I don’t think there’s any stigma
attached to regifting these days. It once
felt like the height of meanness and
carelessness, with its unspoken (but
still quite loud) “I couldn’t be bothered
to get you a proper present”. Now
though it looks thoughtful, generous
and impeccably ecologically virtuous.
Of course that assumes that you enter
into the new spirit of regifting and only
give really nice things, including things
you would ideally like to keep for your-
self or even things that it gives you a
little pang to part with.
Like many people I used to regift
thoughtlessly — more in the spirit of
“That’ll do” than of “They’re going to
love it”. I lied about it too: I never
mentioned the regifting aspect and let
the person believe that I’d gone to the
shops specially. I think this is why so
many people feel bad about regifting —
it’s the idea that there’s something
furtive and dishonest about it, some-
thing sneaky and a bit underhand, espe-
cially at this time of year, which should
be about abundance and generosity.
The old way of regifting was fraught. Sometimes I’d
watch someone opening the present and as they were
about to untie the ribbon, I’d suddenly go all hot and
think, “Oh God, what if they gave it to me in the first
place?” (The way to deal with that one, by the way, is
to say, “Yes, that is the same one! I know, identical.
I loved the one you gave me so much that I got you
one too.”) You could always keep a list of who gave
what unwanted gift to avoid the above scenario, or the
situation where the same box of bath salts eventually
trundles its way to every single family member. The
latter has happened in my family and, over the years,
become quite a good Christmas joke; see also a really
ugly mechanical Santa and a giant, and now very
vintage, bottle of aftershave.
If you’re going to embrace regifting, this isn’t the
moment to recycle the foot spa that has been sitting
in its dusty box for five years, unless you know
someone who would actually make use of it, like an
older person or someone who is on their feet all day.
It’s not the time to wrap up the subpar scented candle
with the nauseating smell unless you’re confident that
the giftee appreciates the fragrance of artificial vanilla.
Instead it’s time to wade through the good stuff.
We all have good stuff that we don’t use or need,
and that’s the stuff to regift. Often I regift presentsthat I impulse bought for myself but
that, on reflection, I didn’t really need
or want. This has the advantage of
feeling completely authentic: friends
and family know your taste, and if
you’re going to pretend you bought
the item as a gift for them, the
scenario is entirely plausible since
you’re giving them exactly the sort
of thing you’d buy. But actually these
days I don’t usually see the need for
pretending anything. Nine times out
of ten I admit to regifting because
there is nothing wrong with it.
At the height of lockdown a friend
who is an interiors obsessive was so
desperate for the shops to reopen
that they asked me to go around my
house on FaceTime in case they saw
anything they wanted to buy from
me, even though I didn’t have
anything for sale since I am not a
shop. But I do now know what to give
this friend for Christmas, and the fact
that I owned it first (and refused to
sell it) only adds to its desirability.
There’s no need to pretend I scoured
antique shops for days.
In fact, whether you own up to the regift or keep
quiet about it, bear in mind that regifting is about
the most sustainable thing you can do at this time of
year, being carbon neutral, not polluting, not envi-
ronmentally harmful and not exploitative of badly
paid workers on the other side of the world, plus it is
the very definition of responsible recycling. I also
think that since the present cost you zero pence, it’s
worth wrapping it as lavishly and prettily as possible.
Regifting used to be associated with a lack of
imagination — shoving any old unwanted thing at
any old person without ever asking yourself if the
gift and its recipient were a good fit. I particularly
hate people who give crap presents, especially if
they then lazily acknowledge the crapness by going,
“Ha-ha, well, it’s the thought that counts.” It is very
much the thought that counts, which is why it’s so
rude to give a present into which no thought has
gone at all — seriously, just make some fudge,
nobody doesn’t like fudge. Good regifting only
works when you carefully match the gift to its new
owner and are therefore able to give it to them
without any feeling of fobbing off, but rather with a
feeling of happy anticipation. No guilt, just great
presents. ■ @indiaknightThis isn’t the
moment to
recycle the
foot spa that
has been
sitting in its
dusty box for
five years
Rejoice — it’s now perfectly acceptable to regift an
unwanted present, says India Knight. Just be
honest, only give the good stuff and make sure it
didn’t come from the recipient in the first place ...
Graeme Montgomery/Trunk Archive, Victoria Adamson
The Sunday Times Style • 17