The Bougie Brunette’s Guide to Gifting

On Heirlooms, Intention, & Giving Like You’ve Done This Before

Someone once told me I was a good gift giver, and I remember laughing — not because it wasn’t kind, but because I don’t think of myself as someone who shops particularly well. What I do think I’m good at is paying attention.

When a friend asks, “What should I get her?” my mind doesn’t jump straight to stores or price points. It wanders instead — to where that person is in life, what they’re building, what they’re carrying, and what might quietly belong in their next chapter. Gifting, to me, has never been about impressing. It’s about choosing — sometimes from a shop, sometimes from a cabinet, sometimes from memory — something that feels right.

I’ve learned over time that the most meaningful gifts live at the intersection of intention and timing. Some gifts must be purchased. Some already exist. The art is knowing the difference.

I often start by thinking about legacy. Some of the most cherished pieces in my own life once belonged to the women who came before me — crystal, silver, small everyday objects that witnessed decades of living. When you admire something in your mother’s or grandmother’s home, say it out loud. Sometimes loved ones don’t have endless resources, but they do have beautiful things — and they may be waiting for the right moment, or the right person, to pass them on.

I was reminded of this most clearly when we were helping my grandmother move out of her apartment toward the end of her life. We knew her granddaughter — my cousin Hillary — was recently engaged to be married. As we sorted through the apartment, my grandmother didn’t know what to do with a set of crystal champagne flutes. It’s hazy who said they would make the perfect gift for the newlyweds, but she made sure they were tucked aside and earmarked for them. Before the wedding, my grandmother passed, and when Hillary received those glasses, I’m sure it felt like more than just a gift. It felt like continuity. Like love moving forward. Gifts, when chosen this way, transcend generations.

Of course, not everything meaningful can be found in a drawer or curio cupboard. Many moments call for thoughtful purchases — especially when you’re just starting to build a life with your significant other. When someone I love is getting married, I think less about the wedding day and more about the quiet evenings that follow. A Waterford ring holder that becomes part of a nightly ritual. A sterling silver cake cutter that ensures the first slice on their special day isn’t the last. Crystal champagne flutes — whether newly purchased or lovingly inherited — pulled out for anniversaries and milestones. Sometimes an investment in a case of champagne makes sense, not for show or all at once, but for all the moments in the years to come.

Buying a home is another threshold that deserves care. I tend to look for gifts that help someone settle in, not just decorate. A brass or stylized door knocker. A key-shaped piece of jewelry — symbolic, yes, but also grounding. Beautiful stationery paired with a self-inking address stamp for those “We’ve moved” notes. These aren’t things meant to impress; they’re meant to anchor.

There are also the gifts everyone needs and rarely thinks to buy. A letter opener that lives on a desk for decades. A champagne stopper that appears year after year (or lives on a bottle in my refrigerator constantly, lol). A Dutch oven. A candle snuffer. A silver or copper cocktail tray. A crystal vase that always seems to be brimming with fresh blooms. These are the pieces that quietly become part of daily life — not flashy, just faithful.

When someone is ill, overwhelmed, or in a quieter season, gifting shifts. This is where presence matters more than polish. I lean toward small, gentle offerings — a watercolor kit, a simple stitching project, a coloring book, or a favorite book with a heartfelt inscription. These gifts don’t rush anyone forward. They simply say: take your time.

Welcoming a new baby is another moment where thoughtfulness matters. While the world naturally celebrates the little one, some of the most meaningful gifts are for the mother. Luxurious, washable pajamas. Morning and evening casseroles that can be heated and eaten without thinking. And sometimes the greatest gift is simply showing up — folding laundry, washing dishes, holding space. For the baby, I gravitate toward heirloom-minded pieces: a simple silver rattle (perhaps from Tiffany & Co.), or a personalized cookie plate saved for Santa each Christmas. Objects that carry ritual, not clutter.

Loss calls for something different entirely. In those moments, I don’t believe in “things.” I believe in care. Dinner. Forget-me-not seeds. A handwritten letter. Grief doesn’t need fixing; it needs companionship.

There are milestones that deserve something lasting. For an eighteenth birthday, I often think of something simple and enduring — like the classic silver ball earrings from Tiffany & Co. that I was gifted. Sometimes that means buying a new pair; other times, it’s realizing you already own them, tucked away in a jewelry box, waiting to become part of everyday life. For a twenty-first birthday, diamond or gemstone studs feel timeless — not extravagant, just future-minded.

And then there are first apartments — chaotic, exciting places where practicality becomes a love language. Hangers. Toilet paper. Dish soap. Swedish dish towels. Picture-hanging kits. Laundry detergent. Furniture pads. Batteries. These gifts may not sparkle, but they say, “I thought about what you’ll need tomorrow.”

Host gifts are similar. I keep them useful and unfussy: a beautiful bottle of olive oil wrapped in a tea towel, a bottle of wine styled the same way with a champagne or bottle stopper, or seasonal hand soap paired with a candle for the powder room. Thoughtful, without adding clutter.

The truth is, good gifting isn’t about buying less or more. It’s about buying when it matters — and recognizing when something meaningful already exists. It’s about paying attention, honoring transitions, and trusting that beauty and usefulness often overlap.

And once you begin gifting this way, you’ll notice something else happens: you start seeing your own home differently. Your cabinets. Your keepsakes. Your heirlooms. You begin to understand that some things aren’t meant to sit still forever — they’re meant to move forward, carrying love with them.

That’s when gifting stops feeling stressful and starts feeling natural — like you’ve been doing this all along. The more you stretch that gift-giving muscle, the better you become at choosing something just right, time after time.