There are many phrases used at this time of year that can bring you out in a cold sweat. And I suspect ‘secret Santa’ is pretty high up on the list.
For those who have not encountered the phrase, this is the notion of buying something for someone else in a group. A price limit is set. Sometimes there are other rules (e.g. no toiletries).
You know who you are buying for, but the recipient doesn’t know who bought it. Thus, you are a secret Santa – and so is everyone else involved.
This sounds all very straight forward. Money-saving, potentially. Plus you get a nice little buzz at the work Christmas do when people open their presents.
That’s the theory.
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Christmas Past
I first encountered secret Santa activities when I was working in a cafe, after leaving school. There wasn’t a Christmas party (we were the catering, after all) but there were little gifts for each other.
With an almost exclusively female staff, it could have been very easy for people to buy bubble bath, and have done with it. To make it a bit more challenging, and personalised, the rule was introduced that you were not to buy toiletries.
Whoever bought for me knew what she was doing. We had a lot of regular customers at the cafe, some of more interest to the (aforementioned) female staff than others.
So I received a book token – which meant a) the buyer knew I liked books and b) I could go into the bookshop a few doors up where a certain regular customer worked.
Of course, it didn’t quite work like that. There was someone else on the cash desk on the day I went in to choose my book. But it was a good try.
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Secret Santas get a bit harder when the group of staff gets bigger: and you don’t really know who you are buying for. Your presents get a bit more generic, to be on the safe side.
One year I didn’t know the person at all but crossed my fingers and went with one of these (in orange). Luckily it went down well. Phew.
My difficulty came where secret Santa clashed with ‘snide Santa’. Some people, aware they couldn’t get much for their money (probably five pounds), went with the ironic Christmas present option.
The presents weren’t outright rude (there is, of course, big money to be made in rude presents). But they were fairly deliberately chosen for their ugliness, it seemed.
This was probably fun in the buying. I’m sure it was. But my present-buying Santa was still back in the good old days of present buying while abroad.
So I would spend time picking out something I liked (yes, we obviously do buy presents for others that we ourselves like). And receiving something that had been sniggered over.
I’m concerned I sound like I’m on my high horse here. Because getting a present you like can be a lovely thing – and there is a charm to it when someone gets it right.
Particularly when you don’t know who to thank, but everyone just glows a little. (Or maybe that’s the Christmas party alcohol kicking in.)
I don’t think I’m alone in my uncertainties on the merits of secret Santa. (Wikipedia kindly confirmed that the original intention works out in some strange ways, if you read on in the article).
I could hunt up other blog posts on the same topic – but searches are overtaken by stores offering the ideal solution to your secret Santa dilemma. Because with a ready market for people all looking for a low-cost present, why wouldn’t you sell to that?
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Christmas Present
I do go to Christmas dos for work, these days. For whatever reason, there is no secret Santa element. Maybe it’s the recession, maybe it’s just one less thing for everyone to do.
I tend to draw a sigh of relief. (So, I’m sure, does the senior member of staff. No dressing up duties.)
I am contemplating something different this year, but maybe closer to the notion of a secret Santa. The shoebox present, with toys but also essential items, for kids who genuinely lack for the basics we take for granted.
I know I’ve missed out on the big ‘first, find your shoebox’ aspect. The choosing, maybe the putting it together with someone else.
But I’ve realised you can still do it online – you pick the items, the organisation puts it together.
These days, you can say who it’s from – and you can even register your parcel online so that you find out where your particular shoebox has gone to. I like that notion.
But I also like the notion of secretly choosing and giving – with the prospect of all the joy for the one who opens the present. That’s really what we’re after.