The rules of present-iquette
12 August 2025
Present-iquette refers to the art of buying and receiving presents. You might not think of this as an art, but you’d be wrong. It absolutely is. Or an art in two parts, if you will.
What follows is mostly a rant, of the kind you might see on a dusty episode of Grumpy Old Women, but I don’t care. It’s fun. Plus, good things will (probably) come to those who follow these rules.
Summer is ‘birthday season’ in my social circle.
My parents had three children in the same month – thankfully not in the same year – which makes me think that the first rule of present-iquette starts before birth. Note to any prospective parents reading: if you space your kids’ birthdays out a bit, you’ll save yourselves quite a lot of stress. Trust me on that.
(Also: summer birthdays come a close second to Christmas birthdays in their total rubbishness. You can’t celebrate properly because everyone’s always on holiday or at a wedding.
Oh, and when I was at school I didn’t get a birthday song like the rest of my classmates. My teacher just gathered everyone whose birthdays fell over the summer holidays and did a joint song for all of us, instead. I already got a joint song and joint presents at home, due to my sisters being born in the same month as me. The scars still run pretty deep!).
Also: try not to do what I did, and choose friends who also have birthdays around the same time as yours. It’s pure present-buying carnage.
The second rule of present-iquette: say a proper “thank you”.
If, as a kid, you had to hand-write thank-you notes to old relatives after your birthday or Christmas, you’re probably as old as me (congratulations). These days, you’re lucky if you get a “thank you” text. If you gave a child a present, that text will come from one of their parents instead. There is no surer sign that humanity is on its way out.
Next: don’t turn present-buying into a chore for the person you’re buying for.
As in: don’t ask people what they want for their birthday, then get all huffy if they don’t come up with anything. As someone who cares about them, it’s your job to choose something you think they might like. If you’ve known them a while, that should be easy enough… shouldn’t it?
(Note: if you don’t care about them but you’re still obliged to give them a present, it’s much more fun to get something you think they might hate).
And then… accept all presents with grace. Even the ones you hate.
When I was a teenager, my dad’s strange then-girlfriend got me a cheap sewing kit for my birthday. I’ve got no idea why. Maybe she wanted me to mend some of the clothes that were strewn across my bedroom floor, most of them with broken zips or buttons missing. (I was a careless, scruffy, ‘head-in-the-clouds’ sort of kid).
The point is, though, even though it was a rubbish present I smiled brightly and said “thank you”. “You sounded like you really wanted that nasty old sewing kit!” said my best friend, who was in the room at the time of opening. “Yes… that was the point,” I said, watching her face as she recalled my reaction to every present she’d ever bought me.