I received a reasonable question from a reader.
Why would you maintain a relationship with friends or family members who ask for outrageously expensive items on their holiday wish list?
My answer: “Because we are all flawed.”
To which the reader followed up: “Do you give in to their demands at the risk of alienating them?”
Me again: “No, I don’t entertain such foolishness. I chuckle and love them anyway.”
I recognize that a debate about pricey presents seems at odds with the many pressing issues in our economy right now.
In defense of his inflationary tariff policies, President Donald Trump has mocked the affordability struggles facing American families over housing, food, and health care. He comically believes families are choosing between buying more than three dozen dolls for their daughters and paying for necessities. Or that if they wanted fewer pencils, they could make ends meet.
The billionaire president trivializes the economic hardship of everyday Americans — the non-billionaire folks he is so far removed from. Similarly, the friends and family who innocently (or not-so-innocently) ask for costly gifts tend to ignore your financial limits as well.
Recently, I asked my readers: What’s the most ridiculous or expensive item a friend or family member has placed on their holiday gift list? The responses came back, and I wasn’t quite prepared for the outlandishness of the requests.
The caregiver for a nonagenarian shared how the woman’s daughter-in-law wanted a $1,100 vacuum cleaner.
While getting her nails done, another reader found herself in conversation with a customer whose grandson (and his parents) were pressuring her to buy a $2,000 drone as a useful educational tool because “he’s into exploring and learning about new technology. ”
When asked if there was anything else on his wish list she could get instead, the woman said the child’s list had nothing else, just the drone.
“I’ve got one for you,” one reader emailed. A teenage relative wanted a fur coat. She “lives in a part of the country where the weather only rarely dips below 30.”
Not all expensive wishes come with such blatant pressure or ultimatums. Sometimes, the desire for luxury is tempered by an understanding of financial limits and, crucially, gratitude.
“We have one daughter, now 26 [who] has always made long wish lists with product links, colors, and sizes,” one reader wrote. “I find it very helpful. She knows she will only get a portion of the list, so the surprise element is always there. Two recent Christmases in a row [she asked] for a Louis Vuitton Neverfull bag.”
I had to look up the price. This designer handbag can cost between $2,000 and $3,100.
This mom didn’t indulge her daughter. “She knew in advance that it was a huge leap to pay all that for a bag. To her, it felt fun to put it on her wish list. But she has never whined or been ungracious as a gift recipient, and that makes me want to be more generous.”
After reading about demands for four-figure luxury gifts, presents priced only in the hundreds seemed almost reasonable.
“My sister demanded a specific $300 electric scooter for her 7-year-old grandson,” one reader wrote. “She and her daughter had huge temper tantrums when I declined out of concern for his safety, as well as the price point.”
With their plan foiled, a registry with links followed. There were no items under $100.
“I’m no longer letting anyone try to guilt or bully me into buying a ridiculously expensive item from a registry or wish list,” the person wrote. “Or at least I’m trying; the pressure can be relentless.”
I share these stories not to discourage generosity, but to urge people to consider the burden they place on those who feel obligated to meet such extravagant expectations, even if it means taking on debt.
There’s also another side to gift-giving — the people who would rather you didn’t buy them anything.
“I dislike presents,” a Minnesota reader wrote. “Neither gifting nor receiving is my love language. Giving only brings me joy when I randomly encounter something that I know will delight another person. Unfortunately, this is rarely tied to any calendar holiday. I’m also in a privileged position of having everything I need. Beyond that, I hate stuff; I hate accumulation; I hate needless spending. I hate waste. But my family loves gifting.”
In his essay “Gifts,” Ralph Waldo Emerson writes: “He is a good man, who can receive a gift well.”
For years, I failed that test. By constantly criticizing commercialism, I made it difficult for others to buy me gifts.
My perspective changed one holiday. My son, then eight years old, started to tear up after repeatedly trying to figure out what I wanted for Christmas. He kept peppering me with questions: What games did you like as a child? What’s your favorite color? I kept shutting him down: “Honey, anything you give me will be fine,” I kept insisting.
The look on his face — tears welling up in his eyes — stopped me. I finally understood: my son’s love language is giving; he just wanted to find something special for his mother. I stopped protesting and started accepting. Now, when asked, I provide a list of affordable things they can purchase.
I try to remember that innocent moment — and Emerson’s warning against the emotional harm caused when we “grieve at a gift” because it wasn’t on our list or we didn’t want a present at all.
Gratitude, regardless of the present, is the most priceless gift we can give.
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