#its where you put down your small personal anecdotes and occasionally work out your emotions

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

dear diary-slash-tumblr mutuals,

today i learned about the difference between em-dashes and en-dashes. although it's not today i supposed, because i'll be throwing this into the queue. it was very interesting and now i have somewhat an idea of what to do while writng.

love, me.

[goodticklebrain]

Q&A August: Kate Pitt, Pocket Dramaturg

I’m so very excited about today’s installment of Q&A August, because it means I get to formally introduce you to Kate Pitt, my pocket dramaturg and Shakespearean soulmate! I first met Kate when she saved my life by letting me crash on the couch in her hotel room before the closing banquet of the 2016 Shakespeare Theatre Association conference. It was my first conference and, by the last day, I was so sleep deprived that I could hardly function. Despite meeting me in such a ragged and incoherent condition, Kate, who was then working in Public Programs at the Folger Shakespeare Library, decided to invite me to the Folger for a public interview/talk event.

You can read up on my visit to the Folger here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. But, long story short, in Kate I found an absolutely kindred spirit. Within half an hour we were completing each others’ sentences, most because we were conversing almost entirely in Shakespeare quotes. Since then we have gone on several Shakespeare adventures together, including a long-overdue joint pilgrimage to Stratford-upon-Avon earlier this year. Despite having spent extended periods of time in close proximity, we have remained friends, which is something of a minor miracle.

Apart from being a delightful human being, Kate is also a genuine Shakespearean powerhouse, with a vast amount of both scholarly and practical Shakespeare knowledge and experience. You might have noticed that many of my recent comics have included the note “Thanks to my pocket dramaturg, Kate Pitt, for consulting with me on this comic.” This is because I quickly fell into the habit of texting Kate with random Shakespeare-related questions, like “IN HOW MANY SHAKESPEARE PLAYS DO SHEEP REGULARLY APPEAR ON STAGE?” Kate, in her infinite patience and bottomless depth of knowledge, would always promptly text me back with answers, including sources. It was like having my own personal dramaturg in my pocket.

Since then I have often brainstormed comic ideas with her, run drafts past for her approval, and asked for her help when wrestling with particularly troublesome punchlines. (Among other things, she helped me finalize the list of questions I’ve been asking everybody this month!) Creating Good Tickle Brain is a very solitary occupation, and for most of the past five and a half years I’ve been essentially operating in a vacuum. It’s been fun, but it’s also been lonely and isolating at times. Being able to bounce ideas off of Kate, and occasionally commiserate with her on the challenges of being self-employed businesswomen in the Shakespeare world, has made both my job and my life immeasurably more enjoyable.

And so, it gives me GREAT pleasure to turn things over to my pocket dramatrug!

1. Who are you? Why Shakespeare?

I’m Kate Pitt. I’m a dramaturg, writer, producer, and director. I grew up watching Shakespeare films with my parents and saw an outdoor Midsummer at the Edith Wharton house in Lenox when I was about seven. The Mechanicals drove up in a real Jeep, the fairies crept out of the actual woods (I was a city kid – trees were a big deal!), and I was hooked. I’ve also had many wonderful teachers.

2. What moment(s) in Shakespeare always make you laugh?

Orlando forlornly waving his arm and saying “It is my arm”? I’M THERE. A really good (bad) Viola-Sir Andrew fight? SIGN ME UP. Benedict being terrible at hiding? THE BEST. Pyramus’ never-ending death? I LOVE IT. The physical comedy in the plays always makes me laugh. There are lines of text that I almost always laugh at, but I’ve been more delighted when those bits are reinterpreted in ways that sacrifice the laugh, but gain something more interesting in its place. Olivia’s wide-eyed “most wonderful!” is a war-horse, but I once heard it delivered with quiet awe rather than schtick and it was shockingly beautiful. “The dead can live again” rather than “another one!”

Mya interjects: Ok, yes, I also love “It is my arm.”

3. What's a favorite Shakespearean performance anecdote?

A Winter’s Tale where the bear was a puppet, and entered down the aisle sniffing at the audience as it slowly stalked Antigonus. The bear nosed at the handbag of an old lady in the front row and growled at her. She growled right back.

Mya interjects: Don’t mess with old ladies’ handbags.

4. What's one of the more unusual Shakespearean interpretations you've either seen or would like to see?

The opening speech of Richard III done as Bunraku puppet theater, but with a person as the puppet. It showed the pain of being “unfinished” so beautifully while also being horrifying and incredibly funny. This Richard was so close to being a person (“a real boy!”) but knew that he lacked some essential, animating humanity and made a conscious decision to hurt people because of it.

5. What's one of your favorite Shakespearean "hidden gems"?

I love watching the characters on the sidelines – the ones who aren’t the center of attention but are telling incredibly rich stories with their silence. Margaret in Much Ado is a great example and I always watch her when the Prince explains why he thinks Hero is disloyal. Margaret knows in that moment that the ruined wedding is her fault but she says and does…nothing. Aufidius and Isabella also have whole histories in stillness.

6. What passages from Shakespeare have stayed with you?

I’ve had Henry V’s “upon the king” and the Scrivener from Richard III on my mind – the responsibility of leadership and the realization of its corruption – but my favorites are the ones I think as my own thoughts and it takes a minute to figure out where they came from. i.e. on a hiking trip in the pouring rain, carrying a heavy pack, and staring up at switchback #492, I thought, “Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back!” It took until the top of the mountain to figure that one out.

Mya interjects: If you’re not familiar with the Scrivener from Richard III (and there’s no reason why you should be,  since his scene is almost always cut), his one speech goes as follows:

SCRIVENER Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings, Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, That it may be today read o’er in Paul’s. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; The precedent was full as long a-doing, And yet within these five hours Hastings lived, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. Here’s a good world the while! Who is so gross That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who so bold but says he sees it not? Bad is the world, and all will come to naught When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.

I’ve never gotten over the beauty of this line from Pericles – silence may be the perfectest herald of joy, but if you must use words, these ones are pretty great:  

“Give me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me o’erbear the shores of my mortality and drown me with their sweetness.”

7. What Shakespeare plays have changed for you?

All of the plays have changed as I’ve gotten older, but the ones that deal with grief have altered the most. A friend died suddenly when we were eighteen and I reached out for Cleopatra and Constance without consciously knowing why. My father died five years later, and by then I knew that I would find some kind of recognition in the plays and I deliberately went to them. The words were always beautiful, but now I knew what they meant. I must have heard Claudius’ “that father lost, lost his” speech a hundred times but never understood the obscenity of telling someone “the right way” to grieve until someone did it to me. Cordelia comforting the confused and frightened Lear sits close to my heart now, and Ophelia’s madness has method in’t. Hamlet’s “mirror up to nature” didn’t tell me what I’d see or how to respond, but it allowed me look at myself and observe both the shadow of my sorrow and the thing itself when I needed it most.

8. What Shakespearean character or characters do you identify the most with?

Beatrice. I love her wit, her walls and her willingness to climb over them, her delight in her friends’ happiness and her white-hot fury at their pain.

Mya interjects:  Can confirm, Kate is totally Beatrice.

9. Where can we find out more about you? Are there any projects/events you would like us to check out?

You can follow me on Twitter @katepitt and keep up with me on my website www.katepitt.com.

(Back to Mya)  Thanks so much to Kate not only for answering the questions she helped me come up with, but also for being an unfailingly helpful creative and emotional outlet. Get thee a Kate.

COMING NEXT WEEK: A wonderful woman who is training small children to become the next generation of Shakespeare geeks, and two Shakespeare geeks who regularly act like small children! 

[lit--bitch]

On Tom Bland, ‘The Death of a Clown’ (2018) (NSFW, if you’re at work).

(Disclosure: I’m good friends with Tom Bland. We came to know each other after he published some of my work in his former online zine, Blue of Noon. I read parts of this collection in some of its earliest drafts. Whilst it might seem nepotistic (and a bit late in the day to talk about The Death of a Clown), I thought it would be good to kick off with a positive review about someone’s writing I really love. As for Bad Betty Press, it is ran by Amy Acre and Jake Wild Hall, both of whom I’ve met on a few occasions but don’t know them v well).

Tom told me in a text he sent me last summer: “I stole ‘the death of a clown’ from The Kinks, do love that song”. You can read the lyrics here. It also ought to be noted that Tom did actually practice as a clown for a while. As for the publishers, Bad Betty Press is small, new, and fantastic. I think they’re a breath of fresh air for contemporary literature in the UK, with a clear, unique identity and a really strong focus for what they’re looking for. They’ve published some amazing writers. 

This is a book of moodswings and contradictions. It’s a glimpse of humanity in all its filth, and it deserves recognition for the unflinching honesty with which it is written. 

The Death of a Clown oscillates between serious and unserious. It can be funny, and then perturbing, yet all the while in possession of a certain solemnity. To me, the book’s cover (designed by Amy Acre) is synonymous with the writing in that it embodies similar contradictions: there’s the comical illustration of a clown face with its clown-smile on a gravestone engraved ‘RIP’. Then there’s the title—this juxtaposition of death and clown—an explicit introduction to death of something born to be funny (supposedly). All of this is pegged by Bad Betty Press’s (current) statement livery: black background, white font(s). All these visual elements counteract each other, which is a cornerstone to this collection’s literary thematics. You wouldn’t think it when you pick up the book, but after you’ve read it, you find that contradiction is all part of the book’s nature; a performance which self-negates and wildy flagellates itself, over and over. The cover is a clue, a graphic segue for what you’ve not yet read, which is, (and I’m going to try and commit to the following description) a series of undulating, anecdotal thoughts as opposed to “poems”. And they waterfall as one great stream of consciousness. 

Amy told me masturbating was not the same as meditating. But the cult of masturbation had already found its way into … no one can make you come like yourself … a manifesto of poetic intent. Millions of potential lives wiped away in a tissue down the toilet drain.

There’s no other titles within this work but the book title. Or so I think. Tom doesn’t entitle; he emboldens the first lines, or sometimes the first couple of words in an opening sentence. The book’s pagination is the only indication of a separation, apart from that, I can’t always tell if this is indicating the start of a new thought or the end of an old one. But I guess that’s the point, Tom’s writing is in essence, thinking, and thoughts resist titles, of course they do. So to embolden is an intriguing choice, because it gives the great effect of writing eating itself from page to page. The title becomes indiscernible from the actual first line of the thought itself. 

Perhaps I’ve read into this too deeply but honestly, in any artistic practice, it is so difficult to articulate a body of work under a single header. Even ‘The Death of a Clown’ is both so vague and specific a title. Every thought in this collection considers and recalls so much, so Tom just doesn’t do the thing of entitling every piece. I found that refreshing; we live in a world where everything yearns after a name, and a lot of the time we’re compelled to entitle our work, ourselves, our things, as if that would somehow give us clarity or meaning. But as you’ll read, Tom intimates that a lot of the time, there is little clarity to our thoughts, our perceptions, to anything. It’s only when dragged to the most severe and deafening of human experiences do we then, occasionally, achieve the briefest moment of mental clarity. 

my adrenaline induced out of body looking back at my pulsating limbs; that self-aware speck

jittering or jumping between the two, like being dead/born once again.

Ranting so fast all my words blurred into rapid hand gestures, the very shapes of my early tongue-tied jabbering.

Something I love about The Death of a Clown is the self-awareness of the writing, which I think is inherent in “writing which appears as stream of consciousness”. I think it’s further developed by the scrupulously researched references to things which have indelibly influenced or affected the ‘I’ here. It’s so telling of a person in what they choose to reference, it intimates what piques their interest, their attention. The thing I find interesting about Tom’s references however is the way they’re presented as odd dualisms. There’s Sufism and then The Satanic Bible. Then there’s Jesus and Ted Bundy. There’s Taylor Swift, Edward Erdinger and the disintegrating self, then there’s Fuz Sxx (a sex shop in London) and the act of public masturbation. You would think these figures, beliefs and concepts oppose each other, but when they collide within the same piece, it seems that they elicit the same emotional responses and memories. These things don’t really so much oppose each other, but rather they’re of each other. 

Bob Rogers always began the Sufi circle with, ‘The goal here is                                to                   create and destroy the idols of the self,’ then he glared at me,
 ‘but this is not an apocalyptic vision.’ At first, this unnerved me, but quickly, it started to annoy me, so much so, I had printed on             pink badges, a feminine figure and the words,                   LIFE IS DEATH. I gave the badges              out to the group to their discomfort and/or amusement. He asked me to leave. He said, ‘Sufism isn’t               about death but a new beginning.’ 

I also think these references signal personal perceptions and therefore, options. The array of religions, religious figures, celebrities and serial killers, mentioned in The Death of a Clown, is demonstrative of the many lifestyle choices, beliefs, idols, values we have to choose from. As we investigate through this pile, we eventually come to identify with a select few, most of which resonate in our personal experiences. In one piece, Tom writes: ‘Michelle called pain (her pain) the sun god Ra. / Ra equalled pathos. [...] I remained still, outside on my steps, looking up at the moon. / Sometimes I call my pain Hekate.’ Lines like these underpin the core of this work, which is that everybody’s perception is their own perception. Their choice in what to experience, believe and feel is entirely their responsibility. It’s a bit of a tangent but I’m reminded of that scene in Rick and Morty, the ‘Pickle Rick’ episode from Season 3 where the therapist says to Rick, ‘You are the master of your own universe [...] Each of us gets to choose.’

Living is in essence a kind of performance. Our choreography is sculpted by what we read, believe, consider and feel. It can be a laugh, but ultimately, we’re all still fools. Hence the impetus for the clown’s presence in this collection, or the part of us which acts the clown. In The Death of a Clown, choreography comes through performing in drag, bending sexualities, bending observations, defining fetishisms, reading religion and murder, thinking about religion and murder. The fact that all these things are being mentioned in the work, suggests the profound impact and lasting effects they imprint upon the ‘I’ of this work, the clown’s psychology, who laughs more than ever, and less than ever. 

[...] I

waxed my body, splattering body paints, wearing faux- leather corsets, see-through knickers, and PVC cowboy boots. It was and wasn’t fetishism; it was and wasn’t sexuality; it was and wasn’t perversion; first was the vision, the one in my head, the one I saw across my body, my body morphing into my androgynous Satanic self.

The collection is ravaged by sex, the frenzy of drug-stuffed London, the English sort of realism found in onion sauce, or ‘Hertfordshire surrounded by trees and red noses’ (not red roses), and more pertinently, the exhaustive performance of inhabiting these things, being these things. For me, I feel like these references function as both containers and artefacts to this ‘human-ness’ Tom is unpacking and reconstituting, and how they’re instrumental in self-alienation but also help with self-identity. It’s a bit, “the school of life” thing; whether it’s erotic asphyxiation, or racking up lines of ketamine before doing a live performance, it seems that these various extremities are an education in what it means to be truly vulnerable, and therefore in being able to call ourselves human. 

And yet at the crux of each “poem” lies the ultimate therapy to all of this, which is the safe insecurity in knowing that we are all dying. And what is more human than our conscious attempt in knowing and embracing that? 

[…] ‘Some
 people think the clown is a performance I put on and take off, but no, I must be a clown 
at all times. I can’t stand slipping back 
 into that thing...’

HUMAN.

I read a beautiful review from R J Dent on The Death of a Clown where he noted, ‘Tom Bland lists some of the stimulants and depressants that humans use to dull their awareness of their own mortality: acid, coke, speed, ketamine, cigs, Weston’s Old Rosie cider, and brandy.’ This was the only point I felt inclined to disagree. I don’t think this is 100% what Tom is doing, I don’t agree that it’s a form of listing per se, and I don’t think that we should necessarily believe that the mere function of these substances, in the collection’s case, is a human’s way of dulling the knowing surrounding the inevitability of death. Rather, they’re chunks of detail, which amplify and exaggerate that knowing, rendering the user as used… I mean this as in, it’s not that they’re taking drugs. Perhaps, it’s the drugs are taking them. And in these delicious, and often arduous experiences, a delightful indifference about life and death occurs, where user and substance are locked in mutual indulgence. Or at least, that’s my interpretation of it. I’m just not convinced the clown is resisting death here. I think the clown, or the part of us which acts the clown, has already died and sometimes I find the writing works not just as thought, but as a strange eulogy, sometimes even self-inflicted therapy. I’m still guessing.

About a year ago, I found myself snorting lines of coke, but I hated doing it with other people, only alone. Blue in the face. Breathing blue. Heart racing. Near heart attack. Was this orgasm? Was I even hard?

I loved the intensity of being on my own—

It is easier to attribute this writing, as I’ve already stated, as being a series of ‘thoughts’. Where The Death of a Clown may, in form, resemble poetry, ultimately this isn’t poetry. It defies category. Since I started this review, I’ve felt increasingly perplexed, in that the more I attempt to ascertain what kind of writing this is, the more indecipherable it becomes. 

It’s for this reason that The Death of a Clown is unabashedly weird and it kind of leaves you feeling disoriented. To me, this work is like an endless cycle of waking up with a hangover/comedown and going to the next party. It sticks to the skin like a latex suit. It’s the endless fixing and wiping away of makeup. It ruminates on itself and begs not to enquire further, and then does it anyway. It has both sharp and curved edges. It is literal, it doesn’t sugarcoat or tease, it doesn’t fuck with unnecessary, flowery metaphor or imagery (unlike this review lol). It doesn’t cater to you or pander. It is a deeply cutting exchange with oneself—which makes it all the more deliciously complicated. And I’ll leave you with one of my fav bits: 

[…] I stood perfectly still,   announcing the words I imagined scribbling  onto an A3 cardboard sheet, 

‘Do they really see (in the white of the eye) the unveiling of the whole history of a life?’ 

If you’d like to buy The Death of a Clown, you can buy it here. In addition to this, you can find out more about Tom through his zine, Spontaneous Poetics.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

11 People on Their Private Obsessions

http://fashion-trendin.com/11-people-on-their-private-obsessions/

11 People on Their Private Obsessions

I watched a Netflix documentary about minimalism a few months ago and keep recalling one particular scene. The doc’s main subjects, Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, are minimalism maximalists: they own just a few, necessary items of clothes; their homes are bare. No decorations. No knickknacks. No “stuff.” They don’t need a ton of things to be happy, and they travel America to spread the gospel of living without excess. As someone who stores sweaters in the oven and had to lobby with a professional closet cleaner to let me keep my box of costumes “just in case,” the concept was refreshing — it seemed freeing. But it also seemed impossible. I wanted to know what you’re supposed to do with all the impractical, space-taking, no-value, dust-collecting stuff that you love, that means something.

Millburn and Nicodemus get that question a lot, they explain about halfway through. They share an anecdote of a book collector who takes joy in their library, who likes to loan friends old books, find new ones, browse through dog-eared pages at whim; and the book collector wants to know whether or not, in order to convert to minimalism, they have to get rid of their collection. The minimalists’ answer is simple: keep it. That which fills you with joy and happiness, they reason, no matter how much space it takes up or how useful it is, is not excess. It’s not just “stuff.” It’s a part of you.

In what started as a pitch to celebrate Fandom Month, I asked members of the team to bring in their obsessions, which quickly translated into something more: their not-just-stuff — that which they collect and cherish, individual items that are important to them for various symbolic reasons. Matt, our Head of Operations, has held on to a pair of sky-high patent leather platform stilettos because they represent a pivotal change in his perspective. Nikki, our Director of Ad Operations and Product, brought in medals from all the half marathons she’s completed. Scroll down to see the things that matter most to them, and then, in the comments, tell us (or better yet, show us) your most important “stuff.”

Ashley, Social Media Editor

What do you collect? I collect U2 stuff. I brought in a few records (I don’t have a record player), some concert tees, and a wristband from a time I saw them live. I have a giant framed poster in my bedroom but I wasn’t sure how to get it across the city for this shoot.

What made you start this collection? How long has this collection been growing? I’ve been a huge fan of U2 since my freshman year of high school. My first items from around that time (though not pictured here) were an Achtung Baby CD and the book U2 by U2. They both currently live in my childhood bedroom.

Would you ever sell it? No way.

What do you need strangers to know about your U2 stuff? U2 gets a lot of inexplicable hate and I just love them so much and I need strangers to know that it’s okay to like whatever music you like. Britney Spears and U2 and whatever else aren’t guilty pleasures, they’re just good.

What does this collection say about you? It says I know great stuff when I hear it.

Have a good story about any of it? The SNL wristband is from last December, when I got a friend to get me into the show. It has no value to anyone else, but to me it’s something I wore the night The Edge and I touched elbows “by accident” and I teared up.

Amelia, Head of Creative

What did you bring in? Vampire Weekend’s debut album, Vampire Weekend, in record form.

Why is it special to you? It reminds me of a few very, very specific moments in my life. One in particular is the first time I heard the album, from start to finish. I think it was summer 2008, since the album came out in January that year. So many things happened in that short half hour that I feel like I could write a whole book around it. I have a few other albums from around that same time period that I feel the same way about, but I have no idea where those CDs are.

Would you ever sell the record? Sure, although I’d feel guilty because the record’s in bad shape. I’m not attached to the physical record — just the album itself. ~*It’s a metaphor, man.*~

What does this record say about you? That I am a very bad record owner? Also that I used to spend a lot of time at Urban Outfitters (because I own a Vampire Weekend record and was probably like “buying this is the coolest thing I have ever done.”). Also that I am unequivocally stuck in 2008, musically, and forever will be.

Crystal, Operations Manager

What did you bring in? A Halle Berry-as-Jinx-in-007-Barbie

What made you buy this doll? Representation has always mattered to me, and seeing Black dolls, especially one that depicts a character in a mainstream film like Bond, was so awesome that I couldn’t leave it behind.

Are you strict about who can/can’t “play” the Jinx doll? I don’t believe in “look, don’t touch.” I invest in these sorts of silly things so they can be enjoyed by everyone, not just me.

Would you ever sell it? No, it’s more sentimental value than anything else!

What do you need strangers to know about it? I know, the idea of Barbie is problematic, and I get that (and agree), but this doll is more about the kick-ass character and less about the body politics, for me.

What does it say about you? It really speaks to the duality of who I am, now that I’m thinking of it. I like to think that I’m Woke AF, but I also own a Barbie Doll. That about sums it up.

Haley, Digital Editor

What do you collect? I enjoy small animal figurines and have amassed a small army of them completely by accident. Not all of them are pictured here, but these were the ones I could find when I was late to work. They’re curiously scattered around my house.

What made you start this collection of animals? I’m easily charmed by cute things. I hesitate to call it a collection because there’s been no intentionality in its creation, but maybe that makes it all the more legit! I just love objects that look like creatures and I wish everything I owned had ears, eyes and a tail.

How long has this collection been growing? I think the first one was Helen the frog, pictured above. I found her in Chinatown in San Francisco in 2012 on what I used to call “my trinket hunts.” She’s followed me everywhere since, usually finding a home on my desk among my other treasures. Occasionally I will drop Helen on other people’s desks at Man Repeller when they’re feeling down. Her presence helps.

What does it say about you? I love animals so much and am quick to anthropomorphize. I think some part of me truly believes in the aliveness of certain inanimate objects. I find comfort in surrounding myself by a little family of cute things. That sounds so creepy, but I just think it makes life more charming.

Have a good story about any of them? The white seal you see is called a Squishie — you can buy them in bulk on Amazon. When I first bought them and had them shipped to the MR office, Amelia freaked out because she had just ordered one the week before. We ordered more as a group, and everyone at the office had one on their desk. When we started posting them on Instagram, people started asking where they were from and buying them too. It was a Squishie moment. A couple months later, my SF friend told me he shipped me a present for no reason. It was a box of Squishies. He had no idea I knew what they were. Guess it’s been a Squishie kind of year; we need them right now.

Harling, Fashion Editor

What do you collect? I brought in my collection of mini bags, which was amassed not so much as a byproduct of intentionally “collecting” them, but more so organically, as a result of my great affinity for the way carrying them makes me feel (like a stylish giant).

What made you start this collection? After I purchased my first mini bag two years ago and realized it was the perfect size combination of aesthetically pleasing (they’re adorable) and functionally utilitarian (they hold the perfect amount of stuff), it was full speed ahead.

There’s no storage in NYC — where do you keep all of it? This is a great question — one I’ve been struggling with given my bedroom itself is nearly as small as a mini bag. For a while, I stored them all around my room in various nooks and crannies (on top of my radiator, in between stacks of jeans, inside bigger bags), but that system proved to be problematic because I frequently forgot where I put them (that’s the thing about small bags — they’re tiny enough they can get lost, even in the tiniest of New York apartments). Now I keep them together in a giant basket underneath my shelves.

Would you ever sell any of it? I don’t know. This sounds weird, but each one has a different personality, so they kind of feel like my friends. I’m pretty attached to them.

Imani, Editorial Intern

What do you collect? I collect postcards from places I visit and museums/galleries.

What made you start this collection? I started collecting postcards when I came to college — so it’s been roughly four years now — because it was a really simple and cheap way to decorate. It’s become something much more sentimental; now my walls are covered with little memories.

Would you ever sell them? I don’t think anyone is interested in purchasing my collection, but maybe for the right price…? It depends on the postcard.

What does this collection say about you? I think my postcards are like puzzle pieces of who I am, as corny as that sounds. They are physical and visual artifacts of the experiences I’ve had and the emotions I’ve felt at different moments of my life.

Have a good story about any of them? One of my favorite postcards, an image of a bullfighter’s butt in hot pink hot pants that I got in Cordoba, went missing! I got it during my last full day in Spain when I went back to visit in August (I spent a semester in Madrid during the Spring semester of 2017). I was so devastated that it was gone that I tried to convince a friend in Spain to try and find me another just like it. A day later, I found it tucked in the notebook I brought with me on my trip for safe keeping.

Louisiana, Visual Assistant

What do you collect? MUGS!

What made you start this collection? I think it started when I was about 15? 16? I bought a Polish pottery mug and got hooked. I like ceramics and I use mugs every single day, so the collection grew from there.

There’s no storage in NYC — where do you keep all of it? Thankfully I live alone so all my kitchen cabinet space is for me and my mugs.

Would you ever sell any of it? Maybe! There are a few I don’t *love.*

What do you need strangers to know about it? I try and get one every time I go on a trip!

What does it say about you? That I love beverages, which is true! What’s also true is that I probably always have seven half-full mugs around my apartment at all times.

Have a good story about any of them? Two very nice ladies at Waffle House gave me mugs (one regular, one holiday edition!) after I asked if I could have them. GOTTA LOVE THE SOUTH.

Do you have a policy about using them or who else gets to drink out of them? I have a ranking of which mugs I love the most, so I save my highest ranking ones for myself and then let others use those lower on the rank. Hehe.

Matt, Head of Operations

What did you bring in? A pair of size 15 black platform patent leather pumps.

How long have you had them and what made you keep them? I’ve had them for four years. Aside from their timeless and classic nature, they were the first pair of heels I ever owned and a gift from a good friend who had them custom-made via a human named Blondie.

Who is/isn’t allowed to touch these shoes? All are welcome to experience their glory.

Would you ever sell them? No — they’re sentimental!

What do you need strangers to know about them? While on the surface they are just a beautiful pair of shoes sized for a large-footed individual, they represent a pretty pivotal moment for me in terms of opening my mind to sartorially expressing myself beyond the bounds of traditional gendered clothing.

What do these heels say about you? That I am confident in my balancing abilities and love living on the edge. (Also that I’m not afraid of a sprained ankle?)

Have a good story about any of them? Less of a story and more of a newfound appreciation for every sorority girl I went to college with.

Nikki, Director of Ad Operations & Product

What do you collect? Medals from races that I’ve completed

When did you start this collection and what made you keep going? I did my first half marathon in 2008. I was so happy that I saved the medal and the bib from it. After that, I just started saving all of them and never stopped!

There’s no storage in NYC — where do you keep all of it? Thankfully, I have a ton of closet space. I hang them on a hook tucked behind a dresser in my closet.

Would you ever sell any of your medals? I don’t think anyone would buy one, but I want to hold onto these forever.

What do you need strangers to know about your collection? There’s an accompanying Google spreadsheet with the date, race type (run, cycling, tri), distance and results for all of my races.

Have a crazy story about any of them? One year I tried to do a half marathon every month. I got up to 10 and then a few storms wrecked my streak.

Patty, Head of Partnerships

What do you collect? Letters between my grandparents during their first year of marriage while my grandpa was in the service overseas and my grandma was pregnant with my dad.

What made you start this collection? I love letters. Reading them, writing them, receiving them, reading books with letters IN them. My aunt found these and, because of my letter obsession, gave them to me for safekeeping. I treasure them (and her, thank you Aunt Mary!).

In addition to these letters, I have most letters that anyone has ever written me: letters from my parents and brothers when I went away to college, love letters from past boyfriends, letters and postcards from friends. There are some meaningful letters that I’ve lost along the way, and I do miss them.

There’s no storage in NYC — where do you keep all of it? Um, in my apartment with no digital back up. I know, I know, working on it.

Would you ever sell any of it? How dare you.

What do you need strangers to know about it? That my grandma had the most beautiful handwriting in the entire universe, and she was a lefty!

What does your collection of letters say about you? Words matter to me. And I need to back up my shit more regularly.

Have a good story about any of the letters? There is one letter in there that my grandma wrote while she and my grandfather were dating. She was in college in Kansas, he in Indiana (her brother was his roommate). My favorite bit: “Tony, I got the lead in the play! I was so excited when I found out that I could scarcely think. It is really a tremendous part and will be quite a challenge. Thank you so much for your prayers. They really help.” I MEAN C’MON.

Starling, Social Media Intern

What do you collect? Star jewelry!

What made you start this collection? At first, it was accidental. I received a lot of gold jewelry as gifts. Then I started to realize that wearing the items when I started a new class or new job helped people remember my name.

How long has this collection been growing? I had a terrible nickel allergy growing up, so once the allergy faded and I was allowed to get my ears pierced, it was a BIG DEAL. I bought my first star earrings at the pharmacy in Canada where my sister and I got our ears pierced together.

Would you ever sell any of it? Nope.

What do you need strangers to know about it? My name isn’t STERLING. Or Sterlene. Or Charlene. Or Sternum (yes, I got that written on a Starbucks cup once).

What does your collection say about you? When I first learned to write my name, I was desperate to perfect my criss-cross star abilities. I knew I wanted to write my name with an actual star in it. It’s been my legal signature on my passports and every legal document. My sister Rein wrote her name with a raindrop on the ‘i’, my sister K’s name is just one letter long, and my sister Willow used to doodle a willow tree out of the ‘l’s, so name imagery was a big thing in my fam.

Have a good story about any of your stars? I wore the dangling star earrings (from Madewell) to my first day at Man Repeller, and so far I haven’t been called Sterling once!

Photos by Louisiana Mei Gelpi.