knew. “You’re Sonya’s friend who’s good at presents, right? My boyfriend’s birthday is coming up and I’m completely stuck…”
Now, fifteen years later, not much has changed except the frequency of the requests and the fancy title on my business card. (Senior Editor of Special Occasions sounds much better than “that girl who’s weirdly obsessed with gifts,” which was my unofficial university title.)
The best part about proxy gifting—being the behind-the-scenes gift consultant—is that I get all the joy of the perfect gift moment without having to spend my own money. It’s like being a fairy godmother of presents. I wave my metaphorical wand (usually just frantic Googling and my embarrassingly detailed mental database of people’s preferences), and suddenly someone else gets to be the gift-giving hero.
Take my brother Tom, for instance. Lovely bloke, absolute rubbish at presents. For years, he got his wife Rachel the same thing for her birthday—a gift card to a department store that she’d mentioned liking once in 2012. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. A gift card. With one of those generic birthday cards where all he’d written was “Love, Tom.” No joke.
After the fourth consecutive year of this, Rachel finally mentioned to me over drinks that while she appreciated the thought, she was beginning to wonder if Tom actually knew her at all. “It’s just so… impersonal,” she said, trying not to sound ungrateful but clearly hurt. “I spend ages picking out things he’s mentioned wanting throughout the year, and he just… doesn’t seem to put in the same effort.”
Now, I could have just stepped in and bought Rachel a better gift myself. But that wouldn’t solve the problem. Instead, I invited Tom for lunch one day about a month before her next birthday.
“So,” I said casually after we’d ordered, “what are you getting Rachel this year?”
He looked momentarily panicked, then shrugged. “Probably the usual. She seems to like those gift cards.”
I took a deep breath. “Tom. My darling, clueless brother. She doesn’t like the gift cards. No one really likes gift cards from their spouse of seven years. She likes YOU, and she wants to know that you see her.”
His face fell. “She said that?”
“Not in those exact words, but yeah. Kind of.”
To his credit, he looked genuinely upset. “But I’m terrible at gifts. I never know what to get anyone. That’s your department.”
“OK,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Let’s fix this. Tell me three things Rachel has mentioned wanting in the last six months.”
He stared at me blankly.
“Anything she’s pointed out in a shop window? Any complaints about something breaking or wearing out? Any hobbies she’s talked about getting into?”
After some painful extraction of information (seriously, it was like pulling teeth), I finally pieced together that Rachel had recently taken up wild swimming, had mentioned wanting to learn to make proper sourdough bread, and had been dropping hints about wanting to redecorate their bedroom.
“Right,” I said, making notes. “Here’s what you’re going to do…”
Long story short, Tom ended up getting her a gorgeous vintage-style swimsuit from a specialty shop that made high-quality, retro-inspired swimming costumes, paired with a beautiful waterproof watch that could track her swims. He added a beginner’s sourdough kit with a properly shaped banneton basket and a dough scraper (I had to explain what these things were), and—this was the masterstroke—a gift certificate for an interior design consultation for their bedroom. Not just a gift card to buy stuff, but an actual experience with a professional who could help them create a space they’d both love.
When Rachel’s birthday came around, she was so shocked by the thoughtfulness of the gifts that she actually called me immediately, convinced that I’d done the shopping.
“Did you pick all this out?” she demanded when I answered the phone.
“Absolutely not,” I said truthfully. “I just helped Tom organize his thoughts. Those are all from him.”
“But the swimsuit is exactly the style I’ve been looking for, and how did he even know what a banneton was? He called it a ‘bread basket thing’ last month when we were watching Bake Off!”
I laughed. “Maybe he’s been paying more attention than you think. Or maybe he just needed a little nudge in the right direction.”
The real victory came later that night when Tom texted me: “She hasn’t stopped smiling all day. I think I finally get what you mean about good gifts. Thanks, sis.”
And THAT is why I love proxy gifting. Tom got to be the hero, Rachel got presents she actually loved, and I got the satisfaction of knowing I’d helped bridge a small but important gap in their relationship. Everybody wins.
Of course, it’s not always so straightforward. There was the disaster with my colleague Martin who, despite my VERY SPECIFIC instructions, still somehow managed to buy his wife tickets to see the wrong band (apparently Fleetwood Mac and Fleet Foxes are “basically the same thing” to him—they are NOT). Or my cousin Sarah who was determined that her new boyfriend would love a designer wallet, despite me gently pointing out that he’d mentioned several times that he preferred using a money clip. (Spoiler alert: the wallet is now gathering dust in a drawer somewhere, and he’s still using his battered old money clip.)
But even the failures are learning experiences. I’ve developed a sort of sixth sense for when someone isn’t giving me the full picture or when they’re fixated on a gift idea that’s more about their own preferences than the recipient’s. Jake says I’m like a gift therapist sometimes, asking probing questions like “But why do you think he needs a new briefcase when he’s mentioned hating his commute and wanting to work remotely more often?”
The most rewarding proxy gifting moments are when I get to help someone who genuinely wants to get it right but just doesn’t know how. Like my friend Mei, who was meeting her girlfriend’s parents for the first time and was absolutely terrified about what to bring.
“I can’t show up empty-handed,” she fretted over coffee. “But I don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard. What if I get something too expensive and they think I’m showing off? What if I get something too cheap and they think I don’t value their daughter enough? WHAT IF I GET SOMETHING THEY’RE ALLERGIC TO AND SOMEONE ENDS UP IN HOSPITAL?”
I put my hand on her arm to stop the spiral. “OK, breathe. Has Emily mentioned anything about her parents? Hobbies, interests, dietary restrictions that might actually put someone in hospital?”
Turns out Emily’s mum was an avid gardener and her dad was a history buff with a particular interest in naval warfare. After ruling out plants (too much pressure for the gardening expert to keep alive) and books (too risky without knowing his library), we settled on a lovely locally-made honey infused with lavender from Emily’s mum’s favorite garden center, paired with some handcrafted beeswax candles. For her dad, Mei found a small, beautifully detailed model ship in a bottle from a specialty shop that Emily confirmed he’d love.
When Mei returned from the dreaded meeting, she was practically floating. “Her mum couldn’t believe I remembered about the garden center—apparently Emily didn’t even realize she’d mentioned it to me! And her dad immediately put the ship on his desk and spent twenty minutes telling me about the actual historical battle it was from. Emily said she’s never seen her parents warm up to someone so quickly.”
It wasn’t just the gifts themselves that worked magic, though. It was the fact that Mei had clearly put thought and effort into understanding who these people were before she’d even met them. The gifts were just physical proof of that effort.
And that’s really what good gift-giving comes down to, isn’t it? Paying attention. Listening when people tell you who they are and what matters to them. Remembering the small details that most people forget.
When I help someone else find the perfect gift, I’m really just translating what they already know (or should know) about the recipient into a tangible object. I’m not the one who knows that Tom’s wife Rachel has been eyeing up retro swimwear on Instagram, or that Devin’s sister-in-law has a thing for Japanese aesthetics. I’m just the one who asks the right questions to bring those details to the surface.
There’s something undeniably satisfying about being the person behind the scenes, the secret weapon in someone else’s gift-giving arsenal. I get all the joy of the perfect gift moment without having to be in the spotlight. And honestly? Sometimes that’s even better than finding the perfect gift myself.
Jake jokes that I should start charging for my services, but I’m not sure I ever could. There’s something too pure about those panicked texts and grateful thank-yous to monetize. Besides, I’ve got enough on my plate with the day job and the book deadline looming (note to self: really must finish that chapter on “Last-Minute Gifts That Don’t Look Last-Minute” before my editor has a meltdown).
For now, I’m happy being everyone’s gift fairy godmother, waving my metaphorical wand and helping create those perfect moments of connection. Because that’s what great gifts really are—tangible proof that someone sees you, hears you, and understands what matters to you.
And if I can help make more of those moments happen, even from behind the scenes… well, that’s a gift in itself, isn’t it?