Why Polo Players Are Officially the Most Awkward Humans in the World to Buy Gifts For

I have lived amongst polo players for years.

I've watched them gallop fearlessly towards flying balls, attempt to drink coffee while wearing spurs and hold entire conversations about bandages that somehow last longer than actual marriages.

So believe me when I say this. They are absolutely impossible to buy presents for. Not because they're fussy. Oh no. Because they're a wonderfully peculiar species.

Allow me to explain.

"I Don't Need Anything."

This is the first lie every polo player tells.

"I don't need anything." Interesting. Then why does your tack room resemble a small agricultural version of Amazon? You own fourteen saddle pads. Nine pairs of gloves. Ten mallets and five broken ones. A grooming box with enough brushes to service the Royal Household.

Yet somehow... "I don't need anything."

Every Gift Is Judged on Practicality

Normal humans receive a scarf and say, "How lovely!" Polo players receive a scarf and ask, "Is it machine washable?"

You buy them a beautiful candle. They wonder if it will keep flies away. You buy chocolates. "Can the ponies have one?" No. No they absolutely cannot.

They Already Bought It

The greatest challenge of buying for a polo player is that if they wanted it, they bought it three months ago. Usually from a tiny saddlery hidden halfway across Argentina.

"It's hand stitched by a man called Carlos." Of course it is. And apparently Carlos only makes six a year.

They Can Identify Leather from Twenty Metres

Never attempt to bluff. "Oh, it's leather." "What sort?" "...brown?" Wrong answer.

They'll sniff it. Flex it. Rub it between their fingers. Then announce: "Hmm. Italian. Vegetable tanned. Probably made in 2024." Meanwhile I can't even tell one haynet from another.

Their Christmas List Makes No Sense

Most people ask for books. Perfume. Wine. Polo players? "Eight rolls of vet wrap." "Stud grease." "A tail bag." "One left-handed spur strap." Not a pair. Just one. Apparently they lost the other one during a tournament in 2019. They're still optimistic it'll turn up.

They Value Strange Things

You could spend hundreds on jewellery. Or give them a clean sponge. Honestly. Watch their face light up. "A NEW SPONGE!" It's like you've handed them the Crown Jewels.

Everything Eventually Becomes Horse Equipment

Tea towels become stable towels. Old jumpers become coolers. Nice buckets become feed buckets. Luxury tote bags become helmet bags. I've even seen expensive picnic blankets end up underneath muddy saddles. Nothing survives.

They Never Throw Anything Away

You might think your gift is competing against new things. It's not. It's competing against every piece of equipment they've owned since Pony Club.

"This headcollar? I've had it twenty-three years." It has no buckle. Half the stitching has dissolved. One side is held together with baler twine and hope. But apparently, "It's got sentimental value."

They Speak a Language Nobody Else Understands

Try listening to birthday conversations. "What size?" "Full." "What colour?" "Havana." "What width?" "Medium-wide." "What make?" "Depends." "What year?" "What horse?" By this point everyone else has wandered off for cake.

They Secretly Love Thoughtful Gifts

Here's the funny thing. Underneath all the mud, the early mornings, and the endless discussions about girths, polo people are incredibly sentimental. Not about expensive things. About thoughtful ones.

The friend who remembers their lucky number. The teammate who knows they always lose sunglasses. The family member who notices they practically live in one favourite hoodie. The little things.

Because despite appearances, polo players spend most of their lives making everyone else — especially us ponies — comfortable before thinking about themselves. Which is rather lovely. Don't tell them I said that. They'll become unbearable.

From One Pony to the Humans...

If you're buying for a polo player this year, don't panic. Whatever you choose, they'll probably say, "Oh, you shouldn't have." Then immediately wonder whether it will fit in the horsebox.

And if all else fails, bring carrots. Not for them. For me. I'm considerably easier to please.

p.s. If you still insist on buying them a gift, shop the Polo Mare collection and hopefully you may get a "oh thank you, that's lovely" — and it won't end up in the back of the tack room.