Anna H.: Worst: My first Christmas after starting to date my husband. He gave me a very expensive pair of stiletto Gucci booties - with the Gucci logo stamped all over them. Not only do I not wear stilettos (booties or otherwise) I am not a "label whore" and don't want obvious luxury logos on anything I buy. Also let me say that this was also while his friends from Sydney were in town and the male friend was out shopping with my husband on 5th Avenue for an engagement ring for the female friend (they ended up getting engaged on the Brooklyn Bridge). So, to recap: Tiffany diamond ring for the lady, Gucci boots for me. They are somewhere in the back of my closet and a source of much humiliation to my husband whenever they are discussed.
Best: When he bought me a set of mint-condition vintage John Bellairs books with the original Edward Gorey drawings.

Katy: Worst: A really hideous velvet thong. Best: a hand-painted ceramic teapot.

Sadie: I have gotten a lot of mediocre gifts in my time; the worst is either the empty oil can or the vodka-filled chocolates. And the best? Our first Christmas together my now-fiancé really came through: the collected Girl Groups CD set and a top-quality pocket knife engraved with my name.

Dodai: Worst came from a friend of my mom's, who gave me a book by Dr. Laura. I don't THINK it was "10 Stupid Things Women Do to Mess Up Their Lives" but it might have been. She meant well, but yuck. Best would probably be when my mom gave me my late father's Rolex he bought in the '60s and wore when I was a kid.

Anna N.:Worst: a disposable razor and a toothbrush (an uncharacteristic lapse on the part of my grandfather, who usually gave cool gifts)
Best: when he was about seven, my brother gave me a baseball on which he had written "#1 most times bieng there for her brother"

Hortense: The best present I ever got would probably be the chocolate lab my parents bought us for Christmas when I was 15, Bailey. (We named him after George Bailey from "It's A Wonderful Life.") He was a crazy dog. He actually just passed away last summer, so this will be the first family Christmas without him in 14 years. :(

Calm down, I'm not advocating incest. I'm merely suggesting that some of the same identity-obscuring, affect-flattening nostrums found in modern dating guides can be useful when interacting with Grandma, Uncle Ted, and that one cousin who always wants to talk about guns. Sure, you could watch the 1950 short "A Date With Your Family" (above) to learn about how it's your duty to dress attractively for your male relatives (ew?). But for more up-to-date advice, check out the following tips:

1. Don't talk about yourself too much.

Personal information — like your political views, religious beliefs, or the fact that your name is not actually "Becky" — shouldn't be revealed until the second or third date with your family. Or better yet, not at all. You know the old rule about letting a man talk two-thirds of the time, while you talk one-third? This works well for your family, too, except that the two-thirds portion should be filled by the television.

2. Don't try to cook anything new or complicated.

You know how the way to a man's heart is through a simple yet delicious man-brisket? Families have similarly conservative tastes. This Thanksgiving, my mom made a pie with whole-wheat crust. Three aunts and six cousins broke up with her right away. Don't let this be you.

3. Just agree with everything anyone says.

Many great relationships have ended because of superfluous opinions on the part of the woman — and these opinions can be just as damaging to a family gathering. Instead of saying what you actually think, simply smile and nod, or at most say, "Interesting!" Will it really kill you to pretend you don't believe in the moon landing? No, it won't.

4. Choose inoffensive entertainment.

People have different tastes, and as a woman, your job is to satisfy all of them. Just like a romantic date, an evening with your family isn't about what you want to do — it's about what's least likely to piss off someone else. Family-friendly films include Miss Congeniality, Miss Congeniality 2: Armed & Fabulous, and any biopic that does not involve drugs. Family-friendly music includes nothing.

5. Don't talk about healthcare reform.

This one should just be obvious.

These tips may seem difficult to follow, but over years of subsuming your true thoughts and feelings, they will become second nature. And once you've mastered them, you too can land a family who loves you for who you pretend to be.

The good news? Although the regular weekday staff will be taking two days off (to sleep in, read, shop, and, in the case of Tracie Egan, get married) the lovely Lindsay Robertson will be posting intermittently throughout the day, and, on Monday, will rejoin us for two awesome weeks. (Something about a honeymoon in Bali.) Weekend posting will go on as normal, and remember: you can always make use of our #groupthink page, which is up and running 24/7, thanks to the contributions of our thousands of awesome commenters.

Dear Halloween,

I know you have little time for me, a ghost of a holiday that is now synonymous with stress and commercialism and hilarious films featuring dysfunctional families, but I wanted to send you a line to warn you of the things to come.

You're the most popular kid on the holiday block, Halloween. Hipper than Christmas, more exciting than the 4th of July, and filled with candy and costumes and haunted houses. I'm a ghost, you see, so haunted houses are just houses to me, but I understand the fascination. I'm concerned, however, at your recent explosion in popularity. You're getting a bit too big for your britches, Halloween. You're becoming a bit of a monster, and not the fun sassy kind you can get a kit to replicate at the local CVS.

Sure, you're on top now. Ah, but they shall turn on you, dear friend. They will start to dread the arrival of ghoulish masks and pre-spun spiderwebs and that horrible sugared corn that lines the shelves come late August, signaling your arrival. They will begin worrying about their costumes earlier and earlier, resentful toward ambitious friends who claim to have locked down a proper (and clever) outfit by mid-July as they desperately circle the leftovers at their local pharmacy on October 29th. They will enter their offices and classrooms and homes, bemoaning the arrival of "The Monster Mash," and the latest Saw film. Suddenly, the fun and excitement you've always promised, and their dedication to it, will feel more obligatory than anything else; the death knell for any holiday.

Of course, they'll still love you, and when October 31 rolls around, they'll still celebrate you handily and seemingly forget the stress and drama you've caused them throughout the Autumn days, but it shall never be the same; the "Ugh, Halloween is coming" dread will always overcome them, and those who remain upbeat and celebratory towards you throughout the season will be looked upon with scorn and pity. "Look at Alice, with her horrible bag of Fun Size bars," they'll sneer, "why doesn't anyone eat a real candy bar anymore? What have we become!?!'

You might think you're immune to such things. I understand that. You're all the rage, the alternative holiday, the party time good time bus wagon o'fun. Christmas, by comparison, is currently filling the eye-rolling dread spot, but it's only a matter of time, my friend. Overexposure, out-of-control Hallo-mania, and the increasing push to spend more, outdo the competition, and "win" some sort of Halloween prize for having the best or most elaborate costume, or attend the best or most elaborate party, will put the pressure on even your most loyal subjects, and some of them won't make it through. You're in danger of becoming the Red Sox to Christmas' Yankees. Your fans either don't know, or refuse to admit, that you're turning into the kind of stressful holiday they claim to despise.

Of course, it's not much good writing you this now. It seems the wheels are already in motion, and the future has paid the price. We're run by a group of vampires, and they sparkle, and now they've taken to living in the trees, so Arbor Day is the new big thing. Everyone paints a tree with glitter and reads sad poems to it. It's quite moving and stupid, and it's only a matter of time until it, too, gets completely out of control.

Best of luck to you, Halloween. And remember, after the horseman lost his head, he ran around carrying a pumpkin in its place. That's a metaphor, Halloween. For you. Merry Christmas.

Yours,
The Ghost of Christmas Future

Wild, Wacky, And Weird [LATimes]

In today's Times, Michelle Slatalla and her family attempt a Staycation. Hilarity - and some relaxation - ensues, but at the end of the day? Vacation, this ain't. I get it; we all do. In these financially strapped times, and sans vehicle, the idea of exploring your hometown with the wondering eyes of a relaxed tourist sounds appealing indeed.

And I've tried it, I have. I've set aside full weekends for work-free fun. And it just felt like sitting around the house. I tried, but it reminded me of "camping" in our living room when I was a kid. Or, worse, I felt a terrible pressure to get out and do things, lots of things, all the shows and exhibits and restaurants I'd marked in the paper. When you go somewhere new, being there is half the battle; the very novelty is relaxing. I have a pair of friends who had a "staycation" honeymoon, taking a week off work and exploring the outer boroughs of New York. They loved it. But then, they have a really nice apartment.

There is an idea I've been kicking around with a few friends: a staycation apartment swap, in which we switch neighborhoods for a couple of days. Hence, novelty, change of scene, break in routine. The pitfalls are obvious. For one thing, not everyone wants people - especially friends - up in their private business, discovering - at best - how disorganized the closets are. The other issue is that, inexplicably, no one seems to want to vacation in the heart of a dangerous neighborhood far from subways, which makes the "swapping" part problematic. So to heck with "staycations"; the real phenomenon? "The Parental Bed and Breakfast."

Our Hawaiian Holiday Without, Well, Hawaii [NY Times]

For many years now - since I graduated from hunting for the afikomen, in fact - I've been the designated Matzoh hider at the Seder held by my paternal side. (It should be my Grandpa but he doesn't feel like it.) It's a job I take seriously - some would say too seriously. No one's going to find that napkin in under fifteen minutes on my watch - and after fifteen years, this is an increasing challenge in an apartment. Of course, I've had a few new guards in the children department, which allows for a little blatant Cosmo-style recycling.

When the kids are little, I go easy. Maybe under a sofa cushion or propped up behind a photograph. The next tier of difficulty is the bookshelf, where I wedge the slim bundle between two books. The insides of the piano is a controversial spot, because of the crumbs risk. I have hidden the matzoh in the tank of the toilet (in a plastic bag), under the doormat, in the dog's bed (bad idea.) Last year I really took it to the next level: my hiding place involved the use of a stepladder and several decoys. Indeed, so challenging was the hiding that finding required a lengthy game of "Hot and Cold." No one seemed to find it much fun and various people seemed to think I'd gone too far.

This year, I received a nervous phone call: a distant cousin visiting "had asked" if she could hide the Afikomen. What could I say? I was silent. My reign was at an end. Tonight I will grit my teeth and watch as the children run off and find the napkin with, doubtless, gleeful ease. This random distant cousin will not realize the legacy she is tarnishing; the kids will probably be relieved.

Thank goodness I still supervise next weekend's egg hunt. Happy Passover!

As Slate tells it, these pageants are sometimes about anything but the Christmas spirit.

Often, one of the biggest struggles of the pageant season is fierce, parent-driven competition over parts. It doesn't help when roles like the Virgin Mary and the angel Gabriel are thought to be valuable padding for a college résumé—a great part demonstrates an interest in the theater and church!—making for a tense atmosphere at auditions if unchecked by ministers and pageant leaders.

While we don't know what colleges are looking for nowadays, it seems like the transcript benefits would be small potatoes compared to the glory of playing the mother of God. Either way, it's a Big Deal. One minister describes the classic casting-call strategy of showing up dressed for the part you want - a practice that led to 16 hopeful Virgins one year. Even more shocking to those of us who envision a peaceful ritual of gilt stars, baby dolls and Book of Luke, is the flat-out, almost Medieval mercantilism.

A minister who oversees the annual pageant at a large church on the Upper East Side of Manhattan told me that her church used to give the role of Virgin Mary to the daughter of that year's highest donor. But, she hastened to add, they stopped doing that when competition among the parents started to sour the mood.

The author also describes donations of high-end fabrics for costumes and the occasional designer-clad Wise Man.

All of this sounds like a bad TV Christmas special, but it's interesting to see this come right now, when we're hearing so much about budget Christmases and churches are hurting from charity cutbacks. Will the donations and the cloth of gold dry up? Will everyone learn the true spirit of Christmas? Or, like the pageants themselves, is the lure of the ultimate leading lady too strong a tradition to overthrow?
Bethlehem Does Broadway [Slate]

Behold the Twelve Days of Douchebags, a sampling of some of the most egregious portions from crap emails we didn't run this year. Think of these dudes (and chicks!) as little undigested corn kernels that we picked out of our mountain of crap and stuffed in your stocking!

Day 1, The Class Act:
"Did you know that I had no intention of proposing to you? I bought the ring from Walmart as a cheap gift to placate you."

Day 2, The Budding Shakespeare (via text):
"how bout a thnx 4 not wanting 2 take advantage of u, out of respect 4 u"

Day 3, The Budding Poe (inspired by "The Raven"):
"I write some verse for you my love
To retaliate your verbal shove
In case you don’t realise what I wrote this poem for
I’ve been working on it for some time
But if not for the convenient rhyme
I would not have sunk so low as call you boldly, whore!"

Day 4, The Giver:
"at least I know have a cool story about the relationship that came to an end when a girl got frusturated at not being eaten out. :P"

Day 5, The Baker:
"My apartment is ready and I know u haven't gotten down with a pure bread African-Canadian brotha before!"

Day 6, The Martyr:
"You have to know that i did not for a moment wanted to avoid you, for a single moment did not want to be the source of pain and if there was a way, a way that will interchange the sorrow and bitterness of your life and infuse it into mine, a way to throw the perfect stone at the machinery we call life i would - with pleasure - lay down on my knees and with a smile upon my face grab my fate, my faith woven of justice, feel the blade of the guillotine. with nothing but a smile."

Day 7, The Stalker:
"We knew each other pretty decently...enough for me to throw rocks at your window and for it to not be stalkerish."

Day 8, The "I'm-Not-A-Stalker" Stalker:
"i walked the long way to the shoe store on monday to avoid passing your block. should you deign to not get back to me at all, can you at least tell me when you move so i don't have to indefinitely reroute my shopping trips for fear of seeming creepy?"

Day 9, The Psychoanalyst:
"That's why you'renot a good lawyer and why I can tell form the get-go you have low self worth and were brought up in a narcissistic family that made you feel you needed to become a lawyer to have a 'title' to feel good about yourself."

Day 10, The Renaissance Man:
"it is true that i enjoy many facets of life, including drunken debauchery, fun passionate intimatacy, playful reparte, mental acuity, physical sports, and integrity."

Day 11, The Addiction Counselor:
"I still think your a beautiful girl and when you lose a few pounds and tone that body up, your gonna be stunning. Just don't give up. Try and get addicted to hitting the gym."

Day 12, The Nostradamus:
"so yeah, i think the friends (and book recommenders?) thing would probably be a better idea ... not that any of us will live very long anyways, given that the rat-brained-robots are about to take over the world"

When I was a kid, my mother would make us write out Christmas lists to Santa before Thanksgiving even hit. "Santa is busy and needs the notice," she'd say. "The faster we send it, the better your chances are." Depending on my family's financial situation that year, Santa would either come through or come pretty damn close, as even in our thriftiest years, my parents found a way to make our Christmases memorable. My parents are a bit Christmas crazy; my sister and I, who are 2 years apart, would often get "the big present" that our hearts desired as a sort of shared sister deal, and my mother and father would take so many pictures of us opening it that I think they had more fun with it than we did. We'd open boxes of socks and school clothes before hitting the jackpot: the big present, which was usually hidden behind the tree.

One of the presents I remember most was the My Little Pony Dream Castle, a pink plastic monstrosity that housed several ponies at once:

But beyond "the big present," my favorite gifts as a kid were the weird ones that I'd get from a kooky aunt of mine, who always found us gifts at science museums and educational stores: water weebles, scientific yo-yos, and pretty polished rocks. And, of course, the chocolates that Santa left in my stocking and the books that my neighbor would always wrap in shiny silver paper for me. What were your favorite presents as a kid? Feel free to post the commercials in the comments below. Have a nice night, and I'll see you all in the morning.

ProActiv Solution



Potpourri


Deodorant


Chia Pet


Nose Hair Clipper


Scrunchie


Love: Poems by Danielle Steele

Earlier: Ultimate Terrible Gift Guide: Part 1

Tyra made a big stink in the beginning of today's show about how she is giving all these fun, expensive presents — carried out by quasi-shirtless men — to the audience members, all of whom are unemployed, a pre-requisite she set as a way to cheer up people who aren't doing so well right now. (She actually made them all wear matching red T-shirts that said "unemployed" on them. Bitch.) The thing is, Oprah also had a recession slant to her infamous "Favorite Things" episode this year: Gifts that cost next to nothing. This goes to show that Tyra could use a few more lessons from the TV legend, particularly that service shows that assist millions always trump Santa shows that assist less than 100.

Audience:

Gay Elves:

Image via Flickr.

Picture of Yourself



Gift Certificate For "Meal With Me, On You"



Salad Spinner



Unsolicited Gym Membership



Socks



Book of Limericks



Things People Are Allergic To



Uncut Sheet Of $1 Bills



Nips

It's bad enough that the commercial relies on the old "You suck, husband! You bought a shitty present and need to be punished" routine, but the fact that the wives come off as greedy, materialistic, and somewhat insane doesn't help matters either. The doghouse scenes read like a bad version of an already bad sitcom, wherein the dumb husband makes a sexist remark, and the wife, while trying to defend herself, does so in a manner that makes her sound like a shrill nag. Because women wanting respect and equality are soooo annoying! You better buy them some diamonds so they'll shut up, boys!

But as Marcotte points out: "I think the most depressing part of this advertising blitz around every gift-giving opportunity is that a lot of people live their lives in this way, where women’s compliance is bought off by a false pretense that women have power and a lot of shiny baubles." And she's right: there is no happiness in this commercial at all; there is rarely a sense of happiness in any diamond commercial that doesn't seem to come from the gift itself. "Tell her you love her," the commercials begin, "Tell her you'd marry her all over again." Yes! Tell her that! Go on ahead. But you don't need a $3,000 ring to make this happen.

Love is easily marketed: the equation of a ring's worth with a person's worth is nothing new. But where commercials once tried to sell us on romance and memory, they are now trying to sell us on security: for men, it's a way to prove their love, or, as the commercials would have you believe, something that is "owed" to their wives for the "services" they provide in every day life. For the woman, apparently, diamonds are a necessary payment of sorts, something that has been earned and is expected. Which is why, in commercials such as this, the women seem to hold the power over their mates. The strange and disturbing nature of these commercials isn't lost on Marcotte, who notes, "When a more powerful person makes the jewelry gesture, then it invokes unpleasant associations. But if you pretend that the woman holds all the cards, then the gift of diamonds feels more like ass-kissing, and everyone can laugh it off, because it’s just a game anyway. Like all acting, I can see how it works, but it doesn’t mean I have any skills to do it, even if I wanted to."

This type of advertising makes both genders look stupid, greedy, and shallow. And yet millions of people will wake up on Christmas morning and find a tiny box under the tree. The gift itself isn't an ugly thing: it's the intentions behind it. Do some people buy jewelry because they enjoy it and know that their significant other would enjoy it as well? Of course. But if the thought behind the gift is one of obligation, a sort of bizarre holiday transaction to ensure relationship peace for at least another year, then perhaps diamonds aren't really anyone's friend, after all.
Diamonds To Hold You Over Until February [Pandagon]

It's not that the girls' gifts all suck — the Fish School Training Kit, which was developed by "noted fish-training expert Dr. Dean Pomerleau" and promises to teach your fish to "limbo, slalom, fetch, play basketball, jump through hoops, and much more," sounds pretty sweet if it is not in fact an extended joke. But why do cool toys like the Galileo Gravitator Amazing Floating Planets or Pleo, the Robotic Lifelike Dinosaur (pictured below; warning: clicking the link will make someone named Caleb Chung talk to you about Pleo) appear only on the boys' list, while girls get toys like the Spa Science Kit, the Creative Cosmetics Kit, and Oggz, which are "relaxing," color-changing eggs?

And what do we make of the Femisapien (tagline: "Robots That Just Want To Have Fun"), whose name implies that girls, or at least girl robots, are actually of a different genus than boys?

It's not just the sciences that suffer from gift-guide gender stereotyping. For a donation, the British Library's Adopt A Book program will put your loved one's name in one of its books this Christmas. If your loved one is a man, the Library thinks he may enjoy The Life of Oliver Cromwell or From Russia with Love. Your lady friends will have to content themselves with the Family Cookery and Housekeeping Book or Meal Planning in Wartime.

Having asked my mom to get me lotion and perfume for Christmas, I can't advocate a boycott of traditionally girly gifts. But I can ask why companies would recommend non-gender-specific, cool toys and books for boys, and homemaking and cosmetic-themed items for girls and women. By all means, get your daughter or niece or sister a Creative Cosmetics Kit this season (except if you, like me, are too broke to buy a gift that costs $59.95). But don't tell me that Spa Science and meal planning are for girls, while dinosaurs and Oliver Cromwell are for boys. There's no reason women can't be into Oliver Cromwell — not least because he reportedly died of a UTI.

What is it that's so horrifying about this story — besides the stark senseless shock of an innocent person's death? Is it the thought of someone who worked through Thanksgiving night being callously destroyed by a mob in search of cheap electronics? Is it the horror of the mob mentality? Is it the fact that people are so in need of bargains that they descend to this kind of frenzy? It's all of it, of course — and it's the complete fabrication that is Black Friday in the first place, a bizarre manipulation that the New York Times terms "a quintessentially American ritual of self-sacrifice at the altar of consumerism." But when that sacrifice becomes human, things have gone much, much too far.

The weird part is, apparently this was a subdued Black Friday: smaller crowds with smaller budgets, and smaller bargains than shoppers had expected. Black Friday's a day when a lot of stores make a profit: the frenzy of promotions and door-busting sales are no mere nod to consumerist tradition. Although it doesn't take a Lifetime "true spirit od Christmas" television movie to see that there might be something misplaced about making a family tradition of dawn-breaking bargain shopping — or the need for a treeful of expensive gifts — however offensive it might be to some sensibilities, it is not wrong. The people seeking bargains were not cold-blooded killers; question consumerism all you want, but anyone storming an already affordable Wal-Mart for bargain-basement prices is probably not flying private jets in his spare time. Doubtless anyone involved in this carnage, when they realized what had happened and the bargain-induced bloodlust had died down, was appalled and sickened. It is so easy to reduce tragedy to metaphor, but it feels horribly fitting here. It is a person's death, tragedy enough. And yet, why is there something of "The Lottery" about this horrible story, something that feels deeper and more disturbing than the sum of its parts?

Worker Dies At Long Island Wal-Mart After Being Trampled In Black Friday Stampede [New York Daily News]
Holiday Shopping At A Subdued Pace [New York Times]

So, yes, obviously this is a contrived and cutesy concept for a piece - not that there's anything wrong with that. Various business types weigh in with executive strategies and toss jargon around in a kitchen context.

With a vision firmly carved out, the next task is what business leaders would call engaging key stakeholders and identifying their performance expectations. That means figuring out who are the most important people to you at the Thanksgiving table and asking what they really want from the day and from you, the host.“Your goal as the leader here is to grasp what other people actually expect of you versus what you think they expect of you,” he said. “Often, what people expect is less than what you thought.”

You get the idea: let's just say, the conceit gets old pretty fast. Style aside, it doesn't seem like a template like this is seriously going to change anyone's attitude — certainly not a day before Thanksgiving. And the draconian breakdown the piece jokingly suggests sounds kinda Gulag-like- everyone might do his share, but no one's happy. Besides, anyone compulsive enough to run a holiday meal like this already has it in hand and in any case, doesn't really seem like a personality type who'd be open to delegating.

And the truth is, the inequality of Thanksgiving labor is one of the horrible traditions of the holiday. Sometimes it's a question of space — a literal too-many cooks situation. Sometimes people's cooking styles don't mesh. A few are willing but incompetent. Occasionally good cooks are stressful kitchen companions. Some people are just really lazy and feel they've earned the right to do nothing but pig out. And then there are the kitchen martyrs who insist on full glory. As anyone who's helmed the meal knows, very rare is the kitchen helper who can slip in unobtrusively, stirring and chopping like a well-trained line cook, ceding full creative control to a tacitly-acknowledged chef de cuisine. More often, as a cook, you turn around to find some hippie blithely crumbling frankincense into a carefully-seasoned bowl of stuffing, or a well-meaning relative pestering you to know where mixing bowls are. Delegating requires trust, and in a family situation, not everyone has earned it.

Besides, why, in these financially troubled times, would anyone model herself on a bastion of capitalist industry? It's obviously A) hard and B) unrewarding. (The temptation to make some horrible gravy bailout joke is almost overwhelming.) So stick to the plan: you work, you shirk, everyone eats. Rinse — the same person who always gets stuck with dishes, that is — and repeat.

The C.E.O. of Thanksgiving Dinner [New York Times]
[Image via My Recipes]

Apparently some people put a ton of thought into Thanksgiving looks: the founders of Juicy are sporting, according to Friedman, "Martha Stewart-tastic" and "Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire" looks, respectively. As Friedman points out, despite the holiday's devotion to gluttony, "it has an oddly ascetic edge, having been initiated by the Pilgrims, who tended to come to the table in their white collars and buttoned-up black dresses." Since we now know that turkey, pumpkin and corn may not have in fact had anything to do with the first Thanksgiving, dressing in John Smith costumes seems unnecessary. As does, for that matter, the purchase of the Miu Miu dress at which the author arrives — "round-necked, with a little white collar; mid-calf, but vaguely cheongsam in silhouette, with narrow three-quarter length sleeves; all in batik-like print."

However true that "a suit seems too professional, but a cocktail dress is too party-ish; jeans and trousers are often too casual, and so on," it seems like unless you're at one of those hyper-fancy catered Thanksgivings surrounded by professionally- crafted wheat sheaths (which screams "skirt and sweater"), you can wear whatever you want. Maybe nothing revealing - relatives! - and maybe nothing too fancy - cranberry sauce! - but for the most part, who's judging? Besides, if your house is anything like mine, it is freezing, your mom will be in sweats, and your very sweet elderly relatives will arrive with a dubious Laura Ashley outfit that you end up having to wear anyway. (The self-sacrifice of which is nothing if not Puritan chic.) Friedman feels that the puritan look is appropriate for the current hard times. You know what else is: not thinking about clothes! So, for the most part, give thanks for not having to worry about it: that's what the next six weeks are for.

Give Thanks For Puritan Values [Financial Times]