Oregon Humanities

Control Freaks?

Why some people collect stuff

Mark Perlman

It all began for me in fourth grade when I started collecting stamps. Then, as a teenager, my path after school always seemed to go by the record store, and I’d come home with a few used LPs of Beethoven or Brahms or Mahler. My mother would exclaim, “No more records!” but to no avail. The advent of CDs made this habit worse, and I now face another dedicated CD shelf. And, yes, I still have all the LPs—- shame on you for even wondering. I’m a collector. I also have a pile of a hundred or so beer coasters of all brands and shapes that I acquired when I was a student traveling through Europe. I don’t really drink beer anymore, and I have no real interest in the coasters, but the stack is a reminder of the good old days. Even if I don’t look at them, and even though they’re not in any way valuable, I can’t just throw them away.

People collect a wide variety of stuff, from stamps and coins to autographs and arrowheads, toys, guns, dolls, rocks, jewelry, antiques, baseball cards, matchbooks, cars, art, houses, and much more. Why do they do this? What would make otherwise normal people search far and wide for an elusive and obscure item to add to an already-bulging collection? The items collected don’t have to be valuable or beautiful to be collectible—for every collector of rare and valuable coins or fine art is someone who collects interesting but common rocks or leaves of various shapes or beer cans of the world. There are also as many people who seem to simply lack any hint of the urge to collect, and who think collectors are nutcases who waste vast amounts of time, energy, space, and money on utter trivialities.

Collecting is different from other methods of accruing stuff. It’s not gathering and storing, as one might do with food or clothing or household tools. It’s not saving nuts and bolts, or envelopes or empty boxes, just in case they have a future use. It’s not accumulation—say, of junk mail or old newspapers—that one just hasn’t gotten around to going through and organizing or throwing out. And it’s not hoarding, like having twenty-seven years’ worth of newspapers taking over all the space in your house. With hoarding, piles of stuff can end up rendering living spaces unlivable, or keeping them from serving their normal purposes. Hoarding is a serious psychological disorder related to obsessive-compulsive disorder, and it can have tragic consequences, as exemplified in news stories of people who hoard animals in terribly filthy and unhealthy conditions. But even avid collectors are rarely hoarders, unless their collections leave them no room in their homes to live.

My beer coasters don’t count as a collection. I don’t sort them, study them, mount them, or do anything else with them. They’re just stuff I keep. Same for the teddy bear I have had since I was a baby, the one Grandma sewed back together when I must have tugged on it too hard. These are keepsakes that I have a sentimental attachment to and can’t bring myself to get rid of. Even inheriting someone else’s collection might not count as a collection of one’s own. Say you inherit Grandpa’s old automobile license plates or Grandma’s Hummel figurines. Even if you don’t care much about either license plates or figurines, you may just hang on to them out of sentiment or loyalty—but at some point, if you get the right offer or run out of room, you may try to sell them or give them away.

So what makes collecting different from other methods of accruing stuff? Collecting is far more careful and systematic. Collectors collect very specific things and methodically pursue the items they seek. (Though some collectors have multiple collections of different types of things.) On building a collection, the collector is proud of it (unlike the hoarder, who is ashamed of his or her hoard). Collectors sort the things they collect, study them, read about them and the context or history they are related to, and learn about the world through them. Collectors often gather to talk to others who collect the same or similar items. Collectors keep lists and have catalogs of their collections. And collectors take pains to preserve the items they collect, either by storing them in boxes, or, more elaborately, by carefully mounting or encasing them. Collectors think of themselves as the guardians of items that other people might not view as valuable. It is a noble and often thankless task to preserve and guard a It all began for me in fourth grade when I started collecting stamps. Then, as a teenager, my path after school always seemed to go by the record store, and I’d come home with a few used LPs of Beethoven or Brahms or Mahler. My mother would exclaim, “No more records!” but to no avail. The advent of CDs made this habit worse, and I now face another dedicated CD shelf. And, yes, I still have all the LPs—- shame on you for even wondering. I’m a collector. I also have a pile of a hundred or so beer coasters of all brands and shapes that I acquired when I was a student traveling through Europe. I don’t really drink beer anymore, and I have no real interest in the coasters, but the stack is a reminder of the good old days. Even if I don’t look at them, and even though they’re not in any way valuable, I can’t just throw them away.

People collect a wide variety of stuff, from stamps and coins to autographs and arrowheads, toys, guns, dolls, rocks, jewelry, antiques, baseball cards, matchbooks, cars, art, houses, and much more. Why do they do this? What would make otherwise normal people search far and wide for an elusive and obscure item to add to an already-bulging collection? The items collected don’t have to be valuable or beautiful to be collectible—for every collector of rare and valuable coins or fine art is someone who collects interesting but common rocks or leaves of various shapes or beer cans of the world. There are also as many people who seem to simply lack any hint of the urge to collect, and who think collectors are nutcases who waste vast amounts of time, energy, space, and money on utter trivialities.

Collecting is different from other methods of accruing stuff. It’s not gathering and storing, as one might do with food or clothing or household tools. It’s not saving nuts and bolts, or envelopes or empty boxes, just in case they have a future use. It’s not accumulation—say, of junk mail or old newspapers—that one just hasn’t gotten around to going through and organizing or throwing out. And it’s not hoarding, like having twenty-seven years’ worth of newspapers taking over all the space in your house. With hoarding, piles of stuff can end up rendering living spaces unlivable, or keeping them from serving their normal purposes. Hoarding is a serious psychological disorder related to obsessive-compulsive disorder, and it can have tragic consequences, as exemplified in news stories of people who hoard animals in terribly filthy and unhealthy conditions. But even avid collectors are rarely hoarders, unless their collections leave them no room in their homes to live.

My beer coasters don’t count as a collection. I don’t sort them, study them, mount them, or do anything else with them. They’re just stuff I keep. Same for the teddy bear I have had since I was a baby, the one Grandma sewed back together when I must have tugged on it too hard. These are keepsakes that I have a sentimental attachment to and can’t bring myself to get rid of. Even inheriting someone else’s collection might not count as a collection of one’s own. Say you inherit Grandpa’s old automobile license plates or Grandma’s Hummel figurines. Even if you don’t care much about either license plates or figurines, you may just hang on to them out of sentiment or loyalty—but at some point, if you get the right offer or run out of room, you may try to sell them or give them away.

So what makes collecting different from other methods of accruing stuff? Collecting is far more careful and systematic. Collectors collect very specific things and methodically pursue the items they seek. (Though some collectors have multiple collections of different types of things.) On building a collection, the collector is proud of it (unlike the hoarder, who is ashamed of his or her hoard). Collectors sort the things they collect, study them, read about them and the context or history they are related to, and learn about the world through them. Collectors often gather to talk to others who collect the same or similar items. Collectors keep lists and have catalogs of their collections. And collectors take pains to preserve the items they collect, either by storing them in boxes, or, more elaborately, by carefully mounting or encasing them. Collectors think of themselves as the guardians of items that other people might not view as valuable. It is a noble and often thankless task to preserve and guard a collection.

Of course, some things people collect have significant monetary value, such as coins, rare stamps, art, cars, antiques, and other assorted rarities. But if one is holding on to these things primarily as a way of making money, this is not genuinely collecting—it’s either investing or creating an inventory for commercial purposes. The person who buys a rare car and stores it in a special dust-free garage for decades so that it can later be sold for profit is really using the car as an elaborate bank account with a better-than-average interest rate. Real collectors don’t mind if the objects they collect are valuable; but they collect for the sake of the objects themselves, not their market value. In fact, most collectors can’t bear to part with their collections, even for a great price. This is also why merchants who deal in collectibles and who are happy to sell their items at a good price are not actually collectors. Most collections are sold off because of financial need, lack of space, or by the heirs of a deceased collector.

In fact, practicality may be a defining feature of what is not a collection. If one acquires and retains books for the sake of reading them, this practical purpose may render them not a true collection. Lawyers, professors, and other professionals whose offices contain shelves full of books in their fields have the books to read and use—not as collections. Consider the mystery fan who has shelves full of mystery novels in his house: if the point of having the books is to read them or to keep those already read to be read again, then it isn’t really a book “collection,” because it is useful. On the other hand, a bunch of old books on topics one does not care to read about, or, even more extreme, in languages one cannot read—books one has sought out simply to have the objects themselves—that’s a collection.

Collecting is a sometimes expensive and often time-consuming activity that results in large amounts of stuff that take up lots of physical space. So why do people collect things? One simple and obvious answer is because collecting makes them happy. Collected objects can help people feel grounded and secure, and collectors also may gain esteem from having impressive collections. Collecting can provide an escape: one can spend hours messing around—sorting, studying, and organizing a collection, retreating from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But there are deeper reasons than these. Collecting seems to fulfill three powerful psychological needs: control, knowledge, and validation.

Science shows us firsthand the knowledge and control components of collecting: scientists collect, sort, and study data, artifacts, or specimens, then use the information gathered to understand and perhaps even control the world (or part of it). So, even at the highest levels, collecting leads to knowledge and control. When the biologist Carl Linnaeus devised a systematic taxonomy of the living world, the key to understanding how organisms are related to each other, it gave us a sense of how and why things work, and an entry point into controlling living creatures (instead of their controlling us). Merely knowing the names of birds doesn’t allow us to control them, but if we also know their taxonomy, history, behavior patterns, and what they like to eat, we could, for example, train some of them to carry messages like carrier pigeons. That’s control, and we can’t get it without taxonomy and knowledge—which we gained by collecting data and specimens.

Aristotle’s method of attacking any problem was first to make distinctions, and then to make subdistinctions after that. When our theories carve the world at its joints, we both understand it and have some control over it. Of course, knowledge doesn’t ensure control, but it is a necessary first step. Without understanding, we can waste a lot of time and effort fumbling around in the dark. Yet sometimes having merely limited knowledge gives us the illusion of control instead of actual control. In these cases, more knowledge will show us the full extent or limits of our control.

How does having objects add to one’s knowledge of the world, other than merely making those objects handy for study? Collecting narrows the scope of one’s encounter with the world. Think of the vast array of possible things to collect. You can’t collect everything—where would you put it all? Instead, collectors specialize. Beginning stamp collectors just collect stamps in general, while mature collectors collect along well-defined topics or subjects—United States stamps from before 1939, or stamps from imperial Russia, or envelopes with stamps from inflation-era Germany between the wars (when it could cost one million Deutsche Marks to mail a letter), or stamps with cats on them, or stamps honoring famous women, and so on. People collect specific subvarieties within an area, and perhaps sub-subvarieties. Not just china or glassware in general, but French porcelain or Depression glass. And then there are the vast categories of collections of more obscure objects. People collect Coca-Cola memorabilia, or Mickey Mouse stuff, or Winnie the Pooh stuff, or military items, or objects that belonged to famous people (or a specific famous person, or a class of famous people), or trains, or Star Trek memorabilia, or Star Wars action figures, or tomb rubbings, or Barbie dolls, and so on and so on. I know of someone who collects baby teeth (their own and their children’s). Another friend of a friend collects old railroad schedules.

What kinds of things one chooses to collect may seem utterly arbitrary—and that is the point. I get to decide what I collect, and by doing so, I invest that portion of the world with special value. Most people may think that this little slice of the world is fairly unimpressive, but by choosing to collect particular specimens, I make that slice of the world important to me. There is a sort of existentialist point here: The world is subjective, and nothing is intrinsically important or valuable, so we have the ultimate power. We invest arbitrary objects with value by choosing them. We can even create value in things that aren’t at all valuable in a monetary sense. We can make anything assume a position of importance, even old railroad schedules or Star Wars action figures or Beanie Babies or baby teeth or an uncirculated 1926 buffalo nickel.

As specialists, collectors know what they have. They often keep elaborate lists and encyclopedic catalogs and have deep knowledge of the intricate details of their collection’s subject matter. The world is a vast and confusing place. It is hard to know about it. Quantum mechanics and astrophysics elude all but the most expert. Human psychology and relationships are notoriously impenetrable. When I think about it, I realize I don’t understand very much about the universe. But I understand the tiny differences between, say, the Type I and Type II varieties of the Washington two-cent regular issue U.S. stamp of 1903, Catalog No. 319. I may not understand a lot of the world, but I can understand this tiny slice of the world very, very well, and I may even have pristine exemplars of the objects in that tiny slice carefully mounted and displayed. Having a handle on even a small slice of the world is comforting and empowering.

Ultimately, collectors have an urge, perhaps unconscious, to understand, master, and, to some degree, control a part of the world. They acquire objects that have importance to them, and they acquire intricate, ultra-detailed knowledge about the things they collect. They often make headway toward completeness, obtaining a very thorough sampling of objects within a certain collecting domain. There is extra significance in having a complete set of some category, be it books or stamps or coins or Barbie dolls. The world is unwieldy and hard to manage, and if one can have an extensive or bordering-on-complete collection of something, then one has some modicum of control over at least a small part of the vast world.

Another virtue of collecting: one can understand objects better when they exist in context. Pennies are now worth so little that people leave them in little dishes by cash registers for anyone who comes along and needs change. But a collection of pennies can tell you things. Look at pennies from the United Kingdom and the British Commonwealth nations over the past 150 years—their obverse sides have profiles of monarchs, from Queen Victoria to King Edward VII to King George V (skipping King Edward VIII, who, due to his abdication, wasn’t king long enough to have his pennies make it into circulation) to King George VI to Queen Elizabeth II. In a series of simple pennies, you can see history. Even the face of Queen Elizabeth II has changed over her long reign—every ten to fifteen years, her profile on British coins and stamps is updated. Compare these U.K. pennies to the U.S. penny: over the same time frame, our penny bore an Indian head (1859-1909) and, since 1909, the profile of Abraham Lincoln, unchanged. What does it say about the two nations that the coins of one portray idealized figures or dead presidents, and those of the other portray living monarchs?

Another important part of collecting for many collectors, if not all, is engaging with other people who collect the same arcane and obscure things. They are eager to see each other’s collections and talk about the items, and they share a finely focused interest in the same slice of the world. Not only is this camaraderie, it is validation.

Of course, many collections don’t occupy these categories very neatly. One collection could be both useful and collected for the objects themselves, and also to some extent kept for nostalgia’s sake. And collections can take over some people’s homes and lives and verge on hoarding. But collecting is a special way of having stuff, which can range from traditional to goofy to obsessive to creepy. Collecting rests on making distinctions between objects in the world, an activity that has long been at the center of both science and philosophy. Perhaps all distinction-making is a kind of collecting—the collecting of ideas. Or perhaps collecting is one outgrowth of the kind of categorization that makes understanding and control of the world possible.