There is a particular kind of man who is impossible to buy for, and it is not the man with expensive taste. It is the man who insists he needs nothing, owns four identical jumpers, and will nonetheless be visibly disappointed by a voucher.
The solution is not to guess harder. It is to give him something he would never buy himself but will absolutely keep: an object that is well made, slightly funny, and handsome enough to leave out. Nobody displays a novelty mug for ten years. People display books for ever.
The best gift for a man who wants nothing is something that looks like it cost thought rather than money. It should cost both, but it only has to look like one.
Ten suggestions, in no particular order of affection.
One
The Joy of Doing Nothing
For the boyfriend who describes a Saturday with no plans as "wasted". A cloth-bound, nine-chapter defence of sitting down, written with the gravity of a man who has clearly never been asked to help move a sofa. He will read the first chapter aloud. You will regret nothing.
Buy on {store}Two
The Complete Guide to Looking Busy
The desk gift. Includes a fold-out chart of plausible facial expressions for meetings and a chapter on walking quickly while holding a laptop. It lives on his desk at work, where colleagues will pick it up, read two lines, and quietly order one.
Buy on {store}Three
A pair of solid brass duck bookends
Heavy, slightly absurd, and completely unimpeachable. Brass animals occupy the exact point where a gift stops being a joke and starts being an heirloom. They also solve the problem the previous two items create, which is that he now owns books and nowhere to put them.
Find it on {store}Four
On Being Slightly Late
Only give this one if the relationship is secure. Eleven minutes, examined from every philosophical angle except the apologetic one. It is a gift and a position paper. Best handed over in person, eleven minutes after you said you would arrive.
Buy on {store}Five
A wax seal and monogram set
Nobody needs this. Everybody who receives one uses it immediately, repeatedly, and on things that did not require sealing — birthday cards, bills, a note about the bins. Choose his initial, choose burgundy wax, and accept that the next six months of your post will look like a Victorian land dispute.
Find it on {store}Six
How to Disappear
Thirty-one destinations chosen entirely for their poor mobile reception. For the boyfriend who talks about going off-grid and has never once been further than a train station café. Doubles neatly as the opening move in a conversation about actually booking something.
Buy on {store}Seven
The Perfectly Respectable tote
Heavy cotton, forest-green print, the duck in the corner. He will claim he does not use tote bags and then use this one for everything, including things a tote bag is structurally unsuited to carrying.
Find it on {store}Eight
A Field Guide to Overthinking
Illustrated throughout, so there is something to look at at three in the morning. Organised like a naturalist's handbook: each species of worry gets a plate, a Latin name and notes on habitat. Affectionate rather than pointed, which is the difference between a good joke gift and an argument.
Buy on {store}Nine
Absurdly good reading socks
The sock is the most patronised gift in the catalogue and the most used. Ribbed merino, one shade of green, no slogan, no cartoon. The entire trick is buying a pair twice as expensive as anyone would buy themselves and saying nothing about it.
Find it on {store}Ten
The Deadpan Classics cover pack
For the last-minute case. Twelve printable covers for books that do not exist, delivered instantly. Wrap one around a paperback he already owns, hand it over, and watch him read the spine three times. Costs nine pounds and takes four minutes, which is the best ratio on this list.
Buy on {store}If you only buy one
Buy the book that describes a habit of his he half-defends. The Joy of Doing Nothing for the one who never rests, On Being Slightly Late for the one who is, A Field Guide to Overthinking for the one at three in the morning. The gift is not the joke. The gift is being seen clearly and liked anyway, in hardback, for twenty-five pounds.