A Last-Minute Gift Guide for People Who (Mostly) Don’t Need More Stuff

Danielle and Céline’s credit cards keep levitating, seemingly of their own accord, out of our back-of-phone wallets and into ShopPay checkout fields that we obediently fill out in fugue states. We desire for rich hot chocolate to appear on command, followed by the theatrical splash of a single, giant cubed marshmallow. We imagine ourselves, in Palo Alto, sitting by a fireplace (that neither of us has) and drinking endless cups of tea—literal and metaphorical—into the night. In our hallucinations, the air smells faintly of conifer needles and Christmas negronis—juniper, citrus peel, and tastable candlelight. December is a time of year when we tell ourselves, half-sincerely, that love can be conveyed through tasteful, thoughtful purchases from charming boutiques. And yet, inevitably, we find ourselves scrambling to the nearest mall, for whatever we haven’t purchased on Amazon, on December 24th, clutching another cheugy Anthropology candle that smacks of Christmas—and not in a good way. I

Danielle and Céline’s credit cards keep levitating, seemingly of their own accord, out of our back-of-phone wallets and into ShopPay checkout fields that we obediently fill out in fugue states. We desire for rich hot chocolate to appear on command, followed by the theatrical splash of a single, giant cubed marshmallow. We imagine ourselves, in Palo Alto, sitting by a fireplace (that neither of us has) and drinking endless cups of tea—literal and metaphorical—into the night. In our hallucinations, the air smells faintly of conifer needles and Christmas negronis—juniper, citrus peel, and tastabl