Summary
After spending two hours searching for a suitable present for Jim, Della finally decides to purchase a “simple and chaste” platinum fob chain to attach to Jim’s watch. The chain announces its value and worthiness “by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do” (10, 11). The chain strikes Della—it is unlike all the other items she encountered in shops that day, and its lack of adornment fondly reminds her of Jim: “It was like him [Jim]. Quietness and value—the description applied to both” (11). The chain also presents functional value for Jim, who often is discreet and sly when he checks his watch due to the cheap, old leather strap that he uses instead of a chain. With the new chain, Jim may feel more inclined to check his watch more frequently—and without shame. The chain costs $21, leaving Della with $.87 in her pocket as she rushes back to the apartment.
Della frantically curls her hair, which makes her look like a “truant schoolboy” (11). She gazes at her reflection in the mirror and hopes Jim doesn’t scorn her haircut. After making coffee and dinner, Della anxiously sits at the table, turning white after hearing Jim’s footsteps up the stairs toward the apartment's door. With a habit of saying silent prayers about everyday life, Della prays for Jim to still find her beautiful without her long hair.
The narrator comments on Jim’s appearance as he steps into the apartment: he is only 22, looks thin and serious, needs a new overcoat, and doesn’t own a pair of gloves. Jim fixedly stares at Della with an inscrutable expression on his face. Della can’t tell if Jim is angry, surprised, disapproving, or horrified, which terrifies her.
Della approaches Jim and explains that she had her hair cut and sold because she wanted to offer him a proper Christmas present. She attempts to reassure him—asserting that her hair grows fast—and begs him to be happy and excited for his gift. Even after her passionate appeal, a laborious and puzzled Jim barely finally reacts to Della’s haircut, asking her, “You’ve cut off your hair?” and “You say your hair is gone?” (13). Della again explains that she cut her hair for him, earnestly adding that unlike the number of hair follicles on her head, her love for him is incalculable.
While Jim awakes from his trance, the narrator makes a brief aside to contemplate the relationship between the material and immaterial value of objects. The narrator posits that there isn’t a substantive difference between earnings of eight dollars a week and a million dollars a year, stating “Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer” (14). The narrator then hints that the story’s subsequent events will further develop their claim, declaring “The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on” (14).
Analysis
The middle sections of “The Gift of the Magi” further explore the theme of measuring and determining worth. Della’s selection of the chain illustrates her system of deeming value, which prioritizes notions of simplicity and sentimentality over flashy, opulent, and ornamental appearances. She admires the chain because of its “chaste” and understated, yet beautiful, appearance (10). To Della, the chain symbolizes Jim’s admirable attributes, as she projects the value of the chain’s exterior appearance onto the value of Jim's quiet, unassuming demeanor.
Della emerges as a selfless, generous, and nearly saint-like protagonist in these sections of the story. She does not display any regret or hesitancy when she sacrifices her hair—her one prized possession symbolizing her beauty and femininity—and we also learn that she doesn’t regret her parsimonious, impoverished lifestyle altogether. The narrator acknowledges that she regularly says “little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things,” implying that she does not pray or express desire for more consequential life changes that would alleviate her and Jim’s current financial constraints and burdens (12). In other words, she never prays or yearns for a more comfortable apartment or for a better-paying job for Jim.
Notably, Della’s long hair served as a traditional, external signifier of her beauty and femininity. The narrator remarks that Della now resembles a “truant schoolboy,” while Della admits that she looks like a “Coney Island chorus girl” (11). These similes reveal that Della’s haircut deviates from ideals of feminine beauty and results in a more masculine—or immaturely girlish—appearance. When evaluating her haircut in the mirror, she does not directly decry her physical appearance nor mourn the loss of her long hair. Rather, she wishes for Jim’s acceptance, as evidenced by her prayer, “Please God, make him think I am still pretty” (12). Della’s fear that her modified appearance will disappoint Jim thus shows her internalization of traditional conceptions of gender, in which a submissive woman bases her happiness and worth on a man’s approval of her external beauty. This prompts us to speculate if the couple’s relationship relies on the active operation of these normative gender roles: how often does Della worry that her womanhood does not meet Jim’s—or society’s—expectations?
The subsequent passages complicate Della’s immersion in normative conventions of femininity. She does not apologize for cutting her hair, nor does she beg for Jim’s acceptance or understanding. Instead, she explains her selfless reasoning for the haircut and assures Jim that her hair will grow back quickly. Della emphasizes Jim’s present and her love for him over her haircut, as proven by her comment, “Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered...but nobody could ever count my love for you” (13). In other words, the value of her love for Jim surpasses the value of her long hair, despite it previously having given her a sense of pride, beauty, and femininity. This comment again places intangible love for others over material possessions and belongings—but it also highlights Della’s agency, strength, and independence. By downplaying the significance of her visual transformation and asserting her love for Jim, as well as her disinclination to ask for Jim’s approval or forgiveness, Della subverts her previous adherence to traditional gender norms. Rather than basing her worth on her ability to please a man, she bases it on the amount of love and selfless sacrifice she expresses toward the person she loves.
Throughout the story, the narrator has a pronounced presence, especially in these middle sections. Notably, the narrator is not a character in the story, but they are certainly not an objective observer either. They often pause in the middle of the story’s action to share their insights on the story’s events and characters—or make sweeping pronouncements on life and love. For example, when Jim arrives in the apartment, the narrator halts at this suspenseful moment to comment on Jim’s physical characteristics: “He looked very thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves'' (12). Such asides imbue the story with vivid imagery that deepens our grasp of Jim’s drained, fatigued appearance and the overwhelming responsibilities he endures as a young head of a household.
The narrator’s casual, colloquial demeanor manifests in direct addresses to the audience. For example, when Della attempts to style her new haircut, the narrator reflects, “She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task” (11). Here, the narrator admits that Della’s love and generosity have “ravaged” or ruined her: she has surrendered her most prized possession and now risks angering the person she loves. The narrator concludes that love is a “mammoth task” that presents challenges and turmoil alongside warmth, wholeness, and fulfillment. By referring to readers as “dear friends,” the narrator invites us to pay particular attention—if not directly urging us to internalize—his rumination.
Additionally, the narrator presents themself as wise and all-knowing when they explicitly weigh the merits of associating value with money: “For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer” (14). The narrator’s assurance that his takeaway on gift-giving will only constitute “ten seconds” further enhances the story’s conversational atmosphere, as this phrase mimics the common expressions used in oral storytelling. By asking us to compare eight dollars a week to a million a year, the narrator asserts that value is not directly tied to money, and that there is not a meaningful difference between a rich man (the King of Solomon, for instance) and a poor man (Jim). While they do not offer an alternative means of measuring value, the narrator explicitly tells us that subsequent parts of the story will unearth and develop this claim: “This dark assertion will be illuminated later on” (14). This blunt foreshadowing indicates the narrator’s determination to prove a moral lesson to us, thereby infusing Jim’s future reaction to Della’s hair with more suspense and thematic pointedness.
