There was a time not so long ago that holiday shopping in person felt like a noble quest. You’d brave the crowds, the elevator carols, and the perfume spritzers lying in wait like airport security agents armed with atomizers. But you did it anyway, because there was something about holding the gift in your hands, knowing it wasn’t just a product, it was thoughtful. And when you finally made it to the register at Macy’s or Bloomingdale’s, you got your reward: a crisp, perfectly sized gift box.
That, dear readers, was your trophy for surviving the retail gauntlet.
Fast forward to now, and you’ll find yourself clutching a sweater for Aunt Beatrice and asking, ever so politely, “Could I get a box for this?” only to be told, “Sorry, we’re out.” Or worse: “We don’t do boxes anymore.” No boxes. No tissue paper. Just a sad plastic bag and a QR code for a survey asking how likely you are to recommend their “holiday experience” to a friend.
The nerve! We’ve been told to come back to the malls to support brick-and-mortar retail and to revive the Christmas spirit. But if we’re going to put on real pants, pay for parking, and risk losing a shoe in the Bloomingdale’s handbag department, the least they can do is hand us a box. The online people don’t need one, Amazon ships everything in its own climate-controlled sarcophagus. But those of us out here doing the Lord’s work of in-person shopping deserve something for our trouble.
A box isn’t just packaging. It’s a symbol. It says, “I didn’t just click ‘Add to Cart.’ I chose this. I stood under fluorescent lighting for 40 minutes while someone ahead of me returned a half-used candle, and I still emerged victorious.” That box is validation. It’s retail’s version of a participation trophy. We’ve earned it.
Instead, we now find ourselves at home with piles of gifts and nothing to put them in. Cue the annual rummage through the “box bin,” where you’re faced with the difficult decision of using a flattened Tiffany box from 2012 that you can’t bring yourself to reuse because it feels like false advertising, or a box from a store that went out of business eight years ago. Once you realize that one only has a top, no bottom, the Tiffany box starts looking pretty good. So you wrap the sweater freehand, and the corners look like they were folded by a raccoon wearing mittens.
Meanwhile, the store executives are on CNBC talking about how they’re “re-imagining the customer experience.” Great. Start by re-imagining the box.
So here’s my modest holiday proposal: if you’re a department store and you still expect people to come in person, the price of admission should include a complimentary, well-fitted gift box. I don’t need a latte station or a TikTok wall or whatever “immersive experience” you’re cooking up this year. Just give me a box so I can wrap my gifts like a functioning adult and not like someone who just fought an actual bear over the last cashmere scarf.
After all, Christmas isn’t just about giving, it’s also about boxing.
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Thanks for reading!
Frosty
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