With Christmas rushing at us like a bull in a Westfield, many blokes of a certain age will have already been told ‘you’re difficult to buy for’. On Christmas Day, while everyone else stacks a nice little pile of desirable things, you often end up the proud owner of some new socks and a 600ml bottle of Peroni (which you aren’t even allowed to drink immediately to numb the disappointment).
‘You’re difficult to buy for’ sails dangerously close to what modern progressives might call ‘victim blaming’. The truth is the present buyer could have given it more thought. They might have looked at what you bought for yourself throughout the year. I imagine you rarely see your husband or dad buy a comedy hip-flask or Gillette shower kit. If he’s never brought if for himself your gift might not be the home run you thought it was.
Most blokes withstand mediocre presents cheerfully enough. Men can take pleasure in ‘minimising’ themselves for the greater good. There exists a manly nobility in taking one for the team. I recently stayed at the Knutsford service station Travelodge. It’s the kind of revelation that usually provokes a tilt of the head from someone, or the private conclusion my career isn’t going as well as they’d previously thought. However, I was happy enough. Partly because of the money I’d saved by not staying in Manchester city centre. Also, with bad weather around at that time, and the comprehensive amenities on offer at the services, if I was snowed in I could’ve happily lived out my days there – a bit like Tom Hanks in The Terminal – or if things got really desperate Tom Hanks in Castaway.
I’m happy to deprive myself of things for the family’s greater financial good, so much so that any signs of being emotionally demonstrative can represent a radical act of sedition. Recently, after nearly 20 years of marriage, I took the initiative and sent my wife a link to a pair of trainers saying, ‘Could I have these for Christmas please?’
Women often claim they want mystery and surprise from a man, but unexpected conduct like this is just as likely to create suspicion: ‘Why is this monotonous creature of habit suddenly behaving like a teenage girl approaching prom?’ It can quickly go from saying you want new trainers to your partner picturing herself as Emma Thompson’s spurned wife in Love Actually.
Not only that, this year I did my first bit of Christmas shopping before my wife had even started hers. Initially she was unsettled, but might’ve concluded that I’m going through a very strange midlife crisis. Instead of buying myself a sports car I’m losing myself in to-do lists. It could actually be welcome if my mid-life crisis manifested in behaviour she found useful: ‘Oh it was terrible, Geoff hit his mid-forties and became obsessed with hoovering and being polite to my family.’
In my last piece I suggested a five-a-day rule for male friendships, where blokes try and learn at least a couple of new things about their mates. I’m now suggesting something just as revolutionary. Send your wife or partner a link to a gift idea, saying ‘I want this’. It doesn’t matter if ‘this’ is as immature as a VR headset or as nerdy as a vintage poster of Bladerunner, just be clear about your expectations.
This hint dropping strategy is a compliment to women, because it’s one they’ve tended to excel in. From about mid-November many women are sending links, dropping clues and steering conversations like a politician hitting talking points (‘Let me be very clear about this, I want a Michael Kors handbag.’)
In some ways this specificity over present options is ironic; most blokes would kill to have that kind of clarity when it comes to knowing how to act more generally. In a world where the old ‘I’m fine’ chestnut can precede half a day of emotional purgatory it would be handy to get texts saying ‘I’ve had a haircut – notice it’ or ‘Don’t tut when my mother asks to see the dessert menu.’
As frivolous and small as this gift getting revolution might seem, it has wider inferences. Present buying is in itself a mark of care and respect. You wouldn’t try and win business with a meal-deal at the Wild Bean Cafe, so when blokes get rubbish presents the message can be that no one cares as much about them (or their incredible ability to retrieve stuff from the loft).
While I’m strongly against men having affairs, maybe there’s space for a prequel to Love Actually where we see that Alan Rickman’s character had spent the previous decade unwrapping dismal wine and a perfunctory bottle of Blue Stratos.
So to all blokes and dads in relationships of any kind, don’t be afraid of sending links and dropping hints, because – and the manly former me never thought he’d say this – ‘you’re worth it’.
Geoff Norcott’s book The British Bloke Decoded is available to buy.
Comments