There is a certain type of woman who knows exactly what she wants, which is – in very particular order – a hedge-fund manager, a big house with a show-off postcode, a tiny lollipop figure, another handbag . . . You know the script.

Yet most women, frankly, are confused by their desires. They want symmetry and order and glossy hair, but they also want spontaneity and chaotic kitchen parties and pets. We like bling, but we also like the discreet glint of tiny gold earrings and nothing more. We dream of being whisked off to the Aman-whatever for a week of rose-petal-strewn baths and class-A spa treatments, but there are also plenty of times when we would rather hunker down by the fire in a pokey Welsh cottage. Our definition of luxury depends on our mood, on where we are in our lives and how close we are to getting what we’ve always wanted (because, if there is one rule that holds true for all women, it is that the minute they get what they want, they move the goalposts).

You can also guarantee that any woman – with the possible exception of the hedge-fund huntress – will resent being given what she wants if she has had to ask for it or prompt the giver in any way. This is because what a woman really wants, above all things, is for someone (a man) to be so focused on her desires, so attentive to her every whim, that he will know what she needs just by exercising his emotional intelligence.

Scarily, for the male present-buyer, the most luxurious gift can actually score negative points if the woman on the receiving end doesn’t feel it demonstrates the right amount of insight. We hate thoughtless expensive presents (don’t give us beauty baskets, they’re for mothers-in-law) as much as we dislike garage-forecourt lilies. We love a logo-stamped box rustling with tissue, but not if what’s inside is ochre with a fringe trim (that rings “chosen by his secretary” alarm bells).

Underwear can be feelgood, but it has the opposite effect if it’s three sizes too small – there are few things sadder than having to struggle through the January sales to exchange the cute dolly size for something more robust. If you’re buying a ring (and if you are, be sure the designer is one she drools over), it has to fit, or we feel like one of the ugly sisters. Silver-lovers will balk at gold and vice versa. The right bag could work, but the wrong bag will make us feel guilty (we’re over the “to heck with it, I’ll take anything with a name” stage).

All of this suggests that women are impossible to please: fussy, quick to take offence, horribly conscious of where and how things have been bought, but, actually, it all boils down to one important message – what women really want is attention. As much of it as you can afford. (This, by the way, is the key to understanding women generally. When we sulk/nag/have a fit about our hair/spend too much on clothes/obsess about our weight/obsess about decorating the house/fall out with our friends/lock the bathroom door and refuse to come out, nine times out of 10, it’s because we feel neglected.)

We don’t need gifts to prove that we are loved, but when present time comes around, we can’t help but rate them in terms of their attentiveness score. It actually doesn’t matter whether we get diamonds or a dressing gown – what counts is that you, not some abstract female, have been in the buyer’s thoughts. We want attention and we want attentive presents. Indulgent presents. Spoiling, decadent, surplus-to-requirement presents that flatter the most superficial aspects of our nature. Maybe even presents designed to get us more attention, like a little gold jacket, some big gold shoes or one of those cashmere scarves that looks as if it was knitted for a giant in a fairy tale. Luxury comes in many forms, but what women understand by it is anything that is all about us and our pleasure and nothing to do with what is practical or sensible or appropriate. If you think we’ll be mad with you for buying the beautiful sheepskin coat that we tried on for a joke, well, we might, but we’ll be crying with joy, too.

The good news is that attentive luxury doesn’t have to cost the earth (an ornamental orange tree would do it for the keen horticulturalist, a pair of winter sunglasses for the fashionista); the bad news is that you do need to know your subject. That said, if you haven’t been concentrating this year and want to make amends, you really can’t go wrong with anything in Pippa Small’s jewellery range. We’re not that complicated.

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