When your dad says he does not want anything for Father's Day, three things are usually true. He does not want clutter. He does not want you to spend money you do not have. And he does not want to feel like he has to fake gratitude for something generic.
None of those three rule out a thoughtful gift. They just rule out a category: the safe-but-impersonal gift that is mostly there to fill the day. So skip that category, not the day.
Translate "nothing" into one of three buckets. Almost every "I do not want anything" dad is actually saying one of: "I want time with you," "I want something I will use without thinking," or "I want a treat I would never buy myself." Pick one and the gift writes itself.
If he means "time with you." Plan the day, not the gift. A round of golf together, a fishing morning, a long walk with his favorite coffee, a baseball game, a movie at home with food he likes. Add one small physical thing under $40 so he has something to open. The opening is the ritual; the day is the gift.
If he means "something I will use without thinking." This is the consumable bucket. Better coffee. Better socks. A new spice rub. A nice candle. A good loaf of bread from the bakery he does not drive to often. The bar: it should disappear within four weeks and leave no obligation behind it.
If he means "a treat I would never buy myself." Look at his recent shopping cart abandonment (kidding, do not do this) or his conversations from the last six months. The thing he has mentioned more than twice but never bought. Often: a nicer thermometer, a better pair of headphones, a real spa day, a single nice piece of leather, a class for a hobby he keeps almost starting. Buy the thing he would not let himself buy.
How to ask without giving it away. "What is something nice you have been thinking about lately?" beats "What do you want for Father's Day." Three weeks before the day, in passing. Most dads will answer the first question honestly because it does not feel like an obligation. Write down the answer immediately.
Three good defaults if you cannot ask. Letter-a-month subscription you write all 12 cards for now: $24 to $60. A small-batch BBQ rub flight, paired with a handwritten card: $35 to $65. A 90-minute spa pass with a hot stone massage at a local spa with two open slots that weekend: $80 to $160.
What to skip. Cards alone. A tie alone. "World's Best Dad" anything. A bigger version of something he already has. A six-pack of beer in a basket from a brand he does not recognize.
The recovery move. If you have already bought a "safe" gift and are reading this on June 20: do not return it. Add a handwritten letter that names one specific thing you remember him doing for you, with a date if you can. The letter does the heavy lifting; the gift becomes the thing the letter sat next to.