Christmas at Tiffany’s : Forget the Appliances and Gag Gifts. It’s Jewelry We Adore.

MEN! ARE you wondering what to get that special lady for Christmas or Hanukkah? I can cut your agony in half. Buy gems. In my experience, almost all women want jewelry.

“You really believe that a man’s natural function is to be a jewel buyer?” asks my husband, Duke.

Let me put it like this. If you’re absolutely certain that your beloved has her heart set on a specific item--a red Mazda Miata, for example, or a suede jacket, a crystal ball, a flacon of Poison, a cashmere sweater, or even one of those limited-edition collector plates--then buy it with my blessing. But if you’re just going to wander aimlessly around the shopping mall, eyes glazed, neurons malfunctioning, trying to decide among a basket of cheese balls, a hair-removal machine and a copy of “The Curmudgeon’s Garden of Love,” then run--do not walk--to her favorite jeweler.

“There’s a certain amount of resistance to spending large sums of money on little tiny things,” says Duke. “A man can buy something that fits into a matchbox, or he can buy a truck.”

He’ll get a lot more mileage out of the matchbox. Very few women want a truck--or many of the other popular gift items foisted upon us at this time of year. Recently, I went to a department store. I was riding down the escalator when I noticed an enormous display of artificial daisies arranged around a large-screen television set. That’s strange, I thought.

Actually, it was stranger than I thought. A close inspection revealed that the daisies, some of which were wearing sunglasses and / or bow ties, were swaying in time to a Janet Jackson music video. A festive banner proclaimed that these were “Rock ‘N Flowers” and that they cost “only” $29.95. “Everybody’s buying them for Christmas,” said the salesman. “They’re perfect gifts for children, for men, and especially for women.”

Not this woman. (Or any other woman I know.) Frankly, the last thing I want for Christmas is a hyperactive fake bloom (especially when for the same price I could have a few dozen real blooms). I realize that I sound like an ingrate. But I don’t like joke gifts. I don’t understand what you’re supposed to do with joke gifts, except titter politely when you open the pre-wrapped package, and then (later) shove it in the back of your closet.

“If you yell at Rock ‘N Flower, it wiggles,” the salesman said. Who cares? I’ve never wanted to holler at a flower. And neither have any of my girlfriends. On the other hand, many of us have always wanted to own some breathtaking bijou--a marquise sapphire ring, perhaps, or a turquoise Zuni fetish necklace, a pair of silver earrings or an Art Deco Cartier brooch. Or a 14-karat-gold charm bracelet, like the one I tried on in Beverly Hills the other day.

“Don’t you feel guilty wanting jewelry when we’re about to kill the last rhinoceros on the planet?” asks my friend Monica, who secretly wants an emerald necklace. Of course I feel guilty. Every woman with a semblance of a social conscience (and / or children to put through college) feels guilty for desiring some precious or semiprecious bagatelle. Still, it was a really pretty charm bracelet . . . .

“It was a really pretty necklace,” Monica says with a sigh. “And it was on sale.”

Even so . . . . “There’s a certain tendency among men to buy something useful,” says Duke. “Something that might have a ricochet effect back to the giver--like a really good torque wrench or a set of weights.” Or a Swiss army knife, like the one he gave me for Christmas the first year we were married. (I almost used it to slit his throat.)

“It’s the feminine model,” Duke said as he proudly showed me the nail file, the scissors, the orange zester and the teeny tweezers. It’s the thought that counts, I sullenly reminded myself. And, in all fairness, I must admit that the knife was (and still is) extremely practical. But . . . .

“Women don’t want things that are so useful,” my friend Mary shrieks. “Like a plumber’s snake, or ‘Here, honey, all gift-wrapped, a thing for your steering wheel that locks it so nobody can steal your car,’ or ‘Just for you, my darling, an attachment for the Electrolux.’ ” (And, in general, few women are truly dazzled by anything that plugs in.)

“I want something that comes in a small but suspiciously heavy box,” says Mary, who has no shame. “A little something for the toe of the stocking. Like a Faberge Imperial Easter egg. Or an 8-carat emerald-cut flawless diamond. ‘Oh thanks, honey. Look how it sparkles on the little paw.’ ”

For the record, not all women like, or even want, a gigantic sparkler, though I don’t know too many who would return one (they might have it reset). In baubles, as in cars, taste varies. Some women prefer ethnic jewelry or antique jewelry or costume jewelry or wearable artsy jewelry--so make sure that you pick up the subtle hints (“I want that”). But whatever kind of jewelry you buy . . . .

“It’s irrevocably the woman’s, not yours,” says Duke. “She takes it. She hides it. She has it. And she never gives it back. At least, if you give a woman a car, you can use the car. But you can never use the jewels.”

That’s what makes them so special. “It’s a nice feeling to know that a man went into a jewelry store, which to him is like alien territory,” says my sister Laurie. “It’s one thing for him to go into a lingerie store. That’s pretty self-serving. But for him to go into a jewelry store when he doesn’t get anything out of it except the fact that you’re wearing jewelry . . . that’s wonderful.”

You bet. “I suppose that a man can rationalize it as being an investment if he’s dumb,” says Duke, who not too long ago rationalized an exquisite Edwardian choker that I’d been dreaming about for two years. I was very, very grateful. “I like it that it gives you so much pleasure,” my husband admits. “So I controlled my hyperventilation and wrote the check.”

Still, I don’t see him writing a check for my charm bracelet in the very near future. Not unless I really step up the hints. “A charm bracelet?” Duke says, when I casually remark that I’d seen one. “Aren’t they mostly for high school students?”

Oh, well, maybe next Christmas.