From the bargain hunter to the seasonal professional, meet the men who bring new meaning to the phrase “Buyer, beware!”.

In days of yore, the holiday season has meant many things to many people. The birth of a saviour; the lighting of the Menorah; resolutions for a better life; or, in the UK, the chance to gather round a special, ultra-violent episode of EastEnders. (God bless you, Ian Beale.) But in today’s terrifying global megalopolis, none of that matters any more, because it’s not about Santa and chimneys, it’s about shopping. So, as the retail frenzy grinds into gear it will once again become clear that the problem with wise men bearing gifts is that, at some point, they were desperate men, elbowing others to get at the frankincense, gold and myrrh. The following guide should give you an idea of which type of merry gentleman you will be avoiding as you shop online at MR PORTER this Christmas.

Mr Bargain Hunter doesn’t want to just find the perfect gifts, but to physically prise them out of the cold, dead hands of his fellow shoppers in the Black Friday/ pre-Christmas preview sales. This is the guy who will take days off work to go and queue outside Best Buy in the run-up to seasonal discounts. The guy who, once he’s past those eerie sliding glass doors, well and truly loses his mind, mercilessly scattering children and grannies to either side as he thunders towards his cut-price prize. Amid the carnage – the battered Pokemon backpacks and crushed Murray Mints – he has no time for niceties such as, “Does my maiden aunt actually want a 1600rpm washer-dryer?” Or: “Does it matter that the cashmere sweater I’ve scooped for my girlfriend is an extra, extra large, not a medium?” And when the present is finally opened, instead of saying, “I hope you like it,” he goes for, “Yeah, I got it half price!” Which obviously makes everyone feel really special.

In the course of responsible parenthood, there are some things that you keep from your kids. Such as the true identity of the tooth fairy or your sexual adventures in college. And holiday shopping also deserves a place on that list. At best, it tires the little ones out. At worst, it despoils the childhood awe of this magical season. But this guy doesn’t get it. Dragging his offspring up escalators and through various bland boutiques while he searches for “grown-up” gifts, he keeps the children upright by dangling the prospect of a visit to the toy store in front of them, like a kind of poisonous, capitalist carrot. Once there, they are faced with the stark reality that the Nintendo DS they requested from Santa’s Workshop will not be shipping from the North Pole, but from Toys R Us and, reflecting on the matter, decide they’d much rather get an iPhone X. Cue a series of merry little meltdowns, as infectious as they are loud. Soon the shop floor is shaking with the “fa-la-la-la-laarghs” of 50 livid infants, which, in bloodcurdling chorus, mingle with the strained melody of Ms Christina Aguilera’s “My Kind of Christmas”.

We’re not entirely sure what this cool customer actually does during the holiday period, because, come the middle of the year, he’s already finished all of his shopping, sorted his social engagements, put together his festive outfits and probably found a way to binge-watch all the seasonal TV specials before they’ve even aired. What’s more, he’s done this alongside scoping out Easter eggs for the following year and choosing what he’s going to have for his birthday dinner in two years’ time. If the holidays were an Olympic sport, he’d probably be presented with a medal, perhaps by Doc Brown from Back to the Future, stumbling out of a DeLorean, but as it is, they’re not. So what’s left to say to this perennially prepared, insufferably smug so-and-so but “Happy Christmas-in-July, loser!”

Notwithstanding the fact that, as a rule, Christmas comes with an inbuilt, 364-day warning period, Mr Last Minute always finds himself caught out. You’ll find him, without fail, at a late-opening shopping mall (or if he’s unlucky, a grocer’s or a skip) on Christmas Eve, desperately trying to cram several weeks’ worth of effort, love, consideration and goodwill into 11 minutes. Nothing can save him, yet he believes that the Holy Grail – the perfect gift – is hiding somewhere in a bargain supermarket (or wherever it is he’s stumbled into). He’s flapping a Visa card in each hand as if he hopes he will be able to take off and fly out of the awful situation. Eventually, 30 seconds before closing time, he rushes to the cash register, barely aware of what’s in his basket (a cauliflower, a video camera and some tights, maybe?), and resigns himself to the fact it’s finally over and now he can do nothing but wrap. Ah wait… the wrapping paper! This explains why three two-by-fours and a bird feeder are lying under the tree. He thinks he’ll learn next year. He won’t.

It’s a wonderful thing for three or four weeks a year to put one’s ego aside and think of others. Or so you might think. For Mr Selfish, three or four weeks is actually rather a long time to be out of “me-space”, which is why, when you catch him on his “Holiday Shopping” trip, you’re more likely to see him stalking in and out of a fitting room than standing in line for candy canes and gift wrapping. Where some are weighed down by armfuls of presents as they lurch from aisle to aisle, he has his own difficulties: squeezing through crowds in his brand-new mohair sweater and agonising over whether he wants a black or brown leather strap on his very own festive watch. If you’re lucky enough to be a friend or family member of his, congratulations – you’ll be celebrating the season with the best-dressed fellow this side of Christendom. Just one teeny downside: he’s blown all his money, and you’re getting a candle.

If it’s the done thing these days to be somewhat cynical about the mass hysteria of red letter days such as Christmas, Mr Jolly has not got the memo. Ho, ho, ho, no, of course he hasn’t! He’s too busy enjoying all the wondrous, magical delights that the season brings. Such as getting misty-eyed when the first festive Coca-Cola ad splats itself across the airwaves in November, or glugging back Starbucks Snowperson Lattes as he reels around the shops looking for stocking stuffers, bake-at-home canapés and anything that he might be able to chuck at his enormous tree. He cruises the shops to buy things no one else wants (mainly “hilarious” Christmas sweaters), but also to soak up the atmosphere and, more importantly, the free alcohol at all those customer events. As the season progresses, he goes from merry to jolly, then jolly to flat-out drunk and by mid-December is a festive shade of scarlet that Santa would call “business as usual” and anyone else would call “coronary red”. If you need an injection of festive spirit (or just actual spirits, served with some kind of cheery mixer), turn up to his Red, White and YOOHOO party mid-December and marvel at all the gaudy rubbish he’s amassed in the past few weeks. Just steer clear of him once the hangover kicks in. That’s not so jolly.