Ladies, men aren’t that hard to figure out. Just think of your ideal man — and then remember we’re not like that. Here are some gifts not to get for us.

The logic behind these seems to be: “Men grow beards, right? And they’ve been shaving every day for years? Let’s try to get them to do it a completely different way!” Each holiday season, the subway system gets loaded up with inane ads for unobtainium-bladed razor kits accompanied by endangered yak-fur brushes, twee little apothecary jars of shaving foam beaten to a fine cream by the wings of fairies, and silky skin-softening unguents distilled from mink oil. Stop trying to fetishize shaving. It’s not some kind of glorious manly ritual; it’s a dull chore to be gotten over with as quickly as possible, like taking out the garbage. Would you buy us a jumbo pack of “HeftyLux: The World’s Finest Garbage Bag”?

Ladies, whatever style of underwear he’s been wearing is the style he likes. Maybe briefs feel like a groin-winch to his netherland. On the other hand, maybe he finds boxers less supportive than Gwyneth Paltrow at a Gluten Lovers of America meeting. Women love to change who men are, but what men really love is to not be asked to change — and you can’t get any more fundamental to a man’s sense of self than the underwear he chooses.

Sorry, getting dolled up is not our style. Darling little bottles of blue or amber liquid are just one more thing to keep track of — we’ll either forget to use the cologne or lose it immediately.

“Good for one free back massage, any time.” “Romantic dinner for two.” “Understanding hug with no questions asked!” We’re probably not that into anything the hosts of “The View” might judge to be sweet. If you want to talk “Hall pass,” though . . .

“Treasury of Classic Love Poems.” “What Your Dreams Are Telling You.” “The Secret Language of Birthdays.” No, thanks — we’ll stick to Michael Lewis or Brad Thor.

First of all, nobody wants to wear a lumpy itch-factory homemade sweater. Second, it makes us uncomfortable to know you put hundreds of hours of effort into that blanket, scarf or afghan. What’s next, you suggest we go out in public wearing T-shirts emblazoned with a picture of us snuggling?

We don’t need scented candles, scented clothes hangers or scented potpourri. In fact, we don’t need scented anything. You know why? We don’t really care how stuff smells, and we would prefer it not smell like anything. The last thing we want is for our stuff to start smelling like a hope chest.

OK, you’re right: We boys love gadgets. But that electric foot-massage contraption or ergonomic adjustable snow shovel is too much work to figure out, and will probably break anyway.

It’s not that they’re not funny (though usually they aren’t), it’s just that we’re hurt that you seem to be indicating we aren’t bringing enough funny to the relationship. You know, kinda like how you don’t like it when we give you a digital scale or a subscription to Weight Watchers magazine. You want to make us happy? Laugh at our jokes. And yes, we’ll take a pretend laugh over no laugh every time. Yeah, that’s right: We don’t really care if you’re faking it — at least you made the effort.

Impeccably designed, watermarked, made from lambswool and rose-petal ink, stationery (including thank-you notes) is completely without value to us, except as kindling for a nice roaring fire — but you probably wouldn’t appreciate that, so why buy it?