Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String

In which I explore a few of my favorite things

I bought a catcher’s mitt today for reasons that are not entirely rational, at least not to an outside observer. I don’t play organized sports anymore, and my children are all grown. I do have several grandchildren who are active athletes, and even three or four who play baseball or softball. But that’s not why I bought it. Not really.

I have an obsession with beautiful objects. It’s not quite fetishization, as that’s usually reserved for sexual contexts, and that is not the space I currently reside. In my case, it’s more of a passion and an intense desire to not just possess these things, but to live in them. It’s beyond desire and bordering on obsession, but it’s also fleeting. I’m not going to go broke buying shit I don’t need or can afford, but I do lust after them.

Years ago, I heard a bit about hoarders and how they felt they had an emotional connection with each and every object they collected and could even tell you a story about each one. It wasn’t random, and it wasn’t unintentional. It was illogical and irrational, and possibly even delusional, but it wasn’t without purpose or meaning. These objects, often silly and useless, meant something to them.

Sometimes the things I fancy are expensive, but often they’re not. Like the baseball glove. It’s not a Birkin or a Breitling. It’s a catcher’s mitt. I have a particular affinity for things made from natural elements such as wood, leather, wool, linen, hemp, iron, silver, and copper. I have a palette. It’s mostly earth tones and then little hints of wild pigment, such as indigo or mandarin. I like tools and gear, practical items that have been elevated to art. 

Just looking around my office space, there is a Stetson cowboy hat that I bought while working in Texas. There is a single wooden oar in the corner that I bought for reasons that passeth understanding. There is a dragonfly made out of bronze sitting on top of one of the speakers on my desk. A knife I bought in Norway that I find too beautiful, not to mention impractical, to use. The Soviet naval dress cap, the canvas plumber’s bag full of recording equipment, and the armoire full of photography gear I’ve long since stopped using. 

This is the flotsam and jetsam of a life of travel and exploration to be sure, but there’s more to it than that. It’s some abstract reflection of the life I would have liked to lead if I’d been as successful as I thought I would be in my youth. I gave up on the dream of making a fortune once I realized I had to sell my soul to get it. Unfortunately, I kept my taste for champagne and nice things.

The Gift Of Discernment

When I was in my teens, my mother and I would go window shopping. I had an early fascination with good design, curated collections of curiosities, and exceptionally produced retail. We had no money, so purchases were limited to affordable luxuries. I couldn’t afford the handmade bespoke boots, but I might buy the brightly colored leather laces to spruce up my old Doc Martens.

I have what my father called the gift of discernment, or what other people call taste. I know instinctively what things should look like. How they should sound. What will resonate with people? I knew it before I did it professionally.

I’m constantly redecorating restaurants and redesigning menus in my head. I’m not always even doing it consciously. I notice when things are crowded or spatially incongruous, whether the design is interior or typographic. 

Dreaming Of Gear

I would like to be the sort of person who has the need for gear, but I have no interest in most activities that require such a thing. It’s like wanting to be a cowboy but having no interest in caring for horses or raising cattle. You just want the hat and the saddle. I love knives, but generally have little use for them other than opening Amazon boxes. I can hardly justify $700 for a beautiful Filson model when my $80 Leatherman works just fine. The fact that I don’t just use a key or a butter knife is why we’re talking.

I like accessories. I like gizmos and doohickeys. I like tools, gadgets, and gear. I don’t need most of it, but I have it. I’m not a hoarder, per se, but I do have pack rat tendencies. I don’t keep trash, but I do place value on inanimate objects that might not otherwise be there.

I love gear, but I’m really not interested in the pursuit of activities requiring gear. Many of my prized possessions no longer serve a purpose because they were designed to be used while traveling, and I don’t seem to go anywhere anymore. 

Fashion As Performance Art

I don’t always have an outlet for this fetish, so it comes out in accessories, bags, and assorted clothing. You can see it throughout my Pinterest boards. 

I have a seemingly unquenchable thirst for scarves, and buy them continually, even though it drives my wife a little nuts. There are a bunch I don’t wear and should probably get rid of, but I’m not a minimalist, and I don’t see who they’re hurting. It’s not like we can’t get around the house because my scarves are impeding our movement. Plus, they’re all unisex in that both my wife and I share all the scarves.

Essay Favorite Things