Objects Remember
No matter what we say, souvenirs are a display of the other. I remember the first time I went to France when I was in high school, and I saw an American dollar bill posted on a bulletin board in my Parisian host sister’s bedroom. To her it was fanciful, unique, special, something to show off to her friends, to proudly remember the time she spent with her family in New York. To me it was odd to see something so quotidian on display.
In my subsequent visits to this friend’s house over the past 8 years, I always notice the dollar, still pinned on the wall. When I lived in France last year, I came to feel the same way my friend did about her American dollar regarding objects I had with me that were visibly from home. Loose change, a magazine, photographs— they all took on a mythic quality as I wallowed in homesickness during my first couple months, and later, they became objects I proudly shared with my European friends.
I am a collector. I save ticket stubs, emails, wrappers, clothing tags, those plastic bracelets that you have to cut off that you get for entrance to events/attractions, and memories in the form of photographs and extensive journal entries. I actively collect shot glasses, postcards, and quotations. I have boxes of keepsakes- random objects like a flattened ball of foil and a little troll doll with its hair cut off, and I save these things because of the stories they hold. I don’t trust my brain to remember, so I depend upon objects, journals, correspondence, and conversations with friends to “remember” my past meaningful experiences. Some objects I’ve kept for so long I don’t even remember their stories. I continue to hold on to them because they have become part of a collection, instead of a souvenir. It’s sometimes embarrassing the things I save, but I know I’m not the only one to imbue these items with significance. But when I think about what my favorite souvenirs are, they are stories. This is why the objects, photographs, and journals are so important— they help me remember important narratives of experiences where I saw unusual things, connected to different people or ate a memorable meal.
Stewart quotes Nelson Grayburn, “there is a cachet connected with international travel, exploration, multiculturalism, etc. that these [foreign exotic] arts symbolize” (148). I can’t deny that I have a certain pride in my ring from Mexico, the earrings I bartered for in Istanbul, and my glass necklace from an artisan’s small shop in Brittany. No matter how we might try to authenticate the objects we have, it can’t be ignored that by displaying them we are indicating our status, our means to travel. With my wearing or presenting of these objects, I’m seeking to stand out, be different, be recognized for my “special” experiences, but essentially I’m just making myself an other to those around me. No one understands the object or souvenir like the owner—there can never be a mutual understanding. My souvenirs “other” me.
