I don't deal with the holiday season until December 1st. Some of my best and dearest friends are the type of people who have their shopping done by Canadian Thanksgiving, but I think they're as crazy as Boyfriend who hits the mall on December 24th every year without fail.
But this isn't about Xmas shopping. This is about un-shopping. Because the Universe happened to drop a little link in my lap to an online video called The Story of Stuff. Do the world a favour and watch it. Here's the jaw-dropper: 90% of the crap you bring into your house leaves your house via garbage bags. NINETY PERCENT. Stuff? Is stupid.
If things go as planned, you will watch the video and think twice before buying that EZ Chopper 2 Vegetable Slicer for all your family and friends. Or the Disney-themed chip-n-dip serving dish. Or the 'I Have One Nerve Left & Yer Gettin' On It' coffee mug. Although that would actually be appropriate.
To quote a line from the absolutely TERRIBLE mid-90s remake of Sabrina: "More isn't always better, Linus. Sometimes it's just more." Just because some marketing schmuck packaged a half pound of gourmet coffee with some dark chocolate and a French Press in a cutesy red box doesn't mean you have to buy it. Trust me, I WAS that marketing schmuck. I SOLD you that cutesy red box.
I swear this isn't just a drunken beauty pageant message or a passive aggressive 'I'm poor' preamble to a mass email entitled: Don't Send Stuff, Send Money! (Although that's not a terrible idea...) This is a challenge to you to be creative. Don't bail on the whole season of giving concept. It's a great brand! Giving is beautiful. Giving scary-looking 3-for-$10 bath bombs that will definitely be re-gifted? Not beautiful.
Boyfriend has this wee picture frame he keeps in the bathroom that reads: 'The most valuable gift you can give is time.' Do not ask me why this is in the bathroom. Regardless, it's something to think about. What if you gave your loved ones time? Maybe you give them time with you. Maybe the gift is NOT spending time with you...maybe it's time for themselves when you take the kid for once and leave them the hell alone.*
Last year, I gave people experiences. We gave my sister/bro-in-law a river cruise and a couple of coffees. This is also known as a romantic afternoon. I gave my other sister a treasure map of 17th Avenue, marking pit stops for coffee and lunch on the day-long adventure we'd have together. Boyfriend is a big fan of the coupons. Like: "This entitles the bearer to one 30 minute massage with no complaining about how much my back hurts from giving you this amateur massage." One year, I got a whole PILE of coupons, everything from iTunes downloads to dinners to haircuts...although he shaves his head, so I passed on those.
The stuff-addicts might call these kinds of gifts cop-outs. I say giving stuff is a cop-out. Forcing me to fill up landfills with drug store perfumes is a cop-out. The $7.99 spice rack that was sitting by the cash register at Wal-Mart when an image of my face flashed through your brain is a cop-out. Seriously. Since when does a spice rack connect deeply with who I am as a person? Do you know for sure that I rack my spices? What if I prefer them out of sight because I'm shy about my massive turmeric usage? Maybe I'm concealing my role in an elaborate Nicuraguan vanilla smuggling ring. Did you even THINK of the lives that were at stake when you bought that thing?
Take that $7.99 and buy us lattes some Wednesday in January. Your gift could be letting me talk about myself for an hour. I would love that. Share a pitcher of terrible beer with me in a place where we can throw peanut shells on the floor and play CCR on the jukebox. Buy me some time, but please, don't buy me stuff.
* This subliminal message was brought to Janice's husband by her friends at the Today, Paris blog. To send a similar shot to the man-parts, please call us at 1-888-LOW-BLOW now! Service charges and marital consequences may apply.)
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