Image: Author in her bedroom, shot with NOMO CAM INS W
It is never just a hodgepodge of random TIT-FOR-TAT but about creating a hodgepodge of visual dialogue.
Our first piece will take a small introductory delve into the art of exploring the personal creativity embedded in the objects and spaces we choose to surround ourselves with and the meanings they hold.
Think the burger phone in Juno, or even that sweet Strawberry Shortcake doll in Donnie Darko
… or Jason Segal’s obsession with Rush or his Gibson that adorned the wall of his Venice Beach cul-de-sac in the buddy comedy I Love You Man (this reference is entirely shameless of me to include as I watch this flick on rotation at least once a month – it is an underrated staple) I’ll kick things off by reflecting on my bedroom—specifically, my third-year university room. Each bedroom marked a chapter, a personal evolution, a reflection of where I was in that moment. This exploration will highlight how, even in a temporary and often shared space, the act of curating one’s surroundings can foster a sense of belonging and help students create an environment that supports their creative and emotional well-being during their university years.
For Millennials and Gen Z alike, tiny treasures like Sylvanian Families and miniature collectibles were never just toys—they were gateways into cosy, enchanted worlds, safe havens of simplicity and wonder, a whispered invitation to reconnect with the unhurried, unpressured version of ourselves. It is more than nostalgia; it is a secret ritual, a way to pause in a world that never stops racing. These little figurines are not just knick-knacks; they are talismans of memory, creativity, and the quiet magic of small, deliberate joys. Every piece is a fragment of a story, every “surprise blind bag” opens a breadcrumb in a treasure hunt through time and self—reminding us that happiness lives in the small, thoughtful details. Last year, I found myself immersed in the delicate act of revisiting my childhood memories. This nostalgia even manifested on TikTok through the page Sylvanian Drama, where these figures were humorously reenacting both relatable moments and sharp pop culture references.
It is the innocence of playing and making up stories that I truly resonated with. When my boyfriend caught on to my growing obsession with these little creatures, it turned into a full-on adventure. We were — and STILL — scatter Facebook marketplace and raid the aisles of our local ASDA supermarket for those sweet treasures.
… However one thing led to another and we started to notice in places such as Forbidden Planet— SONNY ANGELS! — Damn it more trinkets again. I truly believe that my local Forbidden Planet in Newcastle Upon Tyne best seller in August last year was the Hippers series of Sonny Angels. We were there at every opportunity, indulging ourselves without a care. I can’t help but wonder if the staff ever grew curious about where these peculiar, yet charming esoteric
customers were emerging from.
Image: Tumblr post by sonnyangeldreams
This obsession is not just chance. Like Amélie (2001), where tiny, curated pleasures ground the protagonist in her emotional journey, these trinkets let us build private worlds—sanctuaries to escape to when life feels overwhelming. They are about creating little pockets of calm, spaces that harken back to simpler times when the world felt less heavy.
Image: Amélie film still
There is a certain irony in it, though—our romanticisation of these objects mirror our own adult search for meaning and joy, much like the fleeting, symbolic worlds in The Virgin Suicides (1999), which capture how memory bends time and how we yearn to preserve simplicity. Sofia Coppola constructs a narrative that feels half-memory, half-movie—a haze of romance, loss, and
tragedy. Both the Blythe doll and The Virgin Suicides capture how beauty can feel both comforting and alienating, a perfect image that is always out of reach. Coppola would sympathise with the poetic, ephemeral quality of memory and beauty—how both exist in a fragile tension, always shifting, always elusive. Her response would carry that same wistful, reflective quality that defines her films, linking symbolism, nostalgia, and emotional complexity. What I am truly asking is…Sofia… since we have now had Greta Gerwig’s Barbie (2023) when you will direct Blythe?
Image: Dolly * Dolly Vol. 8, Blythe Magazine
It is easy to brush these “trinkets” off as childish or trivial, but they hold something much darker and deeper. They whisper that growing up does not mean giving up on wonder. They are not just pretty trinkets; they are symbols of our need to escape, to craft private dreamscapes, and to gather fragments of joy in a world that often feels too real. Among these sweet little critters and cherished dollies, our walls tell their own story—lined with posters and clippings that trace the threads of our obsessions, capturing the echoes of moments and artists we hold close to our hearts.
Image: Author’s wall
For me, minimalism here does not signify a lack of passion but rather a choice to let a single icon breathe, to let the beauty and essence of his image resonate fully (George Harrison pictured above) This approach feels intentional, allowing the art and memory to occupy the space completely without visual clutter. Harrison’s music and image have a kind of still, understated beauty, and this small, minimal wall invites me to step closer, linger, and connect with it in a quiet, personal way.
This is not about resisting the passage into adulthood—it is about weaving a new kind of maturity, one stitched together with threads of memory, creativity, and quiet rebellion. A Blythe doll or a Sylvanian is not a retreat into the past; it is a gentle defiance against the relentless march of expectations, the hurried rhythm of days, and the unyielding weight of the world. They remind me that peace lives in the delicate spaces: in the curve of a tiny porcelain hand, in the soft gaze of a forgotten figure, in the quiet joy of creating a world one small object at a time.
This is about more than memories. It is about agency, balance, and the art of finding beauty in stillness. Adulthood, then, becomes less about relinquishing wonder and more about embracing it—finding strength in the small, the strange, the beautiful, and the overlooked.
As we bring this article through curated living spaces to a close, I invite readers to dive into a more introspective inquiry: What lies beneath the surface of our decorative choices and the artifacts we collect? Why do these objects, arrangements, and styles resonate with us? To understand the deeper currents guiding our selections is to uncover the unspoken language of our inner worlds, where aesthetics and identity intertwine, revealing the subtle ways in which our
living spaces become a reflection of our most intimate selves.
May your pursuit of curious relics bring you joy!
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