Crowded atop the surface of a long, low bookshelf: a worn copy of Plan de Paris, circa 1971; a miniature Eames Chair, red and in need of dusting; a federal child’s chair picked up on Cape Cod in 1990, a charcoal portrait resting against its thin, turned arms and slatted back; a half dozen black leather-bound journals; and an uneven row of novels, dictionaries, and volumes of poetry, tenuously held in place by slim metal bookends.
Nearby: a small porcelain dish cradles smooth grey stones – cailloux – gathered on a beach in Nice long ago.
On the floor, leaned against more books: a delicate watercolor of an imaginary deity in mosaic-like fragments of line and color, and a wicker bread basket filled with vintage glass Christmas ornaments.
And there are shoes. Many shoes. But surely you could have guessed as much…
From his position low to the ground, the tiny painted god appears unperturbed by what some would call clutter, others would call chaos, and I call treasure.
Hoarder? Hardly.
Collector? Absolutely.
But what exactly is the difference? Is it possible that I’m kidding myself?
Are You a Hoarder?
That I am not a domestic goddess is irrefutable. I am not “handy.” I do not like to clean. My home is, well, lived in.
Years ago, my kids tried to convince me I was a hoarder. From time to time they watched the television show by that name, and were of an age when parental teasing was irresistible.
Then again, the evidence may have been staring me in the face.
Stacks of books. Heels everywhere. Files, newspaper clippings, magazines, laundry. More laundry. The occasional sentimental object. The occasional eccentric object. The more than occasional “heaping” that seems to be my default storage method, a recurring bad habit living in a house with too few closets!
But what if that’s rationalization? Is it time to fess up that I suffer from RTS – Retention Tendency Syndrome? Is it in the DSM yet?
All joking aside, hoarding is a serious problem. According to PsychCentral, compulsive hoarding affects some 1.4 million people in the U.S.
The Mayo Clinic defines hoarding as:
the excessive collection of items, along with the inability to discard them. Hoarding often creates such cramped living conditions that homes may be filled to capacity, with only narrow pathways winding through stacks of clutter.
Well, as I can still navigate through my house in 4″ heels, I’m defiantly stating that I don’t qualify as a hoarder!
Collector’s Remorse? Not Really
May we now turn our attention to the right of the long bookcase with its eclectic mix of objets.
The walls are covered with art that is hung salon-style: prints, paintings, and drawings mingle amiably and in close proximity; one small chair sits flush against the wall as the curvaceous design of its back splat is a sort of artwork in itself. The overall display comforts me and pleases me, sparking an unedited stream of recalled experiences, emotions, conversations, and a younger self in a different stage of life.
I accumulate.
I also collect – or did – over a number of years. And I loved it! The “hunt” is as much a part of the enjoyment as the acquisition itself, along with research, learning, and the delight of discovery.
My mother was also a collector, and at her side I came to understand that we are caretakers of history when it comes to antiques, and guardians of the creative process when it comes to art. We do not own these objects so much as we watch over them – protectively, and with pleasure.
Personal Collections, “The Right Stuff”
But what if our collections come to own us? What about the “everything” that has no intrinsic value? Could I be a hoarder after all?
In the New York Times Magazine article “The Right Stuff,” by Holly Brubach, the subject is novelist Orhan Pamuk’s book, “The Innocence of Objects.” We are allowed into the mind of one individual collector, as Ms. Brubach shows genuine appreciation for the quirky array of Mr. Pamuk’s treasures.
We also see how themes emerge in a collector’s world, adding a cohesive quality to items which, in isolation, are easily deemed “odd.”
Yet the article rightly signals our contemporary conundrum: we are preoccupied with shedding (to be more “in the moment”), even as we continue to accumulate, to store, and to accumulate more.
Ms. Brubach points out:
“Hoarders,” with its real-life cast of pathological examples, averaged 1.6 million viewers in Season 5. Hoarding now qualifies for the roster of diseases and conditions on the Mayo Clinic’s Web site.
As I don’t feel obsessed by the need to acquire anything these days – singly or in groups – and may I make a minor exception for the occasional pair of shoes? – I’m still constantly in the mode of shedding. Well, when I can.
Don’t Take My Stuff!
I’m well aware that I am surrounded by an overflow of objects, many with no value per se. I divested myself of a great deal of “valuable” objects some years back, which was a matter of financial necessity.
More importantly, I divest with difficulty.
(Damn. Wasn’t that in the hoarding definition?)
Occasionally, a friend will stop by to assist on request; but I don’t like people taking my stuff, or suggesting that I toss it! These objects feel personal; they are vessels of emotions and memory.
Then I remind myself that my treasure may be someone else’s junk, just as someone else’s junk is my treasure. Either way, less would be lightening. When we separate the objects themselves from their symbolism and their history, they seem to lose their ownership – of us.
And what remains, what we choose to retain – even for collectors – becomes all the more special.
For an earlier New York Times slideshow of objects in Orphan Pamuk’s “Museum of Innocence,” click here.
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My girlfriend and I were talking about this today. She trying to convince me (and herself) that having 26 teapots doesn’t mean she’s about to be inducted into the hoarders hall of fame. Ever since I’ve known her she’s bought multiples of things she likes. Her home is spotless, with plenty of room to navigate, so we deemed her “not hoarder”.
I have lots of things, too, but I rationalize that I don’t go out and buy things just for the sake of buying, or stash bags of trash or empty Pepsi cans in the spare room. My studio is stuffed with art and craft supplies, and not gonna lie, I find myself studying scraps of paper very carefully before throwing any away. Since I eventually use this stuff, again, “not hoarder” in my book.
My friend and I have a theory about why we like our stuff. Neither of us had much growing up, so we think having things around us is reassuring and comforting – a sort of security, if you will.
I do pretty much stick to my “one in, one out” rule. Sometimes it prevents me from carting something home because I’m not willing to part with one to make room for it. I agree that we can retain the memory of something special and let go of the object. I periodically go through a satisfying purging binge of my stuff. It’s easier to find things when there isn’t so much stuff, easier to keep things reasonably clean when there’s less to clean around, and somehow more relaxing when not every horizontal surface is occupied.
But I also agree that hanging onto some things for reasons we may not even be articulate doesn’t make us a hoarder. Sometimes the emotional connection is worth the real estate and the raised eyebrows of our friends.
Purging is satisfying, yes. And necessary. That emotion vs. real estate trade-off you mention, Deb. That’s part of it, certainly. For me, there’s also the fact that I’ve been “the oldest generation” for a number of years now. That means hanging on to a bit too much, thinking my sons (or grandchildren?) may want some of these family objects especially. The problem is when they weigh you down.
My Dad was a hoarder: there was no more than a trail from his front door to his couch, to the loo, to his bedside, to the kitchen. The spare bedroom was full, the dining room, the back porch were full too. There was a spider web of extention cords leading from the walls he could no longer reach to beside the key points in his house so he could plug in the newest gadget. I’m amazed he didn’t have an electrical fire. Once when he was hospitalised I fill and carted 26 full sized trash bags with his collection of daily newspapers. Once he realised how very ill he had been and what a mess he was going to leave me, his only child, he hired friends to come help clear the clutter. The re-cycling centre probably didn’t know what hit them. He grew up during the depression. My mom was much the same, but it wasn’t so much trash as just stuff she liked and meant to use, but didn’t really. I’m closer to Mom’s end, but thanks to having a slightly tidier partner our house is more likely to be guest-ready than either of my parents. Hoarding is a very serious problem. I recognize I could do better – but I could also be a lot worse.
I’m the opposite of a hoarder. Seriously. I literally feel I can breathe when I dump the superfluous. I have mostly white in my home because it feels clean and neutral and calming. I have space between the clothes in my closet. I didn’t used to be this way. I used to accumulate. Until I stepped back and realized the stress it all caused me. Until I realized my stuff owned me. Until I realized I felt I was defined by my stuff, my home’s square footage, my car in the garage, my Christmas dishes, my crystal, my beautiful linens, etc., etc.
Maybe the un-nesting has come with age. Or wisdom. Or the sheer fatigue of keeping up with it all. All I know is that I now have SO much less and I feel so much better.
I’ve tried, Barb. And made some progress. I probably need an intervention to do better. 🙂
I come from a long line of lovers of objects, too. We keep things that make us feel happy, valuable or not. If you can still walk around your house in those heels, I think you’re still within normal range! I love that red chair.
Definitely room for the heels, and the little red chair! 😉
I just had this very same conversation with a gf. We decided if our “collections” are neatly stored and we clean and dust them every so often, (she collects glass objects like thousands of them and I collect seashells! and rocks and driftwood and little boxes and…and…) and if we can walk through our houses without having to move stuff out of the way to proceed–then we are OK! Great blog!
LOL! Entrepreneur calls me a hoarder. But, as you say, I only accumulate! So what if I have 25 mismatched coffee cups? I did thin them out. Flower vases? Ummm….well, I guess I could part with a few. Do I get credit for throwing out old graphic designer press type? I guess I would if the trash bag would ever make it to the garage. 🙂
Husband is a hoarder. I am in turns a hoarder and a shedder. The garage is full of stuff we wouldn’t miss after a fire. (Hope that’s not a jinx, but I lived through a terrifying fire and learned just what it means to miss something lost.)
We can manuever easily in our home, though it looks a mess and you can barely find a horizontal surface on which to write or eat. So really, we’re more lazy than hoardy.
When I’m in other people’s homes, I notice their collections and wish I could hear all the stories. When in my own I see clutter and hoarding.
Maybe my problem is my memories and adventures are memoryish and adventuresome enough.
(Yes: two invented words in one post. Remember that bit about being lazy? Yes.)
Damn. I wish you lived close enough to hang out and have coffee and chat. ‘Twould be fun. Maybe you could break away at, uh… naptime?
I am neither a hoarder nor a collector, though I wish I had more of an inclination – or perhaps the eye? – to be the latter. Don’t get me wrong: my house is full of stuff. But it’s stuff that is in no way artfully arranged. It’s not terribly messy – especially not for a house with three little kids living in it – but there’s no sense of personality to the objects we have.
The only place where you might start to get a good sense of the people who live here is on the many bookshelves. (And that goes for the kids’ rooms too).
If we didn’t move so often, I could definitely become more of a collector – probably not a hoarder. I used to have trouble parting with paperwork, because you never know when you might need it. Having everything online nowadays took care of that problem.
My weakness is books. They are very heavy when you move, and I have had to shed so many that I stopped accumulating them. It is heartbreaking to part with so many authors and their words. An e-reader helps, and it is a collection that only I can see. Still, I usually have catalogues and books on most surfaces of my house.
I love glass, and I would collect more of it if I could.
Every time we move, my possessions lighten.
I am a minimalist and get anxious when there is too much stuff that is in one room. I grew up with three people who loved to collect things, everything from receipts, rocks or dish collections. We lived in a limited space growing up and sometimes I felt their individual collections overtook the house. I keep one empty space ( a drawer, a cabinet) in each of our rooms. It helps me visualize calm.
I used to buy a book if I thought someday I’d read it. I have lots of these around the house. There isn’t time enough left in my life to read them all, and new books keep coming out. Now I have a long list on Amazon, which is much cheaper. At one point they threatened to delete anything on the list that was more than three months old. Go ahead Amazon, I thought, shoot yourself in the foot! So far the list remains intact.
One of my favorite Chinese sayings: He who obtains has little; he who scatters has much.
Scattering. Hmm. I like it, Wolf. But “scattered?” Too close for comfort, and I like that less.
But if you have to be surrounded by a surplus of something, I’d say books are up there for a fine excess.