Holiday shopping, gift-giving, and re-gifting
I have a confession to make: I’m more of a browser than a shopper.
Specifically, I’m a typical male shopper/browser. If I actually need something—clothes and accessories, groceries, or a particular gift for someone I know well—I plant it in my head or write a note, go to a specific shop, select the item, pay, and leave. Fast. Efficient. Very macho, indeed. The rest of the day is free for browsing.
Because of this, I’m a big fan of malls. Growing up in Manila, I’ve seen how they evolved from single-building department stores—like the OG SM (a true shoe mart in Carriedo), Ali Mall, Good Earth Emporium (the candy carousel and rooftop Ferris wheel were prime attractions), and the old Glorietta—to today’s multi-layered shopping complexes and superstores.
Even as e-commerce has fundamentally changed the retail landscape, forcing many to shop online, brick-and-mortar malls are adapting, transforming from purely transactional spaces into experiential and social hubs. The supermalls now cover vastly more acreage and offer endless food choices. It’s a marketing strategy that’s sneakily vulgar: let the customers walk and browse themselves to death until they seek refuge and sustenance.
Yet our love affair with malls is entirely understandable. There’s a genuine, simple joy in the hunt. During the holidays, there’s a palpable buzz the moment you step into any of these meccas, including wholesale stores like S&R and Landers.
Over-the-top décor is complemented by Christmas tunes, both competing with the din of humanity—and, often, its odor. Literally bumping into someone you know can be a real treat—a friend or relative, for instance—or a threat, a source of major awkwardness or embarrassment if it’s an ex or a debtor.
Our main goal during this season, of course, is to shop for gifts.
With the abundance of choices and the dazzling variety of shopping platforms, finding the perfect present has become a game of discovery, with the difficulty depending on how well you know the recipient.
Take a geek, for example. Geeks and nerds are some of the easiest people to please. Graphic novels, games, consoles, and model kits are always welcome—and rightly so, because they usually cost a fortune.
These days, with the immense popularity of Korean culture, you’d think it would be a cinch to get something for a Hallyu fan. Not so. Let’s check out the landscape.
Mostly appealing to women but increasingly to men, I’m referring to K-Beauty products, fashion and accessories, and K-Drama and K-Pop merch.
Cult favorites include Sulwhasoo’s First Care Activating Serum, represented by Blackpink’s Rosé, and Hera’s stylish makeup line fronted by Jennie. Fans of Lisa can also enjoy the MAC x L collection inspired by her personal style, while Enhypen and Han So-hee bring star appeal to BYS Cosmetics.
Fashion items are equally popular, especially those endorsed by major idols, where BTS members reign supreme: RM for Bottega Veneta; Jin for Gucci and Laneige; Suga for Valentino; J-Hope for Louis Vuitton; Jimin for Dior; V for Cartier and Celine; and Jungkook for Calvin Klein. Surprisingly, no Korean idol is on the roster of Hermès, probably because the house doesn’t consider celebrity endorsements a brand-building tactic.
For a more playful touch, official K-Pop light sticks, K-Drama-themed mugs and blankets, curated snack hampers, plushies from hit series, and photocard binders all make thoughtful gifts. These items add fun and personality, letting fans celebrate their love for Korean pop culture in everyday life.
How do I know all this? Well, for one, I’m an Army dad, with a daughter whose room looks like a BTS shrine. I’m also surrounded by Millennials and Gen Zs who simply can’t get enough of Brand Korea, often flying off to the source for an authentic experience.
Which brings me to what these young people want for Christmas.
I’ve heard that Millennials prefer “intentional consumption” and “experience gifting.” Isn’t everything these days experiential and consumable? Gen Zs, meanwhile, are apparently “frugal by necessity” but with exacting aesthetic standards. They call it curation; I call it cheap but picky.
The perfect gift for them, it appears, is one that matches their carpe diem mentality or insatiable desire to create Instagram or TikTok moments. A quick trip out of town or a well-planned holiday is a gift that keeps on giving: content for them, quality time for you. Their invaluable assistance (as your Sherpas, stylists, and unofficial photographers) counts as their Christmas gift in return. They may not wrap anything, but they curate everything.
Aside from the tried-and-tested gifts of food and angpao, a trip also conveniently skirts the delicate matter of re-gifting.
Yes, re-gifting is the secret phantom limb of the holiday season. It’s economical, sustainable, and, some would say, smart—a practice that often gets a bad rap. I see it as a form of practical recycling, an informal circulatory system for perfectly good items that just happened to miss their mark the first time around. One person’s unwanted scented candle, water flask, body lotion, or bath set may be another’s emergency host gift.
I’m not judging. Waste not, want not. Re-gifting is an art. With so many presents exchanged each year—on birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, and the holidays—it can be tedious to keep track of who gave what. Perhaps anyone in the habit of re-gifting should keep a list to avoid the embarrassing situation of giving someone something they originally gave you—or to a common friend. I’m sure quite a number of people have experienced this.
At the end of the day, when holiday shopping feels like wandering through the multiverse—half Black Mirror, half Everything Everywhere All at Once—perhaps the best presents are those that give us stories to retell, memories to repost, and moments we cannot, in good conscience, re-gift.
