Facing an avalanche of rolls, ribbons, tags and bags? It’s time to call it a wrap

I never thought I’d get philosophical about gift wrap, but I just wagered a long, brewing battle with the stuff. Somehow, I amassed a chaotic mountain range of bows, boxes, rolls, tissue, ribbons, tags and bags.

For years, I’d been stashing this low-purpose stuff inside two large, low cabinets in my basement. When there were sales, I stocked up. I would do this out of respect for the Invisible Aunt who whispers in our ears, “Oh my, gift wrap is expensive.” When I received presents in perfectly intact Hallmark bags, I’d stash the sacks to reuse. Because that same Invisible Aunt always utters, “Save the gift bag, save the tissue!”

And yet I’d still buy last-minute rolls or bags while gift shopping in case my home collection didn’t have the right colors or themes for specific occasions. The thought of diving into my disorganized jammed-up pile at home made me weary when the perfect bows and accoutrements were before me on aisle 15. Invisible Aunt would wink, “Well, just this once! What pretty paper!” I’d shrug and load my cart with the new wrap along with the bridal registry panini maker.

It all added up. An overflow creep happened, which migrated to a nearby ancillary storage closet. But why and how? I think I always imagined I’d have a mini “gift wrap department” somewhere in a corner of my basement. I was haunted by some stupid show I caught once, where a celebrity had an entire room boasting worktables and organized walls of paper and ribbons and color coordinated flotsam. The scene would have put Von Maur customer service to shame.

News flash: I kept my piles in the cabinets/closet and prepared myself for a Hallmark avalanche every time I opened the storage doors. And all along I would think, why are we killing trees for this? There were a few times I would give folks presents in reusable totes they could later use for groceries (and, duh, I’d top them off with pretty tissue paper). But if we all did that, every household would have at least 100 permanent grocery bags.

I think wrapping paper and all of its cousins represent the final layer of pressure many of us feel as social creatures. We all give gifts, but there’s that extra protocol. Aside from the stress of finding the right present, it must be delightfully wrapped. If you hand a bride and groom a blender in a torn Walmart bag, you are going to look like a thoughtless jerk.

I have learned no matter how pretty and sparkly or beautifully designed gift wrap appears, it’s a mistake to stash a large supply for the future. Because trust me, the bags you saved will be the wrong size or represent the wrong occasion, and you will run out to the store for something fresh anyway.

This whole spiral is a microcosm of why we see new “self-storage” units popping up everywhere. As an aspiring minimalist, I do not want to cross the threshold of a renting a satellite attic down the highway.

And this is why my stash turned me into a sudden ruthless monster. In a bit of a rage, I went through it all. I saved a normal amount of gift wrap to put in old clear plastic containers I had recently emptied of other things. I gave a nice chunk to Goodwill. I recycled the deceptive cylinders that had just several inches of paper left.

It was a massive undertaking. So massive, I briefly considered buying an extra-long plastic container for some of the super-sized rolls I had saved. But that would have meant taking in new plastic and feeding the beast. Buying stuff that stores stuff is the gateway drug to renting a self-storage unit. Stay aware, people.

I will likely donate even more rolls and ribbons. Or in the coming years, I will rebelliously wrap every occasion gift with a prancing reindeer scheme. Merry birthday, Invisible Aunt.

Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com

This story was originally published August 9, 2023 at 5:00 AM.