don't buy me a gift, let's get dinner
an agnostic's birthday
Like an oyster, gift culture has been eating me alive. I’m over here embracing waves so I can shit out a pearl just to get plucked from my peace and shipped from Long Island to Long Beach?? Right when you feel like you’ve made some progress, a hand reaches into the water and suddenly you’re shelling out: holidays ! weddings ! babies ! galentines ! (..?)
And let me be so clear: it is no singular person’s responsibility. *Sigh* we’re all complicit in oyster shucking. Honestly, in a vacuum, each exchange is quite lovely. How could I complain, when such occasions are always paired with a bottle of bubbles and a sincere sentiment? But I’ve always thought… if the part we’re getting to is expressed appreciation and time spent together, why not just cut out the middle man (the gift) and get right to it?
This is the soapbox I look forward to mounting exactly one day of every year: my birthday!
As someone without a pregnancy, an engagement, or any discernible religion, my birthday is the only day a year I get to practice a lack of hypocrisy on the subject.
I stopped asking for gifts on my 13th birthday. That year I probably attended 30+ Bar / Bat Mitzvahs. My parents had one rule: I could not attend the reception without observing the service. I remember them, weekend after weekend, folding cash in multiples of 18 into my outstretched hand as they dropped me off in front of that afternoon’s synagogue. I’d sit in temple, understanding nothing except for that, dang this is a lot of work, they really earned this $36. Then, with challah firmly wedged in the brackets of my braces, I’d grind on a country club dance floor with the entire 7th grade until 10PM sharp. It was euphoric.
When April 2008 rolled around I had my first ever experience with Faith— a crisis of. I wanted so badly for everyone at school to make time for me, but I didn’t have Hebrew school to show for it. What had I been working on? All I did at the time was write “fuck!!!” in my faux-fur journal and cry over having Bearclaws instead of Uggs. My brain chemistry changed forever: if this is to celebrate me just because, then who am I to turn a profit?
Thus, 60ish kids were invited to a “bash” at my house and the ticket to entry was a donation to the Susan G. Komen Foundation. Honestly, because my grandma had breast cancer and I thought I’d maybe grow boobs like hers (I didn’t). And super honestly, because my favorite color was pink.
I raised thousands that night.
I’d call the whole affair productive, if vaguely problematic. It set a precedent… once you ask for donations instead of gifts, you kind of can’t go back. Oh, ~this year~ you think your JUICY COUTURE is more important than people SUFFERING? Call it healthy / agnostic / white guilt or whatever, but 15 birthdays later, I’ve lost steam for fundraising and therefore the campaign for Myself.
Because of this, the only time I feel an authentic impulse to buy gifts for someone is when they’re a member of a cultural requirement or a victim of hardship. Otherwise, if you chose this and you’re also Doing Great… remind me why you need something from me other than my sincere happiness for you and continued friendship ?
This isn’t a criticism. It’s a genuine question I’m raising in a sea of people I’m convinced are scared to ask. Of course, I don’t mean occasions of great cultural significance. I’m talking about birthdays and other “universal” borderline-capitalist occasions. Bat Mitzvahs = Yes ! A bachelorette trip = Ehhh ! My random birthday of which I will hopefully receive 90+ of = No <33333333
In my opinion, such celebrations should be mutually beneficial / meaningful and unrequited exchanges of goods should be saved for those who are doing the opposite of celebrating. I’d rather spend the entirety of my savings on flying to a friend who is grieving than getting myself to Tulum for Kayla’s bachelorette. And unless you are one of the lucky successors of generational wealth, I am 100% sure you do not, in your 20s, have the budget for both.
And that’s why I suggest dinner. Oh thank god, I thought this was a food column not the clarion call of a Valley Girl who is definitely going to hell.
You are human, you need to eat. I am human, I need to eat. Why not… eat together? We check off 1 of 3 meals that day that we were going to need anyway and yap away. Maybe we wouldn’t make time for it if it wasn’t an occasion, so let’s wield this birthday / promotion / engagement into real connection! We can split the check or make the meal ! Save your money on the expensive boutique shelf shit you were going to shove into a used gift bag, save your time on the homemade thing I honestly do not want and sit in front of me and just be ! with ! me !
[Gasps for air] This oyster is on thin ice.
I’m calling a nationwide Girls Town Hall. There are conversations in private, murmurings behind backs. Some of us feel like we’re all participating in a toxic feedback loop of expected astronomical generosity under the pretense of “it’s my turn now and your turn next!” But the logic doesn’t align when someone either decides not to (or can’t) take their turn. If I’m celebrating me, I want to make it easy on you. It’s my honor and privilege to bring you into my success and happiness. A lot of birthday girls / brides / lucky bitches get this. I think more do than not, but we still have a ways to go.
Perhaps I have an unhealthy association with generosity and productivity. Perhaps I should learn how to accept generosity when I don’t need it or it isn’t earned. Perhaps my lack of cultural inheritance of any kind makes my birthday the only time anyone would celebrate me and by my own principles I’ve denied myself that one opportunity. :)
Without prescribed customs, I’ve created my own set of custom beliefs.
I believe in food!
Happy Birthday to me!
