An A-Z of bizarre gifts

For Christmas in 1964, my late dad, Gerald, was given that year’s edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Since it was his 18th birthday four days later, my grandparents rounded up and announced that it was his present for that milestone too. And because he was a twin, they informed him and his sister, Lesley-Anne, that this single set of tomes was actually a joint Christmas and birthday present for them both.

This meant 24 cream-coloured, leather-bound books would be divided up between two teenagers on the verge of entering the adult world who, it would turn out, would never live under the same roof again. Had my grandparents thought this through? “Lesley-Anne, you were born first by a couple of minutes, you get ‘A to Jeremy’.” “Gerald, ‘Jerez to Zygote’ are all yours!” It’s like something out of a Monty Python skit. Such a compendium would be an especially peculiar present in 2022. Does anyone under the age of 30 even know what an encyclopaedia is? In our internet-saturated world, have kids heard of the once-venerated Britannica? Ironically, I googled it — the World Book is now the only one still in print.

Talk about publications that got generations of South African kids through school projects. In the spirit of research, I had a leaf through my dad’s still-pristine midcentury Britannicas — yes, he ended up with the entire set, my aunt was not heartbroken. They are charming in their heft, with microscopic text on wafer-thin stock and sporadic glossy sections adorned with black-and-white photos. If you’re looking for information about something that happened before, say, the moon landing, you could be in luck.

My dad said Britannica remained far superior to his new books apropos information about ancient Rome. The account in it was written not long after that epoch, after all. A friend asked whether such reference books had been the gold standard of coming-of-age gifts in the 1960s. “No,” said my mother, raising an eyebrow when I posed the question. “I’m sure your grandparents were just hoodwinked by a roving encyclopaedia salesman,” she added.

That, 58 years later, we’re still discussing this curious present says something of the power of gifts. In fact, it says something of the power of bad and weird gifts. Those are the ones we remember. True, being given a Maserati is probably something you won’t forget easily (unless it’s your 10th Maserati). Likewise, a ticket to the Seychelles should stand out. But what about the Kiki de Montparnasse tufted boudoir chaise (otherwise known as a sex chair)? It screams both “this gift will be etched in your mind forever” and “eat the rich”. As just over R500 000 worth of black leather and brass, combined for maximum precarious pleasure, is wont to do.

I don’t understand how the chaise, Dali-elephant-like on its surreal spindly legs, works. I do know it’s the standout item in this year’s Goop gift guide. Goop is actress Gwyneth Paltrow’s wellness and lifestyle brand, and its yearly gift guides make great material for columnists like me. There are lovely but instantly forgettable items such as sleep masks and lip balms. Then there’s the aforementioned chaise, almost R7 000 worth of black-satin baguette bag (as in, it carries bread), and 4kg of free-range compost for roughly R1 300. At least the latter qualifies as useful shit.

For my tenth birthday I was given Blue Grass Dusting Powder. My mother stands by the fact that it was a gift bought in desperation – on holiday in a tiny village with no shops. I’ve never forgotten it. I’m turning 40 in January. I hope this time she surprises me with an outlandish tote in which to carry my bread. I know where she can get one.

• Sarah Buitendach is contributing editor to the Financial Mail.