Every Christmas, there's a moment when you tear off the wrapping paper and are filled with either euphoria or absolute horror. Either this person knows you better than you know yourself – they've looked into your heart and seen your hopes and dreams, and picked up exactly the handbag/shoes/perfume you wanted and couldn't afford for yourself – or you're struggling to comprehend how they could misjudge you so badly. Seriously, we've met, haven't we? I've known you for years. How could you possibly think that I wanted to be confronted with this monstrosity on what is supposed to be the jolliest day of the year?

Thank god you can return it. Below, the Never Underdressed team remember the greatest and most disappointing gifts they've ever received.

Harriet Walker, news editor
Is it sad that the best present I’ve ever had was 25 years ago? It was the publicity stand that my mum and dad got down the video rental shop when The Little Mermaid came out. I was obsessed with the Disney cartoon and I remember sighing over the six-foot-tall thing in the shop that had a dangling Ariel and Flounder behind some Perspex sea – like they were really floating Under the Sea! When I came downstairs and saw it, I went into raptures. It stood in my room, towering over me and all my little friends, for about three years, before we moved house and left it behind. It still wrenches my heart a bit to think of them floating in the sea alone somewhere.

Carrie Tyler, editor
For many years my family lived in Cameroon and there wasn't much to buy anywhere outside Monoprix. My poor mum, who is a brilliant gift-giver, really struggled to make our Christmas match our ones back home. That year, gifts for my 15-year-old sister and 13-year-old self centred around the UNICEF gift shop. There was a UNICEF pencil in one parcel, a UNICEF pencil case in another, a UNICEF rubber. As a selfish teenager, I really couldn't see the positive message in those gifts.

Laura Silver, staff writer 
Christmas 1994 I begged my mum for a pair of Dr Martens, which back then cost what seemed like a whopping £40, so way further than my pocket money would stretch. She completely refused, saying I would look like a skinhead in bovver boots, but it turned out that was simply a ruse, and she’d got me a pair after all. I put yellow laces in them and wore them with absolutely everything for years.

Lynn Enright, staff writer
The worst Christmas present I ever received was a pair of rollerblades from Father Christmas. This was the year everybody got rollerblades – 1993 perhaps? – but when I unwrapped mine under the tree they were floppy, made of leather, not the sort of reinforced plastic that I had been expecting. They were like old-fashioned 1970s-style roller skates, albeit ones with inline wheels. My disappointment was palpable – I am very like Rachel Green from Friends when it comes to receiving bad presents, i.e. completely transparent and a bit of a bitch – but my parents tried to convince me that these were a hip new style. 

That theory was blown out of the water that afternoon when I wore my leather rollerblades out on the street with the neighbours, who had all gotten rollerblades for Christmas too. ‘Ha ha Lynn’s are like roller skates,’ they all jeered, whizzing around in their cool rollerblades. The disappointment was consolidated when I turned out to be really bad at rollerblading, like knee-scrapingly, hands-grazingly, bottom-blackeningly bad. They were consigned to the back of the shed by the end of the day.

Angelica Hermon, beauty writer
I’ll never forget going over to the Christmas tree aged about eight or nine and finding my present underneath it. It was a small square box, not bigger than my hand, and I shook it to see what sound it made. It jangled and rattled and I had absolutely no idea what on earth it was. Not the Furby I’d asked for, or the pink bike I’d been praying to Father Christmas for each night – I swear I’d been good as gold all year. I was completely miffed about it, and spent the rest of Christmas Eve pondering what on earth it could be.

On Christmas morning, I shot downstairs to open this mysterious box. In front of the family of course. Inside was a collection of conkers and the garage door key. Baffling to me at such a young age. Upon being prompted, the clues started to unravel and I made a hurried bee-line for the garage. The latch unlocked, I reached up high to turn on the light and inside, at the back, right over in the corner, was the neon pink bike I’d been hoping for. My first, proper, big girl bike. No present receiving has been quite the same since.

Hattie Crisell, contributing writer
By any reasonable measure of what makes a nice present for a man to give his girlfriend, this one was a fail – and that's why I'm putting it in the 'worst' category. But I also found it hilarious.

I was 20 years old and unwrapping a gift from my boyfriend while he watched me expectantly, a grin on his face. It turned out to be a four-foot-long wooden tube. There was a moment of silence as I tried to identify it. 'It's a didgeridoo!', he announced, unable to contain his glee at what he considered The Best Present Ever. My second question was why I was receiving it. I'd never been to Australia or expressed any interest in didgeridoos. I'm not sure I'd ever even used the word 'didgeridoo'. His attitude was, 'Who in their right mind would not want this? It's amazing!' 

It was the most random, unromantic gift ever, but it was also sort of endearing. I propped it in the corner of my bedroom and laughed out loud every time I saw it.

Joanna McGarry, beauty director
I’d lusted after these boots forever. Or at least two months. But it was a case of pay rent or buy the boots and move into a cardboard box, so I begrudgingly opted for the former. And then, on Christmas morning, there they were. My boyfriend had sought them out of his own accord and spent far more than we agreed to spend on each other (we were saving for a holiday). I opened the big white box, heart pounding and saw those gold buckles peering back at me. As is the norm, I stayed in my pyjamas for the entire duration of Christmas Day, save for these little opulent boots of joy – sort of like the time I had my first pair of Magic Steps and wore them to bed for a week.

When I remember unwrapping the boots now in my mind, it’s got that gauzey loveliness about it, like a little Miracle on 34th Street tableau. They were a size too small (he took a punt, thankfully, presuming I’d be happy to squash my feet into them until they fit – and I am), but I adore them. They chink around when I walk, making the sound of little festive gold bells. They are a Christmas shoe, lined with the most squashy, cosy sheepskin and I wear them in full knowledge that they are always the shining star of any outfit.

Ursula Lake, fashion director
When I was 17, I had a very traumatic scare-cut. The Christmas after this, only a few weeks later, my mother put a huge number of hair bands in my Christmas stocking. Considering that I had no hair, was totally traumatised by the haircut and was still hankering after the boy who had chucked me as a result of the haircut, it seemed very very unkind. I have not forgiven her!