If you're the ideal Vogue reader, chances are everyone on your holiday gift list already has a gold-dipped fur and a little vintage fire engine for their kid to ride in (p. 264). Solution: $800 t-shirts.
If Jonathan Saunders's eight-benjamin tee (it has, like, colors) isn't quite twee enough for you, you can shell out just $70 for a wifebeater that says some bullshit about an "imposter chicken" who drives a bus. The same annoying hipster who enjoys this gift might like a class on pickling things in Brooklyn (can Vena Cava's designer Chuck Taylors be pickled? What about that wooden iPod dock by Vers?). Or perhaps a volunteer vacation — because nothing says "happy holidays" like forced WWOOFing. And for your "overstressed and undersexed" friend, why not a free checkup for adrenal fatigue — a vague and ill-defined condition best cured by the innovative treatment of getting enough sleep. Sadly not included in December Vogue is the much-needed pull-out greeting card: "Merry Christmas! I'm concerned about your glands!"