The holiday season — that magical time of year when your credit card gets more exercise than your legs, and everyone suddenly becomes an expert on what you “really need.”
If you’re a magician, holiday shopping isn’t just stressful. It’s an existential crisis in a Santa hat. You’re wandering through stores thinking, “Do I need another deck of cards or just therapy?” Spoiler: the answer is both.
Let me walk you through the absolute chaos that is holiday shopping as a magician — an adventure filled with confusion, poor life choices, and the faint smell of burnt flash paper.
I. The Card Deck Dilemma: How Many Is Too Many?
At some point in every magician’s life, you start convincing yourself that different decks have different personalities.
“This one’s for weddings.”
“This one’s for bar gigs.”
“This one’s for when I need to cry over my career choices.”
So I tell myself I’ll buy just one more deck. Thirty-seven purchases later, my shopping cart looks like a casino exploded.
The cashier asks, “Oh, do you play cards?”
No, Karen. I emotionally depend on them.
And the worst part? Half of them will end up in a drawer labeled “miscellaneous” — the magician’s version of a graveyard.
II. The Prop Store Black Hole
You know how normal people shop for family and friends? Yeah. Magicians don’t.
I walk into a magic shop with the noble intention of buying a few stocking stuffers and emerge three hours later looking like I robbed a wizard.
“Do I need a $200 floating light bulb?”
Of course not.
“Will I buy it anyway?”
Absolutely.
Because there’s always that little voice in your head whispering, “This could be the trick that changes everything.”
Spoiler: it won’t.
It’ll sit in your drawer next to the levitation gimmick you used once before realizing it made you look like you were having a medical emergency.
III. Gifts for Magicians: The Circle of Confusion
Shopping for other magicians is even worse.
You can’t just buy them a trick — they already have it, they hate it, or they invented it and won’t shut up about it.
So you try to get creative:
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A new wand? Too cliché.
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A top hat? They’ll mock you.
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A live rabbit? Illegal in most apartments.
One year I gifted a fellow magician a “Deluxe Mind Reading Kit.” He stared at it, smiled, and said, “I knew you’d buy this.”
IV. When “DIY” Goes Too Far
There’s a dark moment in every magician’s holiday season when you realize you’ve spent too much money, and your only option left is homemade gifts.
So now I’m sitting at my kitchen table, surrounded by superglue, thread, and questionable decisions, muttering “It’s not a fire hazard if it’s for art.”
By the end, I’ve created something that looks like a cursed arts-and-crafts project. My friends open their “handmade magic trick” and ask, “What does it do?”
“I don’t know, Karen. It’s mystery art.”
V. The Holiday Show Paradox
Every December, I tell myself I’ll skip doing holiday gigs so I can “enjoy the season.” Then my bank account laughs in my face, and I find myself performing for corporate audiences full of people who’d rather be anywhere else.
“Make my boss disappear!” they yell.
“Sorry, I left my ethics waiver at home.”
But the worst part? The moment after the show, when someone says, “Wow, that must be a fun hobby!”
Yeah. A hobby that costs me $50 in cards a week and my last shred of dignity.
VI. The Family Gift Exchange
Every year my family plays Secret Santa, and every year I’m the only one who takes it seriously. I give handpicked, themed, thoughtful gifts — and what do I get?
A novelty mug that says “Magic Happens.”
Really, Aunt Carol? That’s the best you could do?
Next year, I’m vanishing you from the gift exchange entirely.
VII. The True Gift of the Season (Spoiler: It’s Guilt)
I always start December saying, “This year I’ll give meaningful, heartfelt gifts.” By mid-month, I’m panic-buying magic props for myself and rationalizing it as “research.”
My friends ask, “Did you get us anything?”
“Yes! The gift of wonder!”
(Translation: I forgot.)
VIII. The Aftermath: Financial Ruin and Glitter Confetti
January rolls around, and I’m surrounded by receipts, tinsel, and the vague smell of regret. I can’t afford rent, but at least I own a trick that makes a silk turn into another, slightly larger silk.
And honestly? That’s the true spirit of magic — spending money you don’t have on things you don’t need for applause you didn’t earn.
IX. The Lesson (Sort Of)
If I’ve learned anything from years of holiday shopping as a magician, it’s this:
You can’t buy happiness.
But you can buy a smoke machine, 14 decks of cards, and a levitation gimmick that makes you look like a confused pelican — and that’s pretty close.
So this season, if you see me wandering through a store muttering “I could vanish that,” just know: I’m not shopping. I’m surviving.
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