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I recently spent around $100 (cost, tax, and shipping) on a children’s book. That’s not some weird flex, just a fact representing the basis of this post. I think it’s a lot of money—probably around five times the amount I ever paid for a fiction book before. My wife knew about the purchase and had no problem with it; but, when she realised it was a children’s book, she asked if I was mental. Maybe it was silly, but my decision had a decent rationale (though readers of this blog will know how rationalising often goes): I like books, I collect books. It brings me enjoyment. This particular book was out of print and was very difficult to find in "the wild" (if at all possible, here in Ireland). I had to order it from the States. It’s a children’s book, sure, but it’s one I’ll read to my kids. Hopefully, they’ll enjoy it as much as I did.
In my book collecting, I only buy second-hand books—mostly around €1-2. I refuse to buy anything above €5, unless it’s a rarity of sorts (as in this exceptional case). Such rules make up the principle of the thing. The "chase" is a substantial amount of my fun in collecting. With enough money, I could start and finish a collection in a single evening. But, where’s the fun in that? No, it’s the process. Each pick-up is a come-up and represents one step closer to completion.
Psychologically, I love completion. I love hitting "save" upon finalising a document. I enjoy organising things and observing the product of my work. Likewise, it bothers me to not finish a book. If I start something, I need to finish it—and not just finish, but to do it "right." Such descriptions might make you think of symptoms of other things you might find yourself reading about on Psychology Today, but that’s not the case here—and the reason is the notion of moderation. I had a great chat with a clinical psychologist colleague about obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). He said the key thing about understanding and diagnosing OCD is not the symptoms and the traits but, rather, their effects: You might wash your hands a lot or check your front door lock more than is actually necessary, but if such quirks or even symptoms don’t wind-up costing you more than around five minutes of your day, then there’s really nothing to worry about. We’re all a bit "strange" with our quirks (i.e., normal only refers to the average or the majority, depending on context)—the key focus here being a "bit."
Collecting might be a bit quirky, but it is by no means a new or uncommon concept. A few generations back, stamps and coins were all the rage; then, it was baseball cards and comic books. Next it was Pogs, stickers, and Beanie Babies. Now, it's retro action figures and video games—a nostalgia-fueled hobby among collectors my age! Collecting is about accumulating material items… but isn’t materialism a bad thing? In excess, absolutely (e.g., in terms of hoarding or spending beyond your means). But that’s the case with many things in life. Similar to those, moderation is key. After that, everything is relative (e.g., Would a minimalist find the same pleasure in collecting as someone like me?).
What will happen when my "book list" is done? I’ll either add to it or start another collection… and that’s fine. I only have so much space on my bookshelves. Indeed, I only have so much space for bookshelves—in terms of accounting for notions of style or aesthetic design. As I said, I have a thing for organisation (which is also an important disposition toward critical thinking)—everything has a proper place, and, more often than not, that place is carefully away out of view. Such an approach is what many use to keep their collections from becoming hoards.
Hoarding is a potential danger in context—hence, the importance of moderation. Understanding your mental health and well-being is important to consider if you’re a collector or looking to start collecting. To steal a line from Marie Kondo, does the item you collect "bring you joy"—that is, in a healthy, meaningful way, or are you using it either to fill a void, perhaps due to some trauma or bereavement, or as a means of exerting "control" (i.e., in terms of ability to acquire said items), in a compensatory manner, relative to other important aspects of your life? These are only two examples of how "collecting" may not be the most healthy of endeavours for some.
With further respect to aesthetics, the concept of minimalism has been a well-established feature of "good design" for at least the past 25 years. Perhaps the movement arose, in part, as a response to the cluttered nature of homes often associated with the '70s and '80s or maybe as a rebellion against the perceptions of Western culture’s materialism. I always found the latter take a little hypocritical in ways. Sure, you might get rid of all the picture frames off your mantle piece and tchotchkes around the room, to replace them with one house plant in the corner, one vase on a table, and one "statement piece" above the fireplace; but, if the few minimalist things are more expensive than all the other stuff you had, then how is that a rebellion against "materialism"? Sure, you may have less stuff now, but the clean lines of your white and greige furniture cost a pretty penny.
Sure, minimalism represents a "less is more" mantra, but adding "money" to the end of that line wouldn’t be far off either. I keep bringing up money because it also requires consideration in context. Collecting can be expensive, and money can be a significant barrier to its enjoyment, especially if you ever confuse the fine line between want and need. Collecting is fun, sure, but your goal needs to be achievable. If you can’t afford it, you’ll likely get frustrated, and that defeats the purpose of an enjoyable hobby.
I do not "value" the materials I accumulate above people or experiences, which seems a common concern among antimaterialist perspectives (i.e., my loved ones and my time with them will always be my priority), but I collect because it does "bring me joy," in a cost-beneficial manner (be that monetarily, in terms of space, time and, more broadly, in terms of moderation). If you’re struggling to find a hobby and willing to first evaluate your own mental health and resources (e.g., time, money, patience), consider your potential interest in collecting something. It might be something you enjoy. For me, I can’t wait for that book to come in the post so that I can relive my great memories of it and create new ones with my kids.
