I Devised a Completely Fail-Safe Christmas Gift for Couples. Literally Nothing Can Go Wrong.

My fiancée and I have lived with each other for nearly four years, and in that time we’ve watched as domesticity has steadily eroded our combined complexities and nuances into a single fine point. All of our major infrastructural purchases—bookcases, coffee tables, TV consoles—have become collective decisions. We split Venmo charges for random new accessories like a vacuum, cooler, and Peloton bike that has been scarcely mounted since the end of COVID lockdowns, and there are other additions we’d like to make as well. Nights in our living room are often spent recounting all the things we’d someday like to have as we recede deeper into our post-30 sedentary existence—perhaps a king-size mattress, a pizza oven, or a den.

This dynamic can make the holidays strangely vexing. Unlike the gifts I will be buying for my friends and family, whatever I’m putting under the tree for my partner will also, inevitably, be an accoutrement of our home. I’ve found it impossible to untangle that paradox. Yes, we both have our own bespoke interests and hobbies, crucial for any successful marriage, but as far as big swings go—you know, the stuff that costs a couple hundred dollars and is in accordance with the spectacle of Christmas morning—we are simply too co-dependent to be unique in our conjoined appetite for stuff. That is why, this year, we are purchasing our first-ever joint gift: one (or more!) major present, tuned to both of our desires, with the cost split right down the middle. It’s the perfect way to celebrate the functional needs of the grown-up, dual-income incarnation of the holiday season, and I implore you to do the same.

Our joint gift this year is going to be a Steam Deck, which is essentially a powerful, portable PC that can be either used as a handheld device or hooked up to a larger monitor. It’s the perfect compromise gift for our relationship—she’s in the market for an ergonomic desktop she can use for her occasional Civilization IV binges, and I’m greatly looking forward to playing Diablo IV while lying naked in bed. Also, more pertinently, the Steam Deck we want costs $400, which is a notch and a half higher than what either of us is comfortable dropping on a single Christmas present. So, instead of wallowing around in the budgeting hell of the holidays, attempting to find just enough airspace in our bank accounts to supply enough well-meaning mediocrity to all of our loved ones, we’ve decided to simultaneously give and get something we actually want. We should’ve started doing this years ago, man. Maybe we would already have that pizza oven.

I’m not saying that this system works for everybody. It’s true that the joint gift removes the wonderful element of surprise: There’s no wrapping paper to tear off, tears to be shed, or anxious disappointment to swallow when you’ve already worked out your Yuletide investment weeks beforehand. My fiancée and I have known we are getting ourselves a Steam Deck since late November, which does dampen the spirit a bit. It’s also important to be good, effective communicators who are able to come to a consensus on how you’ll be rewarding yourself each holiday season. An imbalanced power dynamic can completely derail the process of selecting a perfect joint gift. Please, for the love of God, do not bully your partner into sacrificing their Christmas bankroll to buttress your own hobby. That’s a crime that should be punished with a lump of coal.

However, I have two counters to that sentiment. First, I have not been surprised by a Christmas present since I was 12, back when the appearance of a new video game on Dec. 25 could catapult me into stratospheric euphoria. All of the spontaneous joy I’ve fabricated for the gifts I’ve received since then—now that I have the money to purchase the things I want, whenever I want—is the result of good manners. The magic is already gone. In years past, my partner would literally send me a Google Doc containing links to the jewelry she liked, effectively removing my own faulty intuition from the equation entirely. All I needed to do was click a link and process my credit card number. In a world where everyone shares Amazon accounts and Wirecutter subscriptions, we already know what we’re all getting for Christmas anyway.

Second, and more importantly, consolidating the bulk of your resources in one major joint gift allows you to savor the only good part of holiday gift-giving: a ritual of the season that is far more authentic to the essence of Christmas. I speak, of course, of stocking stuffers. Now that the main event is settled, my fiancée and I can focus on the joyous schlock that isn’t worth wrapping up and placing under the tree—stuff that isn’t meant to impress anybody. This year, I plan to scour the halls of Paper Source and Flying Tiger, soaking up all of the loose knickknacks and gizmos I can find, so we may spend Christmas morning examining the highly disposable bric-a-brac in our stockings while the Steam Deck whirrs patiently in the corner. You can still enjoy the thrill of giving gifts, but with much lower, much more inexpensive stakes. That, my friends, is what the season is all about.

So if you too find yourself in a holiday bind—if you are struggling to identify an affordable present that is unique to the proclivities of your significant other—it might be time to finally have the joint-gift conversation. You’ll be happy that you did. After all, you’ve been talking about putting a bar cart in the living room forever, right?