Teacups, Comics, and Control: The Hidden Reasons We Collect

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I don’t know about you, but there’s something inexplicably satisfying about lining up a bunch of Funko Pops, or old cassette tapes, or those tiny hotel soaps you stole from every holiday since 2009, and just… looking at them. Admiring them. Dusting them. Maybe even arguing with yourself about whether the sixth nearly identical vinyl copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours was truly necessary (spoiler: it was). Collecting things scratches a very specific itch in the brain that few other activities can reach. It’s comforting, personal, and just a little bit weird—in the best way possible.

The truth is, we’re all collectors in some way, even if we don’t want to admit it. Your mate who insists they’re not materialistic? Have a look at their spice rack alphabetised within an inch of its life. Or your cousin who’s definitely not into pop culture—yet owns every Marvel film in steelbook format, still sealed. There’s a part of us, wired somewhere between nostalgia and control, that gets a proper kick out of owning things in multiples. Especially when those things tell a story, or remind us of who we were when we first got them.

Now, before you start feeling bad about your twelve nearly identical white T-shirts or that drawer full of USB cables that definitely haven’t worked since 2013, here’s a fun fact: hoarding (the light, semi-charming version, not the TV show kind) is completely normal. Evolutionary psychology suggests we’re designed to stockpile. Back in the day, when food wasn’t sitting in fridges or being delivered by Mr D, collecting resources meant survival. The more you had, the safer you were. Fast forward a few thousand years, and we’re still doing it—just now it’s vintage Pokémon cards instead of mammoth meat.

Some people collect for the thrill of the chase. That buzz when you finally track down the missing piece of a set you’ve been hunting for months? That’s your brain lighting up like a slot machine. Dopamine, baby. It’s the same feeling people get from winning a bid on Bidorbuy or spotting that rare variant on a second-hand stall at the Neighbourgoods Market. You’re not just buying an item; you’re completing a quest. It’s got all the drama of a telenovela but with slightly more bubble wrap.

And then there’s the identity part of it. Your collection says something about you. Not in a weird, braggy way, but in that subtle I-like-what-I-like-and-that’s-okay kind of way. You walk into someone’s home, see shelves filled with antique teacups or action figures or weird little ceramic frogs, and you immediately get a glimpse of who they are. It’s an extension of personality, wrapped in objects. Like visual storytelling, only with less effort than writing a memoir. You don’t need to say you’re sentimental if your wall is covered in ticket stubs and Polaroids. It’s all right there, framed and blu-tacked.

What’s more, collecting offers a sense of control in a world that often feels a bit chaotic. When the Wi-Fi drops or Eskom decides you don’t need electricity between 6 and 10pm, your collection is still there. It doesn’t ask questions. It doesn’t need charging. It just sits there, being reliably yours. That stability? Very underrated. Especially when everything else is a bit all over the place.

It’s also social. Yes, even if you’re the type who gets annoyed when someone breathes near your mint-condition comic books. There’s a whole ecosystem of Facebook groups, forums, WhatsApp chats, and weekend swap meets built around the mutual joy of collecting. Whether it’s rare whisky, enamel pins, or obscure houseplants with names that sound like IKEA furniture, there’s probably a community for it. And there’s something quite wholesome about bonding over niche obsessions with strangers who just get it. That moment when someone else lights up because you found an original Polly Pocket with all the tiny bits still intact? Pure serotonin.

Of course, there’s a line. Collecting can tip over into chaos if you’re not careful. If your living room looks like a storage unit or you can’t open a cupboard without being attacked by Beanie Babies, it might be time to reassess. But for most of us, it never really gets to that point. We keep it contained—mostly. It becomes a hobby, a comfort, a conversation starter. Maybe even a legacy. There’s a quiet kind of joy in thinking one day someone else might inherit your carefully curated shelf of things and think, “Wow, they were really into novelty mugs shaped like animals.”

And then there’s the thrill of nostalgia. So much of collecting is about holding onto a feeling. That sticker book from primary school. The first concert ticket you ever got. That weird rubber lizard you won at Gold Reef City that you’ve kept in a drawer for 15 years for no good reason. These things aren’t just things—they’re bookmarks in your life story. Little emotional time capsules. And yes, maybe keeping every receipt from your teenage years is mildly unhinged, but also—kind of beautiful?

Let’s not forget the aesthetic appeal. Some people genuinely just like how things look lined up nicely. A shelf of colour-coded books. A wall of framed vintage adverts. A cabinet full of glass perfume bottles that catch the afternoon sun just right. Collecting doesn’t always have to be about sentiment or rarity. Sometimes it’s about creating a vibe. Making your space feel more you. Turning clutter into charm.

There’s also a sweet defiance in it. In a world obsessed with minimalism and decluttering (thanks, Marie Kondo), being a collector is almost rebellious. It’s saying, “Actually, I like stuff. Stuff makes me happy.” And why not? As long as your stuff isn’t owning you, go ahead and keep the twenty owl figurines. They’re not hurting anyone. Least of all the owls.

In South Africa, collecting often takes on an added layer of context. With our blend of cultures, histories, and changing trends, we see unique collections emerging. From rugby memorabilia to apartheid-era vinyls, old Rhodesian banknotes to the full Castle Lager World Cup can set, there’s a mix of nostalgia, politics, and pride rolled into it. We’re telling stories through our stashes—of where we’ve come from, who we are, and what’s shaped us along the way.

Even digital collecting has entered the chat. Don’t think your Sims expansion packs or virtual pets don’t count. They do. So do your photo albums, your playlists, your Instagram saved folders of weirdly satisfying cake videos. It’s all part of the same instinct: to keep, to curate, to catalogue our tastes and memories.

At the end of the day, collecting is a love letter to yourself. It’s choosing to hold onto something, to give it meaning, even if it’s just a bottle cap with a cool logo or a half-used notebook from 2007. It’s a way of saying, “This mattered to me once, and that matters now.”

So next time someone teases you about your DVD collection or your 56 potted succulents or your never-ending quest to own every single variation of Pringles can ever released—just smile. You’re not hoarding. You’re preserving joy. You’re building a museum of you. And honestly? That’s kind of wonderful.