Uncle Hasan the Elder – Part 10: “Uncle Hasan’s Eid Shopping Masterclass”

Every family has that one person who turns routine events into a masterclass in psychological strategy. In ours, that person is Uncle Hasan, a man who could outwit a chess champion while playing Uno and still convince you it was your idea.

It was the night before Eid, and tradition demanded new clothes. Everyone was bracing for Uncle Hasan’s usual budget lecture: “Don’t waste money, keep it simple, there’s no golden goose laying designer labels in our backyard.” But this time, nothing.

Instead, he looked up from his tea and said, “I’m coming shopping with you.” That alone was suspicious.

Now, if you’ve ever gone shopping with a master tactician, you know it's not about what you buy—it’s about how you buy it. We already knew a few of his classic rules: never reveal how much you like something, never admit your budget, and always say “just browsing” even when you're holding four items.

But this trip introduced a new level of wizardry.

First stop: a new outfit for my mom. She spotted a dress she liked, but before she could say anything, Uncle Hasan casually pointed to a much more expensive one and said, “This one might look even better on you. Just try it for fun.”

We blinked. What just happened?

Mom went into the fitting room. I leaned toward Dad and whispered, “Are you okay? That dress costs more than our electricity bill.”

He raised an eyebrow, like I’d just misunderstood the laws of economics.

Mom came out smiling. “It’s elegant, no?”

Uncle Hasan nodded, then leaned in with faux concern. “It’s lovely, really. But after all the effort you put into staying fit... doesn’t it hide your shape a little too much? Almost bulky.”

Boom. Instant emotional reversal. That dress was now enemy number one.

She handed it back and said, “Well, maybe I’ll look at these others instead.” Uncle Hasan handed her three moderately priced dresses, each more flattering than the last—she picked one without hesitation.

Mission complete. Next: shoes.

He handed my mom two pairs. One was clearly cheaper, but he talked about it like it was the luxury item. “This one is a bit more expensive, but it’s worth it for quality. Of course, if you prefer the other one, we can stretch the budget.”

She paused. “Hmm. Maybe we can cut down a bit on sweets this year.”

And just like that, he’d guided the purchase to the cheaper pair and gotten a verbal commitment to save money elsewhere.

My turn came. I braced for manipulation. I asked, “Any advice?”

He smiled like a magician revealing nothing and said, “Son, part of becoming a man is learning your own tricks. But I’m always watching.”

Classic Hasan.

By the end of the day, everyone was satisfied. My mom felt stylish without guilt. We stayed under budget. And Uncle Hasan? He sat back in the car, quietly sipping his tea from a thermos like a war general reviewing a victorious campaign.

Since then, I don’t approach Eid shopping without consulting my inner Hasan:

Offer the pricier option first to make others appreciate the cheaper one.

Add a light insult disguised as helpful honesty.

Pretend to be generous—it creates goodwill you can use to redirect decisions.

Trade emotional currency for financial advantage.

Make them think it was their decision all along.

That’s the real trick.

By the time they realize what happened, if they ever do—it’s too late. They’re happy. The wallet is safe. And somewhere in the background, Uncle Hasan is smiling like a man who just pulled off another silent victory.

And he probably did.