When I moved out of my Beirut home, the truck was mostly packed with figurines of all sizes and shapes. 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.
By Adriana Lebbos
I’ve never been a fan of endings, especially the forced ones. And as the year ends, it brings that familiar bittersweet feeling. Endings can stir 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 a storage area first—my late dad’s atelier. That space has evolved into a workshop for my artsy, fartsy adventures. Slowly, the space was filled with treasures from the many trips and flea markets I explored.
The more I wrestled with SEO for my creative copy, the more I bought nostalgic toys. The more videos I watched to see what was trending in my field, the more time I spent tidying up my workshop, which 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 like the past can be a safe, cosy place to retreat when the present feels too overwhelming. I’m not alone in this.
The community of my fellow collectors keeps growing, and, 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, not just an emotion. It’s a magical bridge connecting us to something real, grounded when life feels spiralling away, when technology forces us to cope, but we 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 of 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 favourite 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 I smile when I see an old Fisher-Price phone in an ad for a tech company. When I spot one in a toy shop, I pick it up and stare at the plastic. Suddenly, I’m no longer standing in a store. I’m sitting cross-legged on my childhood bedroom's red curly Tapirama carpet, my chubby little fingers dialling 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 a copy to draft for sceptic 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. 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.
Beautiful said and written, when we share our childhood memories we share a gift of joyful soul wrapped with an adult walls, each time call for joy we break those walls again. Thank you.