‘We prefer straight-up cash. Please and thank you’: in praise of the no boxed gifts
As wedding season comes around, we should be grateful for the request for money instead of physical gifts that will never see the light of day
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“What does ‘no boxed gifts’ mean?” asked my visiting American colleague, pulling out a gold wedding invitation from her bag. What began as a working lunch quickly pivoted into an anthropology session, our pasta cooling as we discussed cultural quirks. Being loosely Episcopalian and Californian, she was used to gift registries. The concept of no boxed gifts for newlyweds was entirely new.
I explained — as I have done to various friends and even a few strangers over the years — that it’s a polite way of saying: “Remove the Sage toaster from your John Lewis basket, put down the wrapping paper, holster the Sellotape. We’d prefer straight-up cash. Please and thank you.”
Reactions often vary. Many nod, accept and move on, whereas others scrunch their faces in distaste at what they see as a transactional and unromantic instruction. For those of us who have survived multiple summers on the South Asian wedding circuit, it’s second nature to hand over an envelope flush with sterling, but to those outside the culture it can seem a touch cold. I have no doubt, however, that they would quickly retract their judgment if they too had endured years of back-to-back weddings since childhood.
British Pakistani weddings don’t usually last just one day. There’s the mehndi, the nikkah, the reception and sometimes a few additional events like a dholki night. Then there are the chaotic years when wedding season feels endless. All your spare time disappears post-Ramadan and well into autumn. Summer is nothing but a blur of henna, sequins, Hiltons and chairs dressed in satin, so taking the guesswork out of gift giving is a small mercy. Trust me.
These days, when I see that italicised note at the bottom of a wedding invitation, I’m grateful and relieved. Those three words offer a brief reprieve from the stress of trying to be both thoughtful and efficient at the same time. And in this economy, it’s basically a favour. That four-pocket toaster after inflation and stagnant wages isn’t the safely affordable gift it once was.
In contrast, prepping for a non-Asian wedding can easily become Dante’s 10th circle of hell for me despite my delight at being invited. I fuss over wrapping and presentation like an Architectural Digest set dresser. Late to the gift registry? Good luck — all the best items have already been claimed and nothing that’s left feels quite right. Do I get something meaningful or something useful? Will they actually use it? Shit, don’t they already have this? Everyone likes candles, right?
I’m still scarred by the time I went to great pains to pick out the perfect gift, only to learn at the reception that so did three other guests. Apparently, an expensive engraved stationery set for a pair of authors isn’t the most unique present. I once simply gave up my search and paid for the happy couple’s dry cleaning. All this is to say, no one has ever had a silent panic attack in Paperchase over which envelope to slide the crisp £10 notes into.
I think asking for no boxed gifts speaks to the way we navigate generosity, obligation and cultural expectations, and that sometimes the most thoughtful thing you can do is make it easier for everyone. It reminds me of when there is a tragedy in the family, such as a death or an illness, and the kitchen fills up with food from relatives. Nothing can be magically fixed with a meal, but it’s meaningful nonetheless. The sentiment endures. Giving money isn’t lazy, it’s about choice. The newly married couple are given the gift of freedom, to spend the cash how they wish.
A few readers may be shaking their heads at my seemingly naive perspective, especially those with older aunties and uncles who keep literal spreadsheets of money gifted and received, making it into a kind of competition. Is it gauche? Yes. Do I admire their Excel skills? Yes. Do the nakedly visible maths make me uncomfortable? A little bit.
However, I think back to a few years ago when I came across a cupboard at a relative’s home as I helped them move house. Inside was a time capsule of wedding gifts from the late 1980s, lovingly given but never used. As I rifled through with curiosity and amusement, I could see why.
The forgotten inventory included a huge crystal chandelier still inside the box, a crystal duck, a crystal swan and a crystal cat-shaped fruit bowl — lots of crystal — dozens of dish sets, including duplicates of what must have been en vogue at the time (stripes), and a suitcase full of dated and gaudy fabric that would never see a sewing machine. A tacky spreadsheet pales in comparison now.
What good is your gift if it never sees the light of day? Of course, there is a certain joy from sourcing and giving someone we care about a special present, but that’s what birthdays are for.
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