With all that’s gone on over the past few months, we really don’t blame you if (like us), with just one week to go, you haven’t even started to think about Christmas shopping yet. After 12 months with the general sense that the world is spinning off its axis and into oblivion, it’s easy to think that most people wouldn’t really pay it much mind if you were to forego giving physical gifts in favour wishing them festive goodwill.
That notion does not apply to the picky fashion fans you’ve met before in our previous ultimate gift guides. You see, yours is a social circle populated by people who measure your worth by the presents you give them. Do you think Svetlana will continue sneaking you into 5 Hertford Street for anything less than a suite at the Dubai Mandarin Oriental? Or that your cheugy #girlboss cousin will like your pics on Instagram without at least a bottle of Chloé’s Atelier des Fleurs to make it worth her while? Abso-fucking-lutely not!
Ever the festive elves, we’ve pulled together this handy crib sheet to guide you through how to pick out the perfect gift for the pickiest fashion freaks in your life. Skip the humbugs. Merry Christmas!
Your bitchy sugarbaby bestie
Ever since our dear Svetlana was cut off by her biological Daddy, who may or may not be currency docked in Bodrum, Christmas hasn’t quite been the same. She’s had to finally drop out of Regent’s after a decade of part-time study in fashion management, she briefly held down a gig at 5 Carlos Place as a personal shopper (until she was charged with credit card fraud), and she’s been drifting through Hyde Park in a slightly worn-out Yves Salomon parka, with her Golden Goose sneakers starting to show scuffs — a grunge girl she is not! ‘Tis the season to help a girl in need. A gold-tier Harrods rewards card would offer a passport back to her former haunt, a Sloane Club membership could resurrect her social life, and if you really want to be helpful — a great immigration lawyer or citizenship test tutoring are really what she needs right now.
But what does dear Svetty want? Ever since the world became so hyper-politicised and uber-woke, she has had little to smile about — least so because of the 15ml of Profhilo she’s had injected into her now-perfectly heart-shaped visage. While you may not have a time machine, Victoria Beckham’s ‘I’m Smiling On The Inside’ T-shirt will surely bring some joy to her face, while Dior Snow’s ‘Essence of Light’ lotion will help protect her from those insidious UV rays on a walk through Kensington Gardens. We know that she’s not exactly an inexpensive date, but she did take you out for dinner at Caviar Kaspia, just so you could taste her motherland’s finest Petrossian, even if it was in the presence of three slightly overweight, tracksuit-clad bearded men who didn’t speak a word during the entire meal. Consider some little luxuries that would be cheaper than repaying that favour: a Miu Miu nappa-leather hair clip, a Fendi bauble (complete with a miniature silver baguette), Bottega Veneta’s intrecciato AirPod case, or Tiffany & Co’s reusable duck-egg coffee cups. After all, she is our generation’s Holly Golightly, constantly waking up on Mount Street in Italianate apartments with falcon-themed art hanging from the walls. Let’s get our girl back on her Louboutins once and for all.
Your hypebeast brother
Yes, Cosmo, or ‘Co$mo’ as he’s christened himself on the ‘gram, is finally growing up. Not only has he passed his university re-take with a solid 2:2, he’s also jumped straight into the career world, stacking his Block Wallet with Ethereum (as recommended by your banker boyf) and crafting genius ideas for a truly disruptive start-up. At the moment, he’s thinking an online marketplace for legal edibles as his cash-cow – Dad’s already invested – and a sneaker customisation service as his passion project. Money moves, Maxi! Of course, he’ll be needing a trusty means of transport to get to his office (High Road House) come January, which is where his brand-new Mini E-bike comes in. There, showing off a deck of jelly baby designs to prospective clients, he’ll look like the real deal, flashing the steely Omega Speedmaster 38 you bought to replace the dubious ‘bust-down’ Patek Philippe sourced in Hatton Garden. Oh, and being a full-time hustler, Maxi’s keen to turn his men’s mental health podcast pipedream into a reality, making the digital creator’s preferred headphone of choice, AIAIAI’s TMA-2 Studio Wireless+, the perfect complement to the bro-den-cum-studio inside his parents’ Grade-II-listed townhouse.
When the gang come through in their matching Amiri bomber jackets, he can serve up cortados aplenty fresh from his shiny Carhartt WIP Rocket Espresso machine. So mature. One thing he can’t let go of as he approaches his mid-twenties, though, is an insatiable need to discuss ‘drip’, ‘drops’ and the basic economics of reselling. “It’s supply and demand,” he’ll tell his new year’s flame while pointing to the Corteiz two-piece “acquired” weeks before. But the best bit about your brother’s latest pivot towards de-toxifying masculinity as a metrosexual 2.0? He’s finally realised straight men can practise self-care, too. As such, you’ll want to book him straight onto a discreet Skin Laundry laser facial before his baby face loses its lustre. Or, simply wrap up a pair of Tekla Birkenstocks for that ashram retreat he’s splurged your father’s air miles on.
Your slightly clueless but financially endowed dad
For most of Nigel’s working life as a ball-busting CEO, he’s been respected, if not feared. Year in, year out, he’s earning accolades and commission in buckets as the Big Smoke’s finest hedge fund manager. And while you’re an ardent commie, more interested in reading Deleuze and Guattari’s Thousand Plateaus than listening to him whittle on about boring capitalist stuff, he does hold a special place in your heart after gifting you The Row’s Margaux bag as a little treat for getting into CSM. Girl, Möet Marxism is always chic! For the most part, you brush him off as he desperately seeks your approval, but somewhere, deep in your soul, you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. On paper, he’s got it all, but even you know that being straight, white and rich can be a little hard in today’s climate, which is why you’re paying a little more attention to his Christmas needs this year.
First things first, you’ll be picking out some of the latest Andy Murray-approved Castore designs for his next big tennis trip to Northern Spain with the old Etonians, plus some light reading. He’s asked for Steven Bartlett’s, The Diary of a CEO, but you’ve decided it’s time he wrestles with some critical thinking, especially after misgendering your new MA Applied Imagination coursemates. Travis Alabanza’s None of the Above should see to that. That said, you don’t want to overwhelm him, especially now that he’s decided your mother and you are conspiring against him in the culture war. So, remind him that he knows best with some Penhaligon’s The Omniscient Mr Thompson, then throw in an aptly rustic apron and infrared thermometer care of Ooni for the warmer weekends, when everyday is slow-cooked, smoked brisket day. Oh, and because he’s useless, he’s gone off-piste and bought your mum a road bike so that she can join him on his European jaunts. Yikes. Fret not, though, for you’ve got his back. Sub in some Stateside Madonna tickets and he can make a trip of it. Finally, feng-shui the shit out of his home office with Tom Dixon’s incense set, ease his repressive masculinity with some Paul Smith novelty socks, and take him for a Ruby Murray at the Tamil Prince.Last, but not least, tighten up those jowels that years of barking orders in the boardroom has etched into his once youthful visage with some suitably male-coded face firming from Horace.
Circuit queens
Ah, Michael, the humble circuit queen, who, despite his sometimes chi-chi look, just wants an easy, albeit sexually fulfilling, life. Yes, aside from the micro-drama that was his ban from Adonis, he’s had a pretty positive year, nailing his KPIs across all marketing accounts at Exposure, and going up a whole Speedo size after some serious squatting. You met him at a friend’s Prosecco brunch in Hoxton last year and immediately clicked after discovering that he too, is just one of the gals. Despite his provincial background, he’s made it clear he’s all about living big in the city, getting plenty of culture on the weekends and mixing with a diverse crowd of heavy-pecced men in chinos along the Vauxhall stretch. Heck, he’s even taken up swimming at the Hampstead men’s ponds. However, for all his talk, you know him better than himself, which is why you’ll be giving him exactly what he wants: a John Reed gym membership, some major Huel-supported gains, and a brand-new Viv Westwood harness to rock at Roast.
Of course, being a circuit queen can get a little repetitive – clue’s in the name, Michael! – and so it might be about time he considers finding someone a little more, you know, emotionally invested in him and his svelte obliques. Enter: the date night gift package, consisting of an evening of seasonal delights at the Andrew Edmunds eatery (a nice change from the liquid diet and side salads he usually grazes on in the company of other men) and a zhushy, sparkly scarf via Rabanne. If all else fails, he’ll already be in Soho. Just throw in an emergency care package, filled with some Pure For Men fiber support, a trusty bottle of Rush, and a very fashun jockstrap from Thom Browne and he’ll be sorted. Finally, because he’s now proudly past his masc-for-masc days, embracing his femme side, you can send him a sparkly wig to help him next time he gets turned down at the gender-queer night in Dalston. Teamed with his brand new Prada wrist pouch, pawprint Prowler socks and Adidas hi-tops, he’ll be ready for whatever the night holds.
The fashion nomad
Knowing what this girlie wants for Christmas isn’t necessarily that hard – the trick, however, is figuring out where on God’s good green earth to send it to. Not that they care much for the earth, mind you, if their net carbon emissions are anything to go by. Hopping from Paris to Patmos, Tokyo to Tulum, barely a day goes by without them posting a story from a locale so far flung from the one they were in, like, 12 hours before that you’ve reasonable grounds to suspect that they are, in fact, a witch. Luggage, of course, is a sensible option – AWAY do a fab set that’ll take a beating from even the toughest TSA agent without breaking the bank, though if you want to go for something that’ll really stand out on the baggage carousel, a case from the aptly named Mayfair trunkmakers Globe-Trotter’s a no brainer – obviously with an Hermès Airtag cover for good measure.
Given that they spend more time in the air than most migratory birds, seven-mile-high beauty hacks are a must – between the Augustinus Bader travel kit, 111 Skin’s Celestial Black Diamond eye masks and By Dr. Vali’s Cutis device, the risk of turning up to a resort show welcome dinner looking like Spirited Away’s Yubaba is put paid to, while Chanel’s Sublimage concealer is basically the gift of looking like you’ve had 10 hours sleep when you’ve only had two. Speaking of sleep, the greatest gift of all is a place to rest their head that isn’t a Qatar QSuite – when this intrepid explorer does eventually choose to settle down, though, it won’t be for anything less than where a Kering house would put them up on a press trip. For a girlie who’d rather be homeless than seen walking out of a Hilton, it’s Le Bristol or bust!
Your natty wine bar situationship
Figuring out what to gift a man whose taste changes as readily as the menu at Mountain Beak Street is hard. Last year, your efforts paid off – those Salomons were a no-brainer for those tri-weekly treks from the Spurstowe to the Prince George, and pulling on that Arc’teryx windbreaker and OTTO 958 cap for the first time was the closest you’d ever come to seeing a smile on – or hearing a word of gratitude from – his sallow lips. And indeed, for a good few months, he wore that look like his personality depended on it… because it did, of course, until the fateful day that the sardonic Gloves Flat Rendezvous caricatured his distinct and wholly individual style in an embarrassingly widely circulated TikTok.
Casting out anything that looked even faintly like hiking gear from his wardrobe with the same (lacking) reverence he showed you after your regretful first post-Blue Posts hook-up, his search for a new identity landed him at the shores of small plates restaurants. Suddenly, he became a new, softer man. Freitag rucksacks and charmingly rundown boozers were out, and in came bleached-out merch from biodynamic cider fairs, an Oranj subscription and Dalston natty wine bar crawls. Despite his attempts to give off an air of cultivated leftiness, behind all the tender affectations, he’s the same chauvinistic twat he always was – the copy of Nicola Dinan’s Bellies he’s been lugging around is fooling no one, and his attempts to formalise your situationship as a polyamorous relationship are basically down to him wanting to get away with cheating on you.
Why you are still chasing this man probably baffles you even more than us, but we get it – the heart wants what the heart wants. And ‘tis the season for giving, even if the only thing you’ll get in return is an antibiotic-resistant strain of chlamydia and a broken heart. In any case, a surefire way to prove that you’re committed to making things work is by committing to the entirely different person he’ll become in a month or two – new year, new you, as the saying goes! His ever-broadening eye rolls on hearing newbies ask the bar staff at Hector’s what makes orange wine orange — and the fact he’s started liking every single one of Thomas Straker’s posts — would imply that his stay on small plates’ shores will soon be coming to an end, so why not ease him into gout-ier territory with a dinner at Bouchon Racine or Bistro Freddie? In the same swoop, swap out that frayed Margaret Howell tote with one from St. John, a name you better get used to hearing. And while you’re at it, get ahead of him throwing out the roomy Studio Nicholson coat and the Kiko Kostadinov Asics he’s stomping about Stokey in by picking up a classic Aquascutum mac and a pair of G H Bass Weejuns loafers – the ultimate renaissance fuckboi footwear.
Your cheugy girlboss cousin
Kirsty’s had a tough year. She broke up with her boyfriend in February and he took the Fiat Punto. Her platform Uggs got splashed on the way over to Christmas dinner. She is distraught. Mum says we all have to be especially nice to her, because she’s had a hard time these past few months, and she deserves a break. Agreed! Kirsty needs some self-care to recover from this; gift her a FaceGym for her puffiness (lot of crying in 2023, eh), and some Byredo beauty to cheer her up. Oh god, Kirsty’s not happy. A distant aunt has gifted her some Dior baby beauty (pre-emptive), not realising she is now a single gal in the city, and Kirsty is crying. Another aunt — different tactic — has given her some Agent Provocateur lingerie and a gift voucher for a solo dinner at Lavo, encouraging her to get back out there. This has made it worse. Quickly, distract her with some Pandora charms from mum and shove that Diptyque candle holder into her arms and tell her how great it is that she now gets to live alone, in her girly flat! You can have Tekla bedding, Kirsty! Those Pols Potten glasses will look lovely in the cabinets! That Sofia Coppola archive book will look lovely on your coffee table! No more underwear on the floor! You encourage her to embrace her inner girlboss for 2024; reading — Yellowface is next on her list — journalling — you gift her a Smythson diary to let it all out — and cosying up to hibernate until hot girl summer. Her and that Burberry check wool hot water bottle will be best of pals until April.
The person you got stuck with in Secret Santa
The thing about the concept of secret santa, the thing about the concept of working in an office generally, is the anonymity of it all. Do you know this person whose name you have picked out of a hat in the office? No, you have never heard of them. Their face is a blank space in your mind. But this is ultimately a good thing, if you think positive; you can now project your own (good, naturally) taste onto this person, to elevate them to new levels of boujiness for the festive season. Or, you could split the difference and go for crowd pleasers, things that you presume everyone will enjoy. A Michael Kors handbag? Sure, you’ve seen some of those in the cloakroom before. Some Mejuri hoops? Why not! They’re sleek and office appropriate, you presume. An Anthropologie advent calendar? Sure, it’s Christmas, and they have skin! Damson Madder jammies and Fruity Booty underwear? Perfect: everyone needs sleep and everyone wears pants. Perfume is always a crowd pleaser too, right? You deliberate over an array of Le Labo (number 22 and number 31, natch) before eventually deciding on a candle. Not just any candle, a Perfumer H candle. But still, everyone loves candles. Make a New Year’s resolution to actually learn who these people are next year. Or alternatively, quit your job to avoid this.
Your Machievellian banker boyfriend
You promised yourself last year, remember, that you would end things with this guy in 2022, and now here we are in 2023 and you’re still together. It’s not all bad, you tell your friends. He’s nice sometimes! He takes you to nice restaurants — Mount Street is your place, you say — and nice hotels — Upper House in Hong Kong was a lovely summer holiday, even if you did have that massive row after you told him it was cringe he paid for X Blue membership. And he pays for your Profhilo tweakments at Jasmina Vico (your friends concede this is a great perk). So rather than breaking up with him, which will never happen, be honest, you resolve to make him better instead through the medium of gifts. You pepper the things he wants and will actually like — the Loro Piana baseball cap, the Le Chameau boots, the On Running trainers, and, for some reason, an incredibly expensive set of Japanese knives that you find… ominous, to say the least — with some bits you’d like him to have. A subscription to a magazine that will enrich his mind and expand his horizons (you suggest Skin Deep), and, appealing to his Patrick Bateman-esque qualities, tickets to Eliza Clark’s Boy Parts play (you got him the book last year, he never read it). He stares at these presents blankly. “Did you get me the Louis Vuitton key holder I asked you for?” he asks. You sigh. You cannot keep doing this in 2024.
Your wanderlust auntie
Yvonne made this year about finding herself, mum says. This has mainly meant blitzing through her ex-husband’s air miles (she got the points in the divorce settlement) and calling herself a “nomad” on Instagram. She’s back now, glowing — those Barbara Sturm Sun Drops, and enough under 100ml bottles of RéVive, has done wonders for her complexion — and wearing a lot of Etro and The Elder Statesman, having left her old M&S garms back in 2022, when she had never left the Schengen Area. Yvonne is hosting this year, and her house has undergone a nomad transformation too. Is that… Loewe incense, burning in the corner? Are those Cabana napkins? Moth cocktail crackers? Were there always this many Liberty print plates? Did Yvonne always have the complete works of Arundhati Roy on her bookshelf? You sit down to a wonderful vegan meal and let Auntie Yvonne regale you of her “adventures” at Potato Head in Bali or on Aman’s Bhutan trail. Six Senses resorts feature prominently in these tales. Mum is upset because Yvonne is happier with her nice string case for her iPhone Pro Max 15, which you bought her, than with the Good Earth fragrance mum decided on as a gift. God the holiday photos are going to be in high quality next year. Yvonne shows you 256 images of her on the beach in a bikini. You begin to feel wistful for her years with Uncle Terry and her weekends in the Algarve.