Collective Wisdom

Does anybody else love ABC’s Collectors as much as I do? In the desert that is summer broadcasting, the lack of Collectors is something I’ve felt more keenly than other telivisual deprivations. (This post is going to get no less nana-ish, by the way, so if premature aging offends, tune out now). There’s something compelling about hearing stories of people who have spent their lives collecting Stuff. From the obscure (key rings) to the obvious (Wedgewood), from the ridiculous (paper napkins) to the sublime (art), I find people and their Stuff fascinating.

It’s become a trend to make the claim, however dubious, that one is ‘not materialistic’. The amount of times I’ve been told that true freedom is being able to fit all your worldly goods in a Kathmandu trekking pack is fast approaching triple figures. I once dated a boy, amazingly for quite some time, who refused to buy the correct sized sheets for his bed (a king single – bad design idea # 153) because he ‘didn’t want to be tied down with Stuff’. Given that I have rather a lot of soft, cuddly, freshly-washed-at-all-times high thread count bed linen, the relationship was clearly doomed from the beginning. The point that I’m trying to make, in a roundabout way, readers, is that it’s cool to not be Stuffed in the most literal sense of the word – to be without Stuff.

But I have a confession to make. I love Stuff. I love buying Stuff. I love tracking Stuff down in second hand shops. I love getting Stuff as presents. I love being given Stuff for any old reason. I love using Stuff. I love organising Stuff. I love looking at Stuff. I love passing Stuff on to other people when I no longer need it. There isn’t much about Stuff I don’t love.

The environmental and social ethics of consumption are things I might write about in the future, when there are several fewer deadlines looming over my head. In brief defence of my Stuff Loving, the vast majority of my Stuff is actually recycled – it’s on its second or third lease on life. Which allows me to add a new Love to my reasons why I love my (second or third hand) Stuff: I love saving Stuff from becoming landfill. In other defences, I bus to uni when possible, buy as little as possible in plastic wrap, and pay the extra monies for GreenChoice electricity.

But let’s leave the moral high ground relatively untrammelled, and get back to talking about the glorious business of Stuff.

For a while now, inspired by collectors and my enjoyment of Stuff, I’ve been toying with the idea of starting a collection myself. The question arose: out of all the wonderful sorts of Stuff out there, what particular item of Stuff should I collect?

My collectable Stuff, I decided, had to fit into some tight categories. Numero Uno: Inexpensive. Easy enough to understand. Numero Two-o. Useful. Out with collecting figurines, then. Numero Three-o. Must not take up a lot of space, be breakable, smelly, collect dust, or attract vermin. I’m a renter – again, easy enough to understand all of these specifications. And, Numero Final-o, it had to be something I like. After all, what’s the point of collecting something if you don’t?

All last year I pondered what it is I should collect, but nothing seemed to be quite right. Until, after unwrapping my Christmas presents from Kitty Gillfeather and Clementine Kemp, the perfect Stuff to collect dawned on me.

Tea Towels.





(Don’t laugh, you were warned that this post involved premature aging).

When I sat back and though about it, it made perfect sense. Tea towels are inexpensive – even the top of the range Irish linen ones rarely go for more than $30. They are highly useful – everyone needs a tea towel within grabbing distance in the kitchen. They are compact, and, if laundered correctly, don’t smell, and don’t collect dust or little creatures. Tea towels, although humble, combine two things I really love – kitchen stuff and textiles – in the one practical object, and, are a fabulous blank canvas for all sorts of beautiful designs, cheeky slogans, and cheesy touristy gimmickry that I so love. Furthermore, there’s a nice sense of legacy in collecting tea towels – MamaK always keeps a large family of tea towels in rotation.

Popping Kitty and Clem’s presents into the linen cupboard – a funky Babushka print and a Hamlin Fistula Hospital charity design respectively - it turns out I already had a fair start on a good collection of tea towels.




Over the years, they’ve persistently found their way into my Christmas and birthday piles, and, in an almost subconscious gesture to what I knew I myself loved, I have always been one of those annoying people who gives tea towels as gifts, welcome or not.

Oh, and if I may allow myself to edge a toe onto the moral high ground? Tea towels are biodegradable.