’Tis the season
When I moved out of my Beirut home, the truck was mostly packed with figurines of all size and shape. Yoda. Cookie Monster. Miss Piggy. You name it. The truck driver asked if I had kids. I told him, “I’m a kid myself. A kidult.” I could see the confusion on his face, but I wasn’t in the best of moods. A chapter was ending, a chapter I was forced to close. So, I left it there.
I’ve never been a fan of endings, especially the forced ones. And as the year comes to an end, it brings that familiar bittersweet feeling. Endings have a way of stirring up memories, and this time of year seems to hold them all. That’s why I’m writing this column.
Over time, my collection obsession really began, fueled by the nostalgic space I used as storage area first — my late dad’s atelier, and that has evolved into a workshop for my artsy-fartsy adventures. Slowly, the space has filled up with treasures from the many trips I take and fleamarkets I explore. The more I had to wrestle with SEO for my creative copy, the more I found myself buying nostalgic toys. The more videos I had to watch to see what was trending in my field, the more time I spent tidying up my workshop that now looks like a huge fleamarket.
Some might say I’m hoarding, but for me, it’s about holding onto fairy dust. A way of keeping the magic of childhood close, even if the world around me keeps changing. There’s something so soothing about it, almost as though the past can be a safe, cozy place to retreat when the present feels a bit too overwhelming. I’m not alone in this. The community of my fellow collectors keeps growing — and, just like the universal nightmare of going to school naked, we share the exact same feelings. The same adoration for our childhood icons and the kitschiness that comes with all things retro.
Nostalgia isn’t just a feeling. It’s not just an emotion. It’s a magical bridge. A bridge that connects us to something real, something grounded, when life feels like it’s spiraling away. When technology forces us to cope but we just want to be left behind. Forgotten in an old, damp attic.
Then and now
The term “nostalgia” was originally coined in 1688 by a Swiss doctor, Jean Hofer, to describe the homesickness felt by soldiers longing for their homeland. Back then, it was seen as a disease. Funny, right? We tend to view things differently over time. Today, nostalgia is celebrated. Check ebay and take a tour around fleamarkets across the world. Watch Affaire Conclue on France 2. It’s no longer something to cure but something to treasure.
Nostalgia has become part of our emotional fabric. In an era of constant change, nostalgia has become a safe haven, a refuge, a balm for the soul. We gravitate towards the familiar. Whether it’s the smell of an old book, the sound of a favorite song, or a toy from childhood. Why else would companies be so keen on tapping into that feeling? The truth is, we’re all searching for connection, for something that reminds us of a time when things felt simpler, warmer, more certain. That’s why when I see an old Fisher Price phone pop up in an ad for a tech company, I smile. And when I spot one in a toy shop, I pick it up, stare at the plastic, and suddenly, I’m not standing in a store anymore. I’m sitting cross-legged on the red curly Tapirama carpet of my childhood bedroom, my chubby little fingers dialing imaginary numbers while my parents chuckle in the background. For a second, I forget that I’m an adult with existential issues yet to be resolved, with copy to draft for skeptic clients. It’s as if this tiny relic has the power to bend time, to make me feel out of space, infinite.
And when I travel, the first places I want to explore are fleamarkets. It’s like these little encounters with my younger self are scattered everywhere, waiting to be found in the oddest corners of the country. The oddest corners of life.
And maybe that’s the thing about nostalgia. It’s not just about looking back. It’s about holding onto those fragments of who we were so that they can help us make sense of who we’ve become.
