Let me introduce you to the third item on my Shelf of Shame.
It sits between the taxidermied armadillo and the divorce recovery book. A bar of soap. Wrapped in brown kraft paper. Labeled in handwritten script: “Artisan Bacon-Scented Soap — Handcrafted with Oatmeal, Goat’s Milk, and Real Bacon Essence.”
I found it at a clearance rack in a boutique gift shop in Kansas City. Originally $18, marked down to $6, then to $3. I paid three dollars for it. Three dollars and a lifetime of olfactory trauma.
Here’s the thing about bacon soap: someone actually thought this was a good gift idea.
Not just the person who made it — the artisan who carefully blended oatmeal and goat’s milk with “bacon essence” and decided this was a product worth putting into the world. But also the person who bought it at full price, wrapped it, and gave it to someone. And the person who received it, smiled, said thank you, and immediately put it in a drawer, never to be used.
That’s three levels of people who looked at a bar of soap that smells like breakfast meat and thought: “yes, this is the right call.”
I’ve seen this pattern before — in gift exchanges, in office parties, in the checkout lines of every holiday season.
One survey of office workers found that 68% said novelty gifts were the worst presents to receive from colleagues — and that they’d strongly prefer something more thoughtful . Bacon soap is the poster child of the novelty gift. It’s not useful. It’s not personal. It’s just weird. And weird, as I’ve said before, is not the same as meaningful.
Let’s talk about why bacon soap is one of the most perfect bad gift stories I’ve ever collected.
The person who buys bacon soap — or bacon-scented candles, or bacon-flavored anything — has fallen into what I call the “Novelty Trap.” I’ve covered this before, but it deserves repeating. The Novelty Trap is when you buy a gift not because it’s right for the recipient, but because it’s interesting to you. You’re not buying for them. You’re buying for the reaction you’ll get when they open it.
The problem is that the reaction is almost never what you hoped. The recipient smiles politely, says thank you, and then wonders: “Does this person actually know me at all?”
In twelve years at Hallmark, I watched this happen over and over.
A customer would walk in on December 23rd, look at the “novelty” section, and grab the weirdest thing on the shelf. A bacon-scented candle. A singing fish plaque. A mug that says “World’s Okayest Sister.” They’d pay, wrap it, and walk out feeling clever. And somewhere, on Christmas morning, someone would open it and feel confused.
The research backs this up. In one poll of office workers, Secret Santa horror stories included receiving “a dead aloe vera plant, a rotten banana, a roll of duct tape, and even a pair of Kegel balls” . Novelty gifts — like bacon soap — consistently top the list of gifts that make recipients feel unseen and unappreciated .
Here’s what should have been bought instead.
Same budget: $18. Same occasion: a gift exchange, a birthday, a “just because.” Same recipient: someone who likes bacon. If you want to acknowledge their love of bacon, buy them something they can actually consume — like a gift card to a local barbecue joint, a bottle of high-quality bacon salt, or an actual pound of artisanal bacon. If they like bacon, give them bacon. Not soap that smells like it.
The bacon soap is still on my Shelf of Shame.
It’s been there for three years. I’ve never used it. I’ve never even opened it. The smell still emanates faintly through the paper. It’s a reminder that the Novelty Trap is always waiting — and that just because something exists doesn’t mean it should be gifted.
The right gift says “I see you.” The wrong one says “I saw this on sale.”
But bacon soap says something even stranger: “I saw this on a shelf, it made me laugh, and I bought it without thinking about you even once.”
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever bought a novelty gift — ask yourself why. If the answer is “I thought it was funny,” you might want to think again. Your recipient isn’t laughing. They’re just wondering why you gave them breakfast in the shower.
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