Miniso x Barbie Retro Mini Bluetooth Speaker

Barbie X Miniso, Dominican Republic, 2023, Plastic, length: 11.56”

How much of me exists beyond the things I gather? Every day, I find myself asking this question because each thing I own carries a piece of me. Two years ago, I found this speaker in a Miniso store in the Dominican Republic. I did not need it. But I wanted it—not for its function, not for its sound quality (which is, objectively, questionable), but for what it represented.

The speaker exists in contradiction; it is stuck between wanting to be a cool, edgy piece of technology and an old person's prized possession from the 1950s. As I stood in the store, I realized that no matter what I played on it—whether it was Radiohead or Future—the music would never quite match its strong personality. And maybe that is why I bought it.

I, too, am torn between versions of myself. I convince myself that I either must commit to the polished, put-together version of myself or lean fully into the chaos. This speaker reminds me that I do not have to choose, that I can exist in the in-between, switching frequencies as I please. Perhaps I exist not beyond the things I gather but within them. – Tanishaa R.

Mini Bottle of Tajin Seasoning

Horacio Fernandez, Guadalajara, Mexico, circa 1985, Glass, paper, chili, lime, and salt, height: 2.75”

What is something all women want from a man? Some want flowers, others want a ring. I will tell you what they do not want: a miniature bottle of Tajin seasoning. Before leaving for college, my boyfriend of two years told me he had a gift for me. My heart was beating out of my chest. I thought that I would finally get the promise ring I so desired. You can imagine the utter disappointment that washed over me when he handed me this little bottle of chili powder, lime zest, and salt. “Keep this with you at all times and think of it as me always being with you no matter how far apart we are,” he told me. “I can’t afford a ring, but I do want you to be my forever so, for now, can this be enough?” I was upset at first, but I have come to love this little bottle of spices; like our love, its contents do not have an expiration date. Who is it to say a ring is the only thing that can be used to represent the hopes of everlasting love? – Zariah S.

Sitting Elephant Plushie

Toy Factory LLC, San Antonio, Texas, United States, circa March 2022, Plush fabric, cotton, and polyester fibers, height: 7”

My sister gave me this elephant plushie upon my arrival to the United States. It serves as a reminder that my family is looking out for me even though they cannot physically be around to help me out and that, even though people might see me as odd or strange, there are people who care about me.

It is the only object I have had since I started college, and it has survived countless move-ins and commutes to my various dorms and apartments over the years.

The elephant is red and purple; people might find this strange since elephants do not usually look that way. I like this plushie for its strangeness—it reminds me of myself.

Since I left my home in Nigeria, I have constantly struggled to survive in a new environment and become someone here with little available support. My plushie has been with me through failed classes, lost jobs, and even times when I almost got kicked out of school and evicted from my home for not being able to pay tuition and rent.

I love this object because it reminds me that I am not alone. – Ben B/E.

Puppy Keychain

Line Friends, Myeong-dong, Seoul, South Korea, circa 2023, Polyester and metal, height: 4.5”

How do you find a piece of home on the other side of the world? Home is a feeling, not a place. It is a sense of comfort found in the smallest details. For me, home is the jingle of metal tags as small, fluffy paws race to greet me.

A few weeks into my study abroad program in South Korea, I was missing my dog back in Virginia. I found a piece of home in this puppy keychain. I had not left my bed all day when an advertisement for a keychain featuring a familiar-looking dog appeared on my timeline. Though not usually one to make impulse purchases, I hopped on the next bus to the Line Friends store in Myeong-dong to buy it.

This bundle of polyester fiber and rattling metal became an anchor in a place where everything felt unfamiliar. Its rounded form, embroidered features, and apricot fur drew me back to the nostalgia of childhood plushies and the lifelong companionship of my labradoodle. Now it hangs beside my desk at school. I am still far from home, but I always feel connected. – Mira C.

Water Bottle

32oz Actives Water Bottle with Spout Lid, Takeya, United States, 2020, Stainless Steel, height: 12”

People are like water: reflective, adaptive, and ever-changing. To me, this water bottle is more than a vessel for liquid: it is a tangible representation of me.

I initially purchased it to track my water intake while losing weight; its bright yellow color acted as a visual reminder to drink. I went on to lose ninety pounds. Since then, it has been my hydration companion as I conquered new challenges and fears, such as moving for college and co-ops. I have learned deeply about myself and the world around me. I have accomplished so much of what I once thought was impossible: losing weight, surviving city life, leading campus clubs, landing my first paying job, and supporting myself independently hundreds of miles away from home.

As time marches on, new stickers are added, new scuff marks are etched into its exterior, and I continue to evolve as a person. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever outgrow the bottle: as the wear and tear multiplies, I may be forced to start anew. For now, I carry this bottle with me everywhere as a reminder of how far I have come and how far I will go. – Adrianna D.

Husky Utility Knife

Husky, China, 2014, Wood and steel, length: 9.06”

One day while visiting home, my grandfather asked me if I wanted this utility knife. I had no idea what I would use it for. Little did I know that this gift would become sentimental and an object I would use almost every day. Although my grandfather and I never interacted much while I lived with him, we would always have our moments when I helped him complete the more demanding physical tasks around the house. After I moved out, I no longer got to see often the things that reminded me of him. He recently passed away and I suddenly discovered new life in this knife. At work, I was given a flimsy plastic utility knife to help with the breakdown of boxes and mine fell apart within a week. My grandfather's knife is made from more reliable materials, and its weight almost feels like a helping hand from my grandfather, guiding me everywhere I go. – Devon M.

Gutenberg Press Collectible Magnet

circa 2010-2018, Paint, magnet, and polyester resin, height: 3.25”

For me, this magnet provokes thought on the power of language. The original Gutenberg Press transformed the way knowledge was shared, making it possible to print multiple copies of text quickly rather than relying on handwritten copies. Though the magnet’s press is inoperable, this replica serves as a reminder of how one machine reshaped the spread of ideas and literacy.

Its painted grooves mimic the texture of aged wood, while its detailed screw mechanism, pressing plate, and faux-paper sheet gesture towards the labor once required to print a single page. However, unlike the original press, this object is frozen in time. The absence of printed text on the page it holds is a quiet reminder of the countless ideas waiting to be shared.

Just as the Gutenberg Press ushered in the spread of literacy and learning, this miniature replica continues the tradition, sparking curiosity and reflection on the enduring power of human creativity. In its humble form, clinging to a refrigerator, the magnet invites us to consider how a single innovation reshaped the world and continues to influence the flow of ideas today. – Joseph C.

Dalecarlian horse

Circa late 20th century, Wood, height: 6”

A cynical part of me resents what my Dala horse represents. I have never been to Sweden. I have never danced the maypole, and I cannot speak the language. No one in my family has lived in Sweden since Big Erick emigrated in 1901. My Dala horse is just cheap commercialism designed to profit off my desire to connect to a distant heritage.

Originally produced as children’s toys, Dalecarlian horses have become a national symbol. Every year, hundreds of thousands of these handmade figurines are sold in every tourist trap and souvenir shop in Sweden and in towns across the United States that have turned their own diaspora communities into attractions.

Still, despite my cynicism, I chose to carefully wrap my Dala horse to bring it across the country to college. I choose to let it take up precious real estate on my crowded desk. I care about my Dala horse for one simple reason. If this symbol of consumerism is the only tie I have to Sweden—to my family and to their stories—then I will treasure this little red horse and all that it represents. – Sarah F.

My Neighbor Totoro Mini Backpack

Loungefly, officially licensed by Studio Ghibli, United States, circa 2020, Faux leather (polyurethane), polyester lining, and metal hardware, height: 10”

This My Neighbor Totoro mini backpack is a bridge between my childhood memories and the present. When I was growing up, My Neighbor Totoro was more than a movie to me; it was a source of comfort, imagination, and joy. I remember curling up on the couch, mesmerized by Totoro’s gentle presence, the rustling trees, and the soothing lull of the countryside. The film's themes of wonder, innocence, and connection to nature shaped my early understanding of the world. Now, carrying this backpack feels like holding onto a piece of that childhood magic. Its soft, rounded design and the familiar face of Totoro serve as a daily reminder of the warmth and security I felt when watching the film. The choice of faux leather adds another layer of meaning. Just as My Neighbor Totoro teaches us about care for the environment, this material reflects modern values of sustainability and ethical consumption. More than just a fandom item, this backpack represents my personal connection to My Neighbor Totoro; it is a cherished reminder that the wonder of childhood never truly fades. – Maple T.

Wacom Intous Art Tablet

Wacom Co., Ltd., Kazo, Saitama, Japan, 2015, Plastic, width: 10.875”

In memory of the past, all I have left to remind me of your comforting façade is this Wacom tablet. When I got this tablet for my thirteenth birthday, my childish brain could never have comprehended this gift’s lasting consequences on my artistic journey. And now that the wool has been lifted from my eyes, that sweet naivete I used to carry forgotten, I still have this gift. I hold onto it and continue to use it despite how much I fear I am on the wrong path. I gaze onto its semi-reflective surface and see my past self staring back, oblivious to his newly sealed fate. Just like this gift has helped change my art, it has helped change me as well. No longer will I feel protected by your presence. No longer will I ever be young again. I mourn for your short-lived time with me, but you, the past, cannot last forever. I can never dwell on you, but I must thank you for this tool of growth and change. – Alex J.

112 Reckoner k2 skis

K2 Skis, Seattle, Washington, United States, 2021, Aspen wood, fiberglass, Ptex plastic, steel edges, abs plastic, rubber dampeners, and epoxy, length: 66.9291”

Skiing has always been more than just a sport to me—it is where I feel the freest. It is the rush of weightlessness midair, the rhythm of carving through fresh snow, and the deep connection to the mountain and the people who ride it. Skiing forces me to be fully present, adapting to ever-changing terrain and weather. It is humbling, unpredictable, and endlessly rewarding.

As a ski instructor, I saw firsthand how powerful that feeling can be. Watching someone link their first turns or finally trust their edges, I could see the exact moment they felt it—the spark, the shift, the realization that skiing is more than just sliding on snow. It is movement, expression, and pure joy. That is what keeps me coming back too, always chasing that next turn, that next drop, that next perfect run.

The Reckoner 112 is the ski that helps me do that. More than just gear, it holds onto every sketchy landing, every deep day, and every memory made on the mountain. And in the end, that is what skiing is all about—not just the turns I take, but the feeling I carry with me long after the snow melts. – Conor S

Chunky Sneakers

Fila, Seoul, South Korea, 2018, Leather, rubber, and EVA (plastic), height: 4.5”

College used to be a time of isolation for me, so when I went home and spent time with my mom, I reveled in it. It became a tradition to go shopping and it all started with my chunky sneakers. I had never been to the store Burlington, so when my mom took me to one, I was excited. However, when we got there the store was mostly dark and empty because it was going out of business. I saw these shoes on a rack. They called to me with their pretty neon orange and turquoise colorway and thick monstrous soles. My mom thought they were cool and wanted me to try them on to see if they fit. To my delight they did, and I wore them out of the store. These shoes were the start of me trying to explore myself through fashion. My relationship with my mom has grown significantly since then and I am more connected with my sister as she is the real fashionista of the family. These shoes also allowed me to be more comfortable in connecting with people at school, as I am more confident about how I express myself. – Alena S.

Christmas Tree

Earth/Bought at McCauleys, circa 2024, wood and pine needles, height: 7’

This is my last real Christmas tree. My parents have decided to use a fake one next year, and it is sitting in our shed as I write this. “Why would you throw away a family tradition?” I asked. The answer: the cost of trees is increasing. However, my mom told me to look at the tree and remember that the decorations would be the same. I had never paid attention to what was on the tree. What could be more special than a real traditional tree? Then I learned about the ornaments and their significance in my family. Many of them were made by my mom’s grandmother. There were even some I made as a kid that I had forgotten. Then what mattered hit me: it was not the tree itself that was the tradition, but the generations of ornaments passed down that reflect our place in time. A real or a fake tree without anything on it is just a tree, but with your history displayed, it becomes something special. My mom always asks if I will use our ornaments when I have my own family. Now I understand why. Of course, I will. – Nathaniel Q.

Calico Cat Plush

Aurora®, Pico Rivera, California, United States, circa 2002, Fur fabric, plastic pellets, and resin eyes, length: 8”

Sometimes grief appears in the form of a calico cat plush. 22 years ago, my uncle gave me this object. When I turned 6 years old, he tragically passed away from an accident. At that age, I did not understand what had happened, but I still felt a sense of loss. From that point onwards, this plush was at my side. Its soft fur and weighted body provided a tactile sense of comfort. I took it everywhere, until I turned 11 and my plush was replaced by a real cat. She followed me from room to room, we were as inseparable as my plush and I. She passed away suddenly during the pandemic, just as I entered college. Blindsided, far from home, and stricken again with grief, I took comfort in

my plush. I began to collect calico cat objects: pillowcases, plates, statues, more plushies, and a keychain for my backpack. Grief is not always easy to carry, but sometimes it may get lighter. – Emma K.

Midcentury Table Lamp

Circa 1950’s, Brass base and slag glass shade, height: 23”

What is a light if not something to guide you on your journey? The lamp on my bedside table not only guides me as I dress in the morning; it is a part of my greater journey. It is the first item in my soon-to-be collection of heirlooms that will outlive me. Its light will guide me through the rest of my days.

I envision a future where my collection has been completed, my lamp resting on a carefully crafted table decorated with swooping curves analogous to my lamp’s brass base. The warmth of the lamp’s lit shade will be echoed by the warmth of the fire at my hearth. When the day comes that my fire is extinguished and my light shines no more, I will grant this lamp and my collection to a special person that may continue the service of my trusty objects.

I may not know this lamp’s story, but in its light, it carries the legacy of a previous owner, just as it will for me, silent but bright. – Dominic D.

Pillow

Skytex Inc., Puebla, Mexico, 2014, 100% Polyurethane foam, length: 21”

Behold the legendary Doctor’s Orders Pillow, a marvel of modern medicine and bedtime engineering. This soft yet strangely firm artifact was prescribed to me after years of questionable posture, heroic slouching, and an epic battle with gravity itself. It is not just a pillow; it is a relentless, orthopedic enforcer.

At first, I hated it. It was stiff, unyielding, and completely unwilling to indulge my habit of curling into a human pretzel. My old pillows never judged me for sleeping in a way that defied both logic and anatomy. This one, however, had opinions. It demanded proper posture, scolded me for side-sleeping incorrectly, and seemed deeply disappointed every time I tried to smush it into a more “comfortable” (read: TERR-i-ble) shape. The pillow’s unforgiving firmness and rigid contours physically guided my head and neck into alignment, making its demands clear through form and structure.

Infused with the mystical power of actually supporting your neck, this pillow has seen many sleepless nights turn into slightly-less-sleepless nights. Though it cannot cure bad life choices (couch naps and text-neck), it does offer a whisper of relief, provided I do not immediately revert to old habits. – Zac C.

Want to learn more about Zac’s pillow? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Taffy Pink Crocs

Crocs, China, circa 2024, Pink Croslite, Women’s size 11

My Taffy Pink Crocs have left a clog print on my heart. I wear my Crocs daily while ignoring the many opinions about the style of the shoe. A Christmas gift from this past year, they symbolize a fresh start as I step into 2025.

My Pink Crocs are more than shoes; they are a lifeline. My old bright red pair carry the memories of high school struggles and freshman-year challenges. With my new Crocs, I am accompanied by a staple item and a feeling of home while I travel, at college swim meets, and on new adventures. My shoes provide a sense of cleanliness and make me feel more relaxed and comfortable when I return to the hotel after a long day at the pool. They allow me to unwind and slip into something more comfortable, light, and breathable than my tight sneakers. After I put them on, stress and anxieties float away.

During my first steps in the morning and my last steps at night, I am disconnected from the non-stop student-athlete lifestyle when I wear my Crocs. They challenge the idea that comfort and style cannot coexist. – Mary K.

Want to learn more about Mary’s Crocs? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

McDonald’s Garfield Mug

Anchor Hocking, Lancaster, Ohio, United States, circa 1980, Glass, height: 3.5”

Does the importance you give to an object influence the impact it can have on you? I used to think so.

I am not a fan of Garfield or McDonald’s, so when my brother purchased a set of vintage McDonald’s Garfield mugs, I was not impressed. Despite the glasses being durable, balanced, and showcasing charming comics with colorful, measured design, they were just another set of things making no impact on me. But after two years of drinking from them, I would learn just how impactful they could be.

In 2021, I decided to check the resale value of these glasses and discovered that the paint with which Garfield was rendered contained over 100,000 parts per million of lead, more than 1,000 times the legal limit.

The importance I gave to these objects did not matter; my family and I were still exposed to hazardous materials. I was impacted by these objects even though I did not care. – Mosadi P.

Want to learn more about Mosadi’s mug? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Chessboard

Chess Armory, circa 2018, Wood, width: 14”

How can a simple piece of wood contain memories of long-dead individuals?

At first glance, this chessboard seems like no more than an unassuming piece of tabletop fun. Its wooden exterior mimics the simple design of every chessboard. After receiving this object several Christmases ago, I enjoyed it, but never imagined that it could provide anything more than fun, intellectual competition. My outlook shifted when I familiarized myself with the game’s history.

Chess originated in seventh-century India. Records of games are found scattered across history. Specific games of chess began being recorded in the 1400s with every single move transcribed. Discovering this, I chose a game.

I arranged my chessboard into a starting position and read through a game between Valencian nobles in 1475, moving one piece at a time on my board. I felt uniquely connected to the past. There was no ambiguity or mystery to the game; I knew exactly what moves they played, and I could physically mimic them one at a time for myself.

Thus, my chessboard was not just a piece of wood, but a vessel to peer into the games of players of old. – Dom S.

Want to learn more about Dom’s chessboard? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Narwhal Plushie

Aurora World Inc., Pico Rivera, California, United States, 2018, Polyester fiber, length: 16”

With lightly frayed edges and a stubborn sparkle, this narwhal resists how we assign value to the things around us. Plush toys are often seen as symbols of comfort and care, traits society labels as feminine and emotional. These qualities are frequently overshadowed by traits like ambition and assertiveness, which are celebrated as markers of success and strength. Glitter, too, is dismissed as frivolous, a fleeting decoration of little importance. But this narwhal challenges those assumptions. The shimmer caught my eye as I passed it on the aquarium gift shop shelf, turning a simple toy into something that demanded attention. Its softness is not weakness. It is resilience, shaped by years of use and affection. No matter how many times I squash the plushie in my sleep, a few gentle nudges will bring it back to life. The synthetic fur and shimmering plastic are often dismissed as cheap, but they carry strength and beauty. This narwhal reminds me that value is not in the material itself but in the stories and meanings we attach to it. – Chuanhui Y.

Black Stone Rosary

Santiago, Dominican Republic, circa 2000, Onyx stone beads and metal chain, length: 21”

I must have been nine years old when I clutched this Rosary in my hand every night as I sat alone in my room. With a big heart, tears filling my eyes, and my mind as anxious as can be, I prayed that I could do well on my math quiz. This was serious business to fifth-grade Camila. My prayers would vary from asking for good grades to asking for the protection of all the animals in the world and a long life for my family. I cannot tell you if all the animals in the world were saved those nights or if I aced my tests, but I can tell you this: I was at peace. I may not have known much about my religion or why I decided to pray the Rosary, but I had complete faith. I knew that I did not have to deal with my worries on my own. Holding this Rosary gave me hope; it felt like my spiritual phone to talk to God. Now, as it sits on my desk, this Rosary reminds me of that childlike faith. It has been with me even when I least believed, as a beacon of hope and trust. – Camila R.

Dorm Desk Chair

Foliot Furniture, Montreal, Quebec, Canada, circa 2007, Wood, fabric, and metal, height: 31.5”

This chair’s constant presence in my college life has happened against my will.

The standard chair that comes in a Drexel dorm room is ugly and uncomfortable. However, terrible two-position chairs like this one have followed me throughout my undergraduate career, from community college to the University of the Arts and now Drexel. The most notable thing about this chair is that it is difficult to sit in with any amount of stability; the moment that you shift your weight, the whole thing lurches, either seating you too far back or too far forward. It is a fickle, temperamental object that refuses to compromise.

At previous institutions, I fought the chair; I would choose to work in rooms with different seating options. I would even go as far as to study in my bunk bed to avoid using such a ghastly thing. But now, at the school that I am set to graduate from, I have chosen to make nice with it.

It is the least I can do.

The chair has been one of the only constants in my college life. – Maple S.

Plastic Balisong Model AF-1

Larqety, 2024, Plastic blade handle and aluminium metal screws, length: 9.86” (unfolded)

Undoing a habit is easier said than done, especially when that habit is one you have built up over twelve years. Balisong flipping is an activity using a balisong knife made of metal. Flipping consists of doing tricks like spinning and rotating the balisong around the user’s fingers and hand. More often than not, this leads to pinching, cuts, and bruises.

This was my childhood since I was 10. I received one as a gift, and over time—and through cuts and bruises—I built up a habit using metal balisongs. It has become an essential part of my consciousness, and I feel my arm is complete when I have one in my hand. However, as I have grown, I have needed my hands for more and more things. I have to take care of them.

I got this plastic balisong for that reason, but switching from two-and-a-half pounds of metal to less than four ounces of plastic has been a nightmare. For the past three months, this piece of plastic has done nothing but antagonize me, forcing me to break a habit I considered my nature. But I will win. – Jacob S.

Bunny-Do The Plush Rabbit

Dan Dee™ MTY International CO., LTD., Taipei, Taiwan, 2008, Polyester Fiber, height: 8”

“To be loved is to be changed.” This quote resonates with me and my plush rabbit. His frayed whiskers and crunchy fur are manifestations of my love for him. Although old, he remains the same plush, just like how I remain the same person after the years of change we have gone through together.

We first met one Easter morning when I was a young child. Ever since that day, he has stayed by my side through all of life’s mishaps. I found comfort in letting him act as a projection of myself, even personifying him as a young man: something I did not realize I was at the time. Further exploring his and my identity, I made him kiss other boy stuffed animals during playtime. Even though the world around me said I was a girl, I knew deep down that it did not feel right. I did not realize it at the time, but, like Bunny-Do, I have always been a gay man.

Although this plush is not alive, part of me wishes he was. His love feels so real in a world where I cannot truly be loved for myself. – Leo B.

Vintage Radio

Standard Radio Corp. located in Tokyo, Japan, circa 1970s, Metal, wood, plastic, LEDs, wiring (aluminum or copper), width: 17.5”

This 1970s radio, housed in a simple wooden box, is a window into another time. Its front panel boasts a frequency scale, a power switch, and two knobs––one to toggle between AM and FM, the other to tune the signal. The back features four knobs and two auxiliary inputs, evidencing the device's previously modern versatility.

While I am not sure how its recordings are being played, I am aware that it was modified before it became mine. Someone before me wanted to live through the past just like I do—chasing echoes and rewinding time with every note, hoping to catch whispers of moments long gone but never truly lost.

What I love about this radio is not merely its appearance, but the fact that it allows me to transport myself away from the present. By twirling the dial, I hear the past through recordings that play depending on where the red line lands. The voices and songs are from a forgotten time—that is why I am drawn to them. I do not need to deal with current events or care about what is being said. I can disconnect from contemporary worries and, in that distance, feel relief. – Akhila N.

Toilet

circa 2014, Ceramic, height: 29”

When I was a freshman, the main thing that I struggled to get used to the most was sharing a bathroom with at least ten people. Damp, echoing, and thin-walled are the best words to describe the stalls and showers at the end of the hallway in Myers Hall. It had quickly become apparent that my business was everybody’s business if I was not careful. Of course, the opposite applied as well. I became privy to the weekly phone calls, panic attacks, and TikTok doom scrolling of about ten strangers that year. As a result, a large part of my daily routine, previously spent in private, turned uncomfortable and nerve-wracking because I was never sure what I would walk into. I have always relied on the solitude a bathroom provides, using the toilet as a reason to escape awkward situations or as a crutch when needing a moment of silence. But when one of the safest spaces for vulnerability became cold and uninviting, the toilet was no longer reliable.  Now, three years and five roommates later, I finally have my own toilet, and I appreciate it in ways I did not think I could. – Beatrix B.

Want to learn more about Beatrix’s toilet? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Stretched and Twisted Pepsi Glass Soda Bottle

Artist unknown, PepsiCo, Inc., Purchase, Harrison, New York, circa 1950-1960s, Soda-lime glass and liquid, height: 18”

“You cannot drink from that soda bottle.” My grandparents’ warnings sounded like that when I would gaze upon the twisted Pepsi bottle that rested on a top shelf in their home when I was younger. The bottle was different from any other that I had seen. It sported a sleek S curve, a slender figure, and blue tinted glass that read as cool and crisp. However, what raised my curiosity as a child was the mystery liquid in the bottle. Now that I have grown up and can finally reach the soda bottle, I looked at the liquid to see if I could decipher what was inside. The contents were not what I was expecting. The liquid is infected with grainy and flaky particles which sink and sit at the bottom of the glass. Things change if you shake and move the bottle around. Once in motion, the particles feel alive, swimming around as if they were bacteria moving through the human body. After my closer examination, I think that I will keep the bottle closed for now, and admire the Pepsi bottle from afar, the same way I did as a child. – Jeremiah S/R.

Wacom Stylus Pen

Wacom, Tokyo, Japan, Plastic, Rubber, Silicone, length: 6.2”

I recently realized that my old Wacom stylus carries my youthful spirit of big dreams and wild creativity.

It is said that something is more valuable broken and repaired than if it were never broken at all. This stylus is no different.

The pen was given to me when I was eleven years old. Being a curious child, I disassembled it. A spring popped out and was never seen again. However, the stylus refused to break. I was as stubborn as the stylus, so I taped it back together.

A few years later, I was given a replacement. The replacement was shinier and more complete. It had the spring inside, too. Yet, drawing with it felt different. The tip of the stylus no longer had that slight slant to which I had become so accustomed.

I switched between the styluses over time. I used the newer stylus when I felt adventurous. I used the older stylus when I felt relaxed. I spent more time with my old stylus than ever before.

It is a link to a past version of myself that I do not want to lose. – Daniella S.

Dumpling Plushie, a.k.a. “Dumpy”

Squishables, New York, New York, United States, 2023, Polyester Fiber, height: 8”

“Dumpy” is a physical reminder that I should not allow my newfound adulthood to overwrite my sense of childhood wonder. I do not know what came over me when I decided to buy it in that Los Angeles market. I was not even that into stuffed animals; in fact, I thought they were a little below me. The only reason I bought it was because each of my friends also had one. If they were good artists and they had one, I should also have one. My stomach was also involved in decision making, as the plushie I grabbed was that of a soup dumpling. Whenever I look at “Dumpy,” I think that I lose a little bit of the posturing that comes with “acting like an adult” and I can be a little closer to me. My little stuffed companion watches me from wherever it may be posted around my work area. While others may find the idea disconcerting or creepy, I find it reassuring. – Benjamin E.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse Paper Cup

Burger King, 5505 Blue Lagoon Drive Miami, Florida, United States, 2023, Paper, height: 5.9”

During every assignment, every job interview, and every late-night work session, I see Miles’s holographic eyes looking back at me. They stare at me with so much hope, a subtle but ever-present encouragement to keep going. Filled with pencils and crafting supplies to the brim, made of cheap cardboard-like paper, and mildly bent out of shape from its continuous use, this cup continues to support me and my studies. Through every assignment I thought I would not finish and every hurdle I thought I could not push through, I felt strengthened by this cup’s constantly vibrant, forever optimistic eyes. The contrasting colours of the cardboard highlight the white of his eyes which looks like the smallest ray of sunlight shining through a storm. Even though it was clearly meant to be discarded after a single use, the cup continues to hold on. After every deep cleaning of my room, after every angry shuffling of supplies, and after every late night where I have stayed awake longer than I should have to finish my assignments, the little cup remains. It is ever so strong and ever so persistent. So am I. – Amy G.

Hippobaby Stuffed Animal

Ty, Inc., Oak Brook, Illinois, United States, circa 2000, Cloth and plastic rattle, height: 12”

Have you talked with a stuffed animal? What did they say?

Hippobaby or, namely, Mr. Winkey is wise. My mother knew that when she bought him for my newborn sister. My sister cared for Mr. Winkey for years, loving him yet knowing that she was only holding onto him for someone. He was not hers and she knew it. Did he tell her?

Mr. Winkey may not talk how we do, but he does, nonetheless. He is there, present and accounted for, to be your guardian angel: protecting you and listening to you cry, whine, laugh, shout. He watches you blossom from seed to bloom, all while letting you chew on his ear.

I found Mr. Winkey devilishly enchanting. I would often heist him from my sister so that he could cradle me to sleep. One day, I asked her plainly if I could have him and, with Mr. Winkey’s words in mind, she let me keep him forever. 

That night, I slept terribly and cramped my neck with the pose I struck. I awoke, unable to move, to excruciating pain. All I could do was find Mr. Winkey with my arms and hug him until time healed my wounds. – Skye S.

Glass Cutting Board

AMS Design, Bedford, circa late 1990s, Glass, plastic, and rubber, width: 14.7”

How would you want your childhood to be remembered? Would you want it remembered via an everyday object you still use? My father lost all his childhood photos during the Sierra Leonean Civil War. In the absence of his photos, these questions pressed against my imagination. I sat and tried to create a younger version of my father from the framework of my mind, and—surprisingly enough—I thought of this glass cutting board. It always stood near the window on the countertop in our kitchen. I imagined him diligently cutting vegetables on it, with the dull knife scraping against the delicately textured glass. Below the glass there is a laminated picture of a kitten at a well seeking respite on a spring morning. It has always reminded me of his childlike nature, a quality that has stood strong against the test of life, like glass underneath the pressure of a knife. Whenever he feels worn out by the trials of life, like the kitten at the well, he finds ways to be replenished. Even though my father’s photos are lost, this object helps me to remember the essence of a man who keeps his youth close to his heart. – Samara G.

Want to learn more about the glass cutting board that belongs to Samara’s father? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Laos Souvenir Keychain

Laos, circa 2010s, Gold plate and stainless steel, width: 1.5”

I have put too much sentimental value into this keychain. I now understand why.

She had returned from a summer trip to Laos and had promised to get me a souvenir. This coin-like metallic keychain captivated my eyes. The gold plating has since worn off, revealing the steel base and allowing the keychain to rust. With all the natural damage the token has taken, it has stood firm throughout the years I have carried it.

The gift she gave mattered to me more the less we talked. It still reminds me of that moment, of her then, and of the friendship we had.

I will never know why she gave me this keychain, but I will value the thought it took to give me it. I know that the person I once knew is gone, and through this keychain I can acknowledge it better. So, I will always carry it with me, as I have since, to retain the spirit that once changed me for the better. – Joshua G.

Yellow Cruiser Skateboard

Cal7, Ontario, California, United States, circa 2024, Ply maple wood, polyurethane, and rubber, length: 22”

You were never meant to be loved. You were a placeholder for the board I left at home, the cheapest wooden cruiser I could find online, and the most practical way to get around a new city. I even denied you customization with stickers.

You were never meant to be noticed. But each day your bumblebee yellow deck and cheeky fishtail peeked out from under benches and crossed legs. You caught eyes, made people look twice, sometimes with curiosity, sometimes with judgment.

You, an extension of my foot, carry the visual code of a hoodie, scuffed sneakers, and nonchalance. Yet, when I ride you in floral prints, sandals, or worse, a skirt, I receive whistles, honks, and unsolicited commentary. Perhaps this is why I grew to like you; you allow me to interrupt a truly tired gender script. Everyday commutes turned into a muted collaboration against a deeper, quiet kind of sexism.

You became part of my personal mythology, giving me speed against late mornings, bruising my knees, grating my sleeves, and accessorizing my personality. And now, after ten months, leaving you behind in Philadelphia pulls at something tender.

You were never meant to be loved. But you were. – Anna L.

Want to learn more about Anna’s skateboard and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Vintage Rattan Couch

circa 1950, Bamboo and fabric, height: 32”

Wind whips through my front porch. I sit on our couch with a blanket over my legs. The windchill contrasts with the warmth of chatty students roaming on a Thursday night.

I am supposed to be taking notes on Kantian ethics. My roommate, sitting beside me, pleaded for thirty minutes of silent study time. Instead, I sink deeper into the ripped couch cushion.

I learned in therapy that when you are panicking you should name something you see (the sun-faded floral fabric), something you smell (the Lysol sprayed to prevent bugs), something you feel (the cracked bamboo framework), and something you hear (the wind, the chatter, and, yet, the silence).

It does not work. I blurt to my roommate, “I’m graduating. You’ll move on. Complete school without me. Hang out with our friends while I’m trapped at work. And take my favorite couch from me.”

Tears stain my cheeks. Ending the best four years of my life feels like a death march not a celebration.

My roommate’s hug sinks us deeper into the cushion. Moments pass. The wind stops, and the chatter quiets. I pull away and smile. “Are you sure it’s not too late to apply for grad school?” – Amanda B.

Rice Paper Lantern Shades

Methedecco, Los Angeles, California, United States, circa 2024, Rice Paper and steel wire, heights: 12” (pictured left), 19” (pictured right)

The hanging rice paper lanterns in my bedroom did not initially seem meaningful. The warm-toned bulbs were not practical for lighting an entire room. But, over time, I have realized their subtle meaning. The warm light they cast is not accidental; it mirrors that of the light bulbs my mother filled our home with.

Growing up, I clashed with my mother. She liked control. I was stubborn and desperate to be independent. I tried hard to distance myself from her, changing my appearance that mimicked her own, rejecting her preferences, and, eventually, leaving for college. I craved a life that felt fully like my own, far removed from our rural town and family.

As my teenage angst softens, I find myself calling my mom for advice. Our views align more than I ever expected. The life I once resisted engulfed in the yellowed lighting in my childhood home now feels grounding. The lanterns, which once seemed trivial, have become symbols of how my identity is evolving.

I chose the warm-toned light bulbs subconsciously. Their glow reminds me that independence does not mean disconnection and reflects how I have integrated parts of my past life into the life I am building. – Ellie W.

Dress Form

Wolf Model Form C.O., New York, 1977, Metal, papier mache, cotton wadding, and linen, height: 72”

This dress form haunts me. Gifted like a cursed heirloom, she grasps onto what little life she has left, her surface scarred by pins from sleepless nights. She is my oracle, my confessor. She is my burden, but also my biggest inspiration. Along with her looming presence, she demands persistence, always whispering: “keep creating.”

Made in 1977, this size 12 dress form acts as a three-dimensional sculpture of what was once considered the “average” body. She is a relic of historical proportions. Her story and mine intertwined when I worked at a bridal boutique. Her curves helped me shape my first professionally finished gown, an achievement memorialized by my supervisor’s parting gift of her. She became a physical token of a breakthrough, marking a crucial moment in my evolution as a designer.

Although there are notable signs of wear with age, her craftsmanship has withstood time, providing the necessary stability to assist with professional draping, which is vital to the delicate balance between structure and imagination. In her silence, she continues to inspire, allowing me to channel ideas, turning sketches into reality. No matter what, she stands still in the corner of my room, beckoning me to create again. – Logan K.

Panasonic Mini Cassette Recorder RQ-341

Panasonic, Kadoma, Japan, circa 1985, Plastic, metal, and wiring, width: 6”

I worry about forgetting the past. If our lives are an ever-expanding tapestry, then time is what causes the fabric to loosen and degrade. That is why I am fascinated by this cassette recorder that belonged to my parents. The object is not overwhelming in design, as its compact geometric shape draws the eye exactly where it needs to go. Despite its modest form, its texture is never the same for more than an inch or so. It transitions smoothly from plastic to stainless steel to metal fastenings with purpose, culminating in a product that looks both high-tech and consumer friendly. Yet its purpose is so humble and warm: to record human experience. This piece did just that, as my parents have shoeboxes full of tapes from their college years, times they described as chaotic, stressful, and wonderful. I see those years and everything they did for me as the bedrock of my world; but without this recorder, I could never encounter those experiences beyond fond retellings. This object brings me just a bit closer to the people I love in a way that transcends time. – Braden K.

Want to learn more about Braden’s recorder and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Decorative Ceramic Apple

Height: 7”

I met my best friend the day we moved into our college dorm, and we ended up living together all four years. We had a range of roommates during that time, but Nic was always my favorite as others came and went.

I found the apple at my hometown Goodwill. The moment I saw it, I immediately thought of them. It felt like the perfect, quirky addition to our apartment’s eclectic décor.

Weeks later, in a delightful coincidence, Nic found an identical apple at a Goodwill in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. We placed them side by side in our shared bathroom, the space where we dyed and cut each other’s hair, took mirror selfies, recuperated after nights out, and did at-home piercings. Over time, the apples became quiet witnesses to our shared routines.

This is the first year we have not lived together since meeting, and I feel the absence deeply. I had grown so used to our shared life that living alone still feels strange. When we moved out, we each took an apple, unsure whose was whose. Now, mine quietly reminds me of the joy, comfort, and laughter we shared. – Luca D.

Want to learn more about Luca’s apple and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Antique Treadle Sewing Machine

Singer, Elizabeth, New Jersey, United States, circa 1910, Wood and iron, height: 30”

This antique sewing machine—sturdy and enduring—throws into relief the near emptiness of our front room. The vacancy is a visceral reminder that my mom and her hospital bed never made it home.

But the machine remains; I remember the times I walked by the object without a second thought.

~

I am running late, my feet scurry down the stairs. I pass through the front room to grab an apple, granola bar, and hurried squeeze from my parents before heading on my way.

~

I wake up parched, angry at myself for falling asleep with an empty water bottle. I glide to the kitchen and back upstairs, hoping to return to bed before my drowsiness fades.

~

I dart upstairs to grab my camera and then back to the dining room to join my extended family as the birthday candles are being lit.

~

Now, I stand in front of the machine, bewitched. It has been here for as long as I can remember and, yet, all I know of its existence is that it was my grandmother’s.

Whether my mom kept it in her honor or because of her own sentiments, I will never know. – Maya M.

Children’s Filipiniana Dress

Manila, Philippines, circa 2009, Cotton colored fabrics, lace, beads, metal zipper and clasps, length: 25”

Our garments hold the stories we live to tell.

This strawberry-patterned Filipiniana stitched my heritage into holidays, masses, and most importantly, family memories. The fabric bridges the divide between the modern world I grew up in and the traditions of my homeland. These dresses connect us to our mothers and ancestors.

I never felt a connection to my culture until finding the Filipino Intercultural Society of Drexel University. In FISDU, we bond over our shared experiences and learn the importance of this culture. On May 10th, 2025, we had planned to wear traditional garments just like this one in our annual cultural show. During Barrio, the stage lights would have hit the embroidered beads of our dresses as we performed and celebrated our identity. Rather than sharing this burst of culture, Drexel University cancelled the production. That loss reminded me: despite this tragedy, these garments still speak our stories.

This clothing is more than material. They are vessels of memory and migration. They carry the joy of an innocent childhood, but also the quiet absence of the stories we were never told or never got to perform.

Even tucked away, our garments resist forgetting. – Maya G.

Yankee Screwdriver

Dunlap, Germany, 1940-1950, Metal and wood, length: 12.25” to 17.5”

This screwdriver is validation. It confirms that I made the right choices in life. Whenever I pick up this object, my confidence is restored.

Attending college was not a choice; it was required by my parents. What was left up to me, though, was where I would go and what I would study. Faced with this monumental choice, I looked back on my life and focused on what made me happy. Making things, being able to take ideas and turn them into reality, was most important to me. I chose to study industrial design.

When I look at this screwdriver, I am reminded of what I want to achieve as a designer. It is a simple object, yes, but the feeling it invokes in me is powerful. I am in awe of the designer’s ingenuity in coming up with a mechanism that allows the screwdriver to function as a drill and a ratchet. I appreciate the thought that went into designing it to function seamlessly.

I hope to create an object that understands and accommodates its user as well as this screwdriver does. – Declan M.

BOSS VE-20 Vocal Processor (Vocal Performer)

Boss Corporation, Hamamatsu, Japan, circa 2009, Metal, rubber, and plastic, width: 6.8”

This voice is already coded by race, gender, and history, and is routed through a commodity designed to standardize sound with pre-existing effects. The BOSS VE-20, a vocal processor pedal, transforms the human voice into synthetic effects: a growl, a whisper, a glitch. Mass-produced for performers and karaoke machines, it retools the body’s expression into something legible for pop markets.

But this tool can also resist. The metal casing becomes a boundary between flesh and automation, a prosthetic for the postcolonial voice. For me, the device opens a portal: not into “stardom,” which is part of the spectacle, but into anti-fascist and metaphysical expression. The VE-20 lets me distort my voice, weaponize it, camouflage it, and send barks, screams, or feedback bursts that refuse assimilation. Through that deliberate distortion, I try to hack the object’s original intent and reprogram it into a counter-instrument of anti-production: a scream against the spectacle. – Gene Anthony S/H.

Want to learn more about Gene’s vocal processor and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

20 oz. Hello Kitty Mug

Silver Buffalo, New York, New York, United States x Sanrio, Ōsaki, Shinagawa, Tokyo, Japan, circa 2022, Ceramic, height: 4.5”

Away from home and moving into my first real apartment, I was forced to confront the fact that I had no real kitchen cups for hot drinks. I quickly rectified that issue with this mug.

It was not  long until its perfection cracked. Several messy incidents resulted in multiple breaks along its handle and sticky coffee residue getting stuck under my keyboard.

Unwilling to let go of the mug, I have become its doctor and caretaker. Three different types of superglues now clog its fractures. I used a knife to shave it down and coerce the handle back into its old smooth self.

After all this mug and I have been through, I have a lingering anxiety. I have become unable to hold this mug by its handle. Ultimately, I would rather singe my fingers than deal with the paranoia of whether the mug will crack again under the pressure.

My mug’s painted face gives the impression that it is wholly unbothered by this. I have poured much love and coffee into this mug that I have carried with me through years of my life. I hope it will join me for many more. – Lily D.

Recruitment Sofa

United States, circa 1990, fabric and wood, height: 32”

Moving to a new city, I was overwhelmed and yearning for connection. As I stepped into the sisterhood of Alpha Sigma Alpha (ASA), this sofa shaped my sense of belonging.

With its soft, patterned lining and sturdy wooden frame, the sofa offered sanctuary. During the whirlwind of sisterhood events, it was where I found stillness among the chaos. I remember the nervous fluttering in my chest during those first conversations, the hesitant glances that soon turned into laughter, and the stories that flowed like threads weaving us together. I discovered not just friendship but a deep connection that made me feel truly understood.

The physical comfort of this piece of furniture helped me feel emotionally comfortable and ready for countless conversations. Its soft cushions, worn fabric, and welcoming shape absorbed the energy of dreams shared late into the night, tears of uncertainty, and smiles of newfound belonging. The sofa embodies the spirit of ASA: welcome, support, and sisterhood that transcends time.

Today, the sofa reminds me that even the simplest designs can hold profound meaning. It is the keeper of memories, the symbol of my journey from solitude to sisterhood, and the soul of a space where I became myself. – Kim R.

Want to learn more about Kim’s sofa and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Cowboy Boots

Fluevog Shoes, San Francisco, California, United States, circa 2023, Leather and rubber, height: 11”

What does it mean to walk in the legacy of a myth?

These platform cowboy boots take a classic symbol of rugged masculinity and Americana in the Western boot and elevate it, literally and figuratively. With their exaggerated soles and presence, they prompt people to consider a functional object of frontier labor as a theatrical artifact of identity and everyday wear.

Cowboy boots have long walked the tightrope between utility and style. Worn by cattle herders in the 1800’s, they were built for horseback riding, with narrow toes and a high rise for stirrup safety. The cowboy itself was part reality, part performance; the boot became a key costume in its American myth.

Platforming this boot disrupts the original groundedness. No longer a symbol of grit, the boot is recontextualized into a fashion statement. It asks whose stories get to be told through national iconography. Who gets to perform the cowboy and to what end?

These boots complicate nostalgia. They demand that we confront the violence, exclusion, and fantasy embedded in Western lore. They are not just shoes, they are stages. They amplify the wearer and provoke the viewer, reminding us that style is never neutral and neither is history. – Izzie C.

PAL (Personal Audio Laboratory)

Henry Kloss, Tivoli Audio, Boston, Massachusetts, United States, August 2002, Rubber, plastic, stainless steel, and electronic components, height: 6.25”

I was at war with silence. I started having more people over, and any lulls in conversation disturbed me. I felt guilty whenever I had nothing to say. Music is a great way to fill dead air, but being able to choose what was playing felt embarrassing. I needed something easy. I needed a radio.

This radio came from my childhood home where it played news on the weeknights and classical music on Sundays. In my apartment, the radio sounded great and became the perfect weapon in my war. Conversation was accented, new music was discovered, and silence was killed.

However, trouble was brewing. Despite being able to move smoothly from station to station, there were still times where there was nothing playing that we wanted to hear. It terrified me in the moment, but I flipped the dial. My fear was proven wrong; the silence was okay. Nobody minded. The war was over, and the radio did not need to be on all the time. I did not have to work to fill in the empty space either. It became okay for me to have an off switch. – Alice W.

Vintage Jhumka earrings

Gold, height: 1.75”

How can I balance the emotional and material weight of this special set of metal?

These earrings, a gift from George, carry an importance that transcends their physical form. Surely his passing them on imbues the pair with a deeper meaning. He may have thought, “You will get more out of these than I do.” Or maybe, hopefully, “Harper is meant to have these.”

Physically, they are light and easy to wear. The twisting wires in the ornate design mirrors the intertwining of their past and my present. Inheriting them from his mother, George was not their first owner. How their emotional significance weighed on previous adorners is lost to me.

They are Jhumka earrings, and from their classification, I can access fragments of a story, one of South Asian descent in which worn hands passed down delicate earrings to younger generations. The distinct hands remain unknown, far beyond my reach.

George, of a prior generation, continued the tradition of gifting to the next. I wear these earrings with pride. With me, their weight shifts from material to emotional. – Harper G.

Want to learn more about Harper’s earrings and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Mo

Chicco, Cama, Italy, circa 2001, Polyester velvet and plastic, height: 11”

Can a toy remember your life better than you can?

Her stitched smile did not change when I did. When the world felt overwhelming, Mo stayed soft, familiar, and joyful. She has carried not just the dust of years, but the weight of who I have been.

Mo has been there through every version of myself, from when I was cradled in the crib to carrying backpacks and navigating the ups and downs of my teenage years. She wiped my tears and listened to my cries with no complaints. She is now quietly resting on my bed, still watching. Her silence has never been empty. It is full of everything I have whispered when no one else was listening. She has been my friend and my secret-keeper.

She is not just a toy. She is a companion with no expiration date. Her fabric is worn, but our bond is intact. Through her, I remember not just events, but emotions. I remember how it felt to be held, seen, and understood by something that never spoke a word.

She is not a symbol of childhood. She is the childhood that never really left. – Dilara A.

GIANTEX Plant Shelf

GIANTEX, United States, circa 2018, Wood, steel, and brass, height: 55.5”

This wooden shelf bears the quiet history of care. Its slats bow slightly under the weight of green life. Each water stain and scratch records seasons of growth. Light filters through the gaps, casting ever-changing patterns that dance with the shifting sun.

A gift from family, it became home to more than plants. The circular marks left by pots tell of both attention and haste, of days when watering was therapy and others when it was a chore. The brass plaque, slightly off-center, winks in the light, a reminder that perfection is not required for beauty. 

The shelf creaks softly when touched, not in complaint but in conversation. Its steel screws sit flush with the grain, holding everything together with quiet strength. Over time, the wood has darkened where hands have touched it most, tracing a map of daily rituals. 

What began as mass-produced furniture has become something singular. The shelf does not just hold plants; it holds time. Its imperfections tell the truth about growth—that it is messy, uneven, and worth every mark left behind. – Joseph G.

12 oz. Pink Coffee Tumbler

PHILORN, China, circa 2023, 304 Stainless steel, plastic, and rubber, height: 5.9”

Who said a mug collection should only contain ceramic mugs? I used to think that until this pink tumbler started coming with me to the studio. Since the lid prevented spills, I did not receive any warnings from my studio manager. I could take quiet sips of hot tea during long sewing hours. But something shifted. I started to take this tumbler to every class and every late night in the studio. Now, I even bring it home. I did not mean for it to replace my favorites: the fox-shaped mug for tea and the cat-shaped one for coffee. However, they stayed on the shelf, and this one came with me everywhere. Maybe it is not just convenience. Maybe it is an act of care shaped by my new needs and routines. What began as a substitute has quietly crossed the line. This mass-produced tumbler now feels as singular and beloved as the handmade mugs in my collection. – Hannah V.

Want to learn more about Hannah’s tumbler and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

LaCie External Hard Drive

LaCie (Seagate 2014) Hillsboro, Oregon, United States, circa 2014, Metal and plastic, height: 0.75”

I implore you not to disappoint me as my previous hard drive did.

My former companion, the one before you, served as a remarkable keeper of my work. They meticulously safeguarded my files, allowing me to revisit them like a personal time capsule.

Perhaps my neglect contributed to their demise. I may have taken their longevity for granted, and maybe their sudden failure was the only way I would recognize my harsh treatment, taking years of my work with them. It is ultimately my responsibility.

This experience has made me handle you, the successor, with greater care.

You were carefully selected for the same crucial role, distinguished by your bright orange, and designed for protection. Now, in my final year of study, your importance has magnified. I vow to keep you safe so that in the future, I can unlock your contents and reflect upon all that I have accomplished. – Mariana D.

Empire Style Office Chair

Circa 1990, Leather, wood, brass, stuffing, and plastic, height: 43”

It reminded me of you the moment I saw it. The shape, the form, the color—everything brought me back to the top floor of your office in the South Carolina summer heat. Your throne was regal and immovable, scarlet and gold. That red leather, rich and worn, mirrored the thick skin you demanded I grow, tanned by the lash of your sharp tongue. Your words, like brass bolts, fastened that new skin to my bones.

How like you to describe myself when speaking on the features of another.

I was, we were, your polished, perfect extensions; each of us cultivated to shine for His Royal Majesty. Only the ripest fruits were worthy. But should the harvest show even the faintest flaw, the air in your puffed, tufted chest would swell, and your head would explode. That wrath, bubbling, boiling, and volatile, always simmering just beneath, was unpredictable yet constant, a storm we learned to navigate and then avoid. I feared you first, squashed that, and then felt hate. Now, somehow, I find myself tracing my memories of you with a strange, reluctant empathy. – Titi E.

Want to learn more about Titi’s chair and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Meinl Subwoofer Bass Cajón

Meinl Percussion, Gutenstetten, Germany, circa 2019, Wood, metal screws, and rubber, height: 19”

This Meinl subwoofer cajón is my favorite drum, and at times unimpressive guest seating.

It has also defined me as “the cajón guy.”

Born from necessity in Latin America, this drum type was made by enslaved dockworkers who transformed shipping containers into percussive instruments. This ingenuity, combined with its compact size and ability to mimic a drum set, made it a street musician’s favorite.

To play, you sit and strike the tapa (faceplate). Hitting the middle produces deep bass; striking the top corners creates a sharp snare sound, thanks to internal strings. My walnut cajón’s thin tapa and front-facing sound ports enhance these crisp, powerful tones that are essential for outdoor performances.

My obsession began in high school. I was captivated by a cajón player’s accompaniment to a live restaurant performance. As someone who struggled with a full drum set, this adaptable instrument felt like the answer. The cajón became my way of finding community. It led me to join ensembles and form my own acoustic jam band. This instrument, so central to my creative expression, is often mistaken for a mere ottoman, subtly holding multifaceted community usage as both chair and drum. – Cooper G.

Want to learn more about Cooper’s cajón and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Queen Conch Shell

Harvested by a local fisherman in the Dominican Republic, circa 2018, Calcium carbonate, height: 7”

A conch shell taught me this: nothing lasts forever.

Time will continue to tick, and your closest friends will become memories of the past. But do not think about that. And do not think about saying it out loud either. Instead, you are expected to be excited about settling into your own apartment, moving to a new city, and working towards a new degree. 

Despite the opportunities ahead, these new steps can feel overshadowed by a quiet undercurrent of loss. Daily routines, shared rituals, and laughter that once felt permanent slowly slip through the cracks. While experiencing these changes, I have found comfort in an unlikely object: my conch shell.

Purchased from a local fisherman in the Dominican Republic, it now sits at the center of my living room shelf, reminding me of a trip with friends. More importantly, it anchors me to people I shared my life with before Drexel. It is more than décor; it symbolizes friendship and the loved ones I no longer see every day but never want to forget. – Abbie C.

Want to learn more about Abbie’s shell and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Black Knight Foil Blade

Absolute Fencing, Bridgewater, New Jersey, United States, circa 2023, Aluminum, gaffer tape, low-carbon steel, plastic, and wiring, length: 40.75”

This sword is made for puncturing and stabbing an opponent.

Yet it is passed between friends’ hands with care as it sheds its original green gaffer tape.

We look like the world’s worst-run assembly line. One friend uses a pocketknife to scrape away the tape on the end of the blade. Another works on a different blade, peeling tape with her fingernails. Two others are hunched over another weapon with miniscule screws cupped in shaking hands and a screwdriver turning and scraping against the exposed barrel of the blade. We all repair and work on each other’s weapons.

This weapon sits in my lap now, adorned with a bright vibrant red on the end of the blade from a shared wheel of tape.

We use our blades in sport to release the stressors of college. The scuffs and dents along the weapon are from protecting oneself against the perceived enemy. But as soon as the bout is over, the foil is passed to those same enemy’s hands for repair. A sense of community is built and bridged across flimsy steel. Jutting into one’s torso or still within many hands, our blades physically connect us to each other. – Annika K.

Lover’s Jewelry Box

Mixed media (wood, brass, velvet, bumblebee, jewelry, printed ephemera), curated by Dorothy P. in 2025, width: 12.5”

Love is not a person or an object, but a transcendental feeling that lingers across mediums.

But how do we archive a feeling?

This intimate assemblage transforms an ordinary wooden box into an emotional archive of memory, loss, and love. It serves not only as a container for objects but as a shrine to sentimental experience. The aged, dark-stained wood—marked by dents, scratches, and worn brass handles—bears witness to time and touch.

The box’s evolving exterior features photo transfers, jewelry, and a preserved bumblebee. Friends once watched the bee die; it rests in a box given by a past lover, whose presence still lingers in the wood—and in my heart. The jewelry, made from natural materials like turquoise, bone, and jade, speaks to Indigenous identity. The box itself bears a blurred crafter’s label, now unreadable.

Inside, velvet-lined compartments hold handmade books, cyanotypes, dried flowers, and poems exploring love, grief, and liminality. A portrait of the object’s curator lives in the drawer—just as the crafter’s label fades, so will a woman’s beauty one day. – Dot P.

Want to learn more about Dot’s jewelry box and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

Hamilton Beach Jadeite Milkshake Maker

Hamilton Beach Company, Racine, Wisconsin, United States, circa 1950s, Enamel-coated cast metal, chrome, and stainless steel, height: 14”

Your phone will die in five years. Your smart fridge will not last ten. This mint-green milkshake maker from the 1950s is still here and beautiful.

It did not survive by accident. The creators designed this item for constant use and enduring ownership. This one belonged to my great-grandmother. My mom and I used this machine throughout my childhood. And I still use it today.

The machine never found a place in storage or became a reserved item for rare moments. For decades, it remained on our kitchen counter while it served multiple generations. The signs of age come through its scratches and hum.

The existence of this machine demonstrates to me that well-designed objects can endure through time. It is not flashy or fragile. It is durable, purposeful, and personal.  

Our society relies on products designed to fail so they need constant replacement. But this object challenges that. It is not still here by luck. This machine remains functional because its creators designed it with longevity in mind. – Aleksandr L.

R.A.D. ONE Shoes

R.A.D. (Rally Against Destruction), Portland, Oregon, United States, circa 2023, Textile, synthetic, and rubber, length: 10”

It is 6pm and I stare into the mirror, breathless, but smiling, face flushed red from a CrossFit workout. I slip my R.A.D. shoes off and place them back into my gym bag, where they will remain until tomorrow.

It is 6pm and I am fourteen years old. My face is flushed red after a grueling three-set tennis match. Yet I feel no pride, only disgust, as I stare at the tall, athletic frame reflected before me. All I could wish for in that moment was to be small.

When I began CrossFit at age twenty-two, I underestimated how it would positively impact my relationship with my body and overall confidence. I did not need an expensive model of shoes to partake in this activity, yet I purchased a pair after seeing them on a newfound idol.

Danielle Brandon represents all the things that I wish my fourteen-year-old self-had seen in a role model. One could say that our love for material objects can detach us from reality. However, every time I slip on these shoes, I am reminded of the work I have endured to achieve this state of self-acceptance. – Hayley B.

Want to learn more about Hayley’s shoes and label? Stay tuned for Season 5 of The Museum of Where We Are Podcast!

HELIX Gaming Chair

HELIX, Staples, United States, circa 2019, Leather-like material, foam, plastic, and metal, height: 48.5”

This bold blue and black HELIX gaming chair is where I reset, refocus, and recharge.

It has been part of my daily rhythm since 2019. More than just a piece furniture, it feels like a steady companion at my Drexel desk where ideas take shape, games come to life, and tough problems start to make sense. With its tall frame and sharp angles, the chair blends strength with style. It looks fast, like it belongs in a racecar, but it is built for long hours of focus and comfort.

Sleek details bring the chair’s personality to life. A crisp white HELIX logo is stitched into the headrest, deep black cushions are framed by vivid royal blue trim, and ergonomic features support long periods of work or play. Adjustable armrests, a firm lumbar pillow, and soft touch fabric help keep my body aligned and my mind steady.

Friday nights are my escape. After a long week of schoolwork and deadlines, I sink into this chair, put on my headphones, and disappear into games for hours. Whether I am racing through neon circuits, building digital worlds, or battling through epic quests, this chair becomes my gateway. – George N.

Plush Black Lab Dog

Toys “R” Us-Animal Alley, circa 2000, height: 14”

Gift giving is a way to physically show our feelings for and understanding of another person. So, what does it mean to give a gift to someone who has not been born yet?

The stuffed animal dog that my parents bought in the anticipation of my birth has become the single most important object in my life. It was a decent representation of my actual childhood dog, Hooper, a black German shepherd. The gift reflects a pattern in my life: acceptance of approximation over authenticity.

Despite their many differences, both dogs served the same purpose: security. Hooper was loud and protective in his nature, where my stuffed animal brought soft, gentle comfort. Although they did not look exactly alike, the emotional connections I felt to both were genuine.

Thinking about this little lab, I have realized that a gift given to someone before they are born offers a physical testament of unconditional love. No one knew the person I would become. But the little black stuffed animal let me know that my parent’s love would always be there. – Hanna B.

Custom PC Tower

Robert Pacheco-Montes, Jacob Jachetti, New Jersey, circa 2021, Glass, aluminum, copper, gold, lead, silicon, plastic, and rubber, height: 24”

This object is my entire life, and I am nothing without it. I see that now, and I hope I never forget it.

Originally, it was only built to play video games on. Eventually, it turned into a multi-use tool to work on whatever needed to be done. School work would get easier knowing I had this object by my side. Through this object, I discovered my love of Sound Design as I started my career in it. I even started learning how to use Photoshop, make videos, write code, develop games, and type essays.

My schoolwork naturally ties into these programs as a Game Designer major, so throughout my last four years, my life has been nothing but this object. Over this time, while working, I have been playing games, meeting new people, and making memories with my friends. The best part about this object is that I can upgrade it however I want, so its potential could always be better.

I love this computer so much, and I find it rather beautiful that I have given it a life just as much as it has given me one, too. – Robert P/M.

Model FRT17B3AQ9 Refrigerator

Frigidaire, Charlotte, North Carolina, United States, circa 2006, Steel, plastic, and wiring, height: 64.5”

Everyone has at least one person that they love. The bonds—romantic, platonic, or otherwise—we find ourselves in can often become powerful enough to shape the objects around us.

The bond I had with my grandfather shaped the tall refrigerator that he kept in his garage. It was originally a plain outdoor fridge with minimal wear and tear. But, over time, my grandfather began marking my height on its door, celebrating the growth of his dear grandson.

Eventually, he and I did the same thing when my younger brother came around. I finally understood why he cherished my growth as I began to watch my brother grow with me. I wished I could immortalize my sibling’s achievements and existence, and so I willed this fridge to continue its role as a chronicler of growth—and the bonds we had and continue to hold dear. – Devin L.

Artic Zone Lunch Box

Artic Zone, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, circa 2017, Polyester and plastic, height: 10”

This lunchbox is reliable, and for that, I owe a lot to it. In a way, my lunchbox keeps me grounded, even when life throws chaos my way.

When I miss every one of my alarms, I rush out of bed, get dressed, and make a hasty lunch. I may even bring some crackers and a juice box along for my walk to class for breakfast. No matter what happens, I always try to have something to eat or snack on throughout the day, and this box ensures that I do.

When I open my lunchbox in the morning, I am greeted with a blank canvas. I use the cubic shape to my advantage to neatly pack the elements of my meal. It can be therapeutic, almost like a mini game of Tetris every day. Every item has its place. To place anything haphazardly would only defeat the intended purpose of protecting food. I have learned to work with my lunchbox so that we both get what we need.

After thoughtful, but quick planning, I can finally pack my bag. Once this box is in my bookbag, I know I will have everything that I need for the day. – Ayana H.

CVS Health Gel Toe Spacers, 6 CT

CVS Pharmacy, Inc., Woonsocket, Rhode Island, United States, circa 2021, Medical-grade polymer gel with vitamin E & aloe, height: .75”

What do I hold closest to me? I find myself asking this question often. Do all the things I put energy into give energy back to me? In Summer 2021, I purchased gel toe spacers from the closest CVS to my apartment. They are now something that I literally keep close to me, between my big toe and second toe on both feet. They provide pain relief when I wear socks and closed toe shoes. With all the people, things, and habits that are in my life, I need to choose the ones that benefit me and make me happy and healthy. It is important to me to constantly evaluate and reevaluate each relationship in my life, whether it is a platonic, romantic, or with a functional object like my toe spacers. Going forward, I will put energy into the things that give energy back to me, eliminating all negativity and holding all positivity. – Ciara F.

Webkinz Stuffed Cocker Spaniel

Ganz Company, Toronto, Canada, circa 2005, Polyester Fiber and plastic pellets, height: 5”

When you lose someone you love, you tend to find their memories hidden in the most unassuming objects.

My stuffed cocker spaniel connects me to my childhood dog, Talia, who recently passed away. The truth is that this stuffed animal, given the name Lily Tilly by my younger self, is the second replica stuffed animal I have owned. Seven-year-old me was devastated to walk into my bedroom only to see Talia, who was a puppy at the time, tearing apart my Lily Tilly. Her eye had been ripped off and her stuffing was chewed up and spread across the floor. Luckily, my parents quickly gifted me another one.

Now that I am grown up, I have forgiven my dog for her savage act and am reminded of her when I hold Lily Tilly 2.0. Thanks to Talia’s puppy antics, I now have an object that makes me feel close to her. The polyester fur is the same color as Talia’s fur and has a similar texture.

Even if my younger self had to learn to keep her toys out of reach the hard way, my older self does not regret that, for one moment, my puppy played with my toys. – Bella M.

Old Skool Platform Vans

Vans, Costa Mesa, California, United States, circa 2018, Canvas, suede, rubber platform sole, textile lining, and metal, height: 4.5”

When I wear my Old Skool Platform Vans, I feel like myself. These shoes do more than protect my feet—they help me move through the world with confidence. The thick platform sole gives me height, but also a sense of presence. They ground me while also lifting me up. With every step, they carry not just my body, but my identity.

Made with canvas and suede, these shoes were first worn by skateboarders and punk rockers—people who did not want to blend in. Today, the sneakers have become more mainstream, but their ability to help people express themselves remains. For me, they are a reminder of where I have been and how far I have come: jumping at concerts, running through theme parks, celebrating with family. Their bold design, once rebellious, now gives me the freedom to stand out in my own way.

In that sense, these Vans are more than a fashion choice—they are a personal artifact that reminds me how design can help people find, and hold onto, who they are. – Delaney M.

The Pomodoro Timer

Time Timer LLC, Cincinnati, Ohio, United States, 2020, Plastic, height: 3.5”

As I write this, my Pomodoro timer is ticking beside me. I bought it during one of the hardest times in my life when everything felt chaotic. I was trying to prove my value through perfect grades and polished work. The pressure built up until I could barely breathe.

Using this timer marked a turning point. At first, I only wanted something to help me focus. But over time, it became a symbol of something deeper, a reminder that progress is made through presence, not perfection. Each time the object marked the beginning of the study session with a ring, I felt pushed to start, even if I did not feel ready. My first drafts were messy, but they were real. And through them, I found clarity, direction, and a kind of peace I had not felt before.

The timer now represents more than productivity. It marks my journey of letting go, of learning that doing my best does not mean being perfect. It taught me to see value not in flawless results, but in the courage to begin, the patience to continue, and the grace to accept imperfection along the way. – Thao T.

Pink Ear Piercing Pillow

Wuronsa, circa 2024, Cotton and down filling, width: 9”

In this pillow’s hollow center, I see the space I have carved out for myself to heal and grow while exploring who I am becoming.

When I first got my piercings, there was only excitement, from the quick, cold kiss of the needle to the silver jewelry sparkling back at me in the mirror. I adorned my ears deliberately, each new piercing a small act of self-expression. Little did I know how difficult healing would be. Sleep became a careful act of endurance marked with irritation and bleeding; turning on my side meant risking the fragile progress of healing my ears.

After months of frustration, I discovered this piercing pillow. Its design was simple: a soft ring with a hollow center. Yet that empty space offered exactly what I needed, a place where my ears could rest untouched and protected. I could finally sleep on my side without having to worry about waking up to crusted and bleeding ears. Slowly, my piercings began to heal.

Now the pillow lies quietly on my bed, protecting my ears night after night without question. Beyond its soft exterior and plush filling, it has become a quiet guardian of both my self-care and self-expression. – Michelle L.

Mr. Pen Dry-Erase Board

Mr. Pen, Louisiana, United States, circa 2023, Plastic and cardboard, height: 14”

Do you remember your ideas? This ten-dollar whiteboard hangs beside my desk; it is a thin sheet of plastic and cardboard that has quietly become my external hard drive. I was diagnosed with ADHD in fifth grade, but long before that, my thoughts slipped away faster than any notebook, calendar, or app could catch them. Digital reminders vanished into Chrome tabs; paper planners closed and disappeared into my backpack. The whiteboard, by contrast, is impossible to ignore. It lives in my peripheral vision as a bright, stubborn square where to-do lists, game concepts, meeting notes, and half-formed plans reside. Its surface is in constant flux, being scribbled over, erased, and rewritten, which mirrors the looping, restless way my brain works. This is more than a cheap organizational tool. It is an accessibility device, a small act of self-accommodation that lets me design my environment around my mind instead of treating my mind as the problem. On this board, ideas finally stay long enough to become action. – Fox F.

Pearl Jam Lightning Bolt Scarf

Pearl Jam Ten Club, Seattle, Washington, United States, circa 2013, Acrylic, length: 68”

I am fifteen. A roaring fire erupts in my ear, one to match the blazing inferno heating my face. The open-mouthed laughter of my brother is replaced with bassy vocals; the calm discussion between my parents is overlaid by ever-changing guitar riffs. A memory of a bonfire circled only by my family is forever intruded upon by the chords of my parents’ favorite music. The sound is muffled, dampened by the scarf piled around my ears.

I am eighteen. Walking the street with my mother, I watch as trees, their leaves a vibrant red and their bark rain-darkened, reach their shadows toward us, the overcast sky behind them pushing forward clawed tendrils of darkness. Around my neck, I see reflected the same extremes of the season; harsh contrasts of reds and shades of gray burn my eyes not with the pain of sight, but the ache of nostalgia.

I am twenty. Each sense that I use to perceive this scarf is an arm of a missing hug, the bump of a hip in a too-small kitchen. In each fiber of this scarf resides my family, a reflection of their love coloring each thread. – Alex G.

Slate Table Lamp

CORT Furniture Rental, Chantilly (Fairfax County), Virginia, United States, circa 2010s-2020s, Ceramic, metal, and fabric, height: 29”

My table lamp and I are having an identity crisis.

Its sleek, sharply tapered, near-black ceramic base poses proudly, reminding me that I am not truly home. The manufacturer insists it is “Nordic Scandinavian,” a style known for pale woods, soft light, and minimalist calm. Yet this lamp, with its deep slate surface and angular silhouette, refuses to settle obediently into that description.

That mismatch is familiar; that mismatch is me. My manufacturers, my parents, were born in Portugal. I piece together that heritage through stories, scrapbooks, brief visits, and half-remembered phrases that flicker in the little moments, like craving Ovos Moles when I need something sweet. I recognize my culture and embrace my roots, but defining myself solely as Portuguese feels incomplete, and ignoring it entirely would erase part of the woman I have become.

Like this lamp, I carry a history while shaping my own self. Its glow reminds me that identity lives in the in-between spaces, woven from heritage, experience, and the small quirks that make us unique. A tag of classification dulls the shine of our spark, but no label can dim the light we choose to cast. – Vanessa C.

Red Panda Stuffed Animal

Send a Friend, Jackson, Missouri, United States, August 2024, Polyester fiber fill, height: 10”

In the quiet bedroom of a stressed-out college student, under the soft glow of a desk lamp, a red panda sits perched on the bed with a comforting, friendly smile.

At first glance, it is simply a stuffed animal, but the moment it was opened from its package and pulled from crinkled tissue paper, it became something else. Within its stitches, the story of comfort and the strange connection that forms between humans and the things they keep close would live. As it sits, it offers a stillness, crossing from product to presence, becoming not just another object on my bed, but a steadying force within the chaos of school and expectations. It arrived during my second year of college, winter quarter, when peace felt hard to access.

Ever since, it has quietly insisted that comfort can be found in the simple, small, and tangible – even in a world where connection often flickers through screens. Though made from polyester and fluff, this red panda bears the weight of something more vital: the human desire to seek security and comfort through tangible things, to let touch speak when words fall short, to hold when we cannot be held. – Keilani G.

Hot Damn! Delta Gam! Photo Frame

circa 2015, Acrylic paint on wood, height: 8.37”

Wait, sororities are more than parties? From the outside, a very narrow view can form of who these women are. From the inside, there is an abundance of love, positive energy, and strong women striving to be their best.

This frame holds the stories of the women who came before me, who poured their hearts and acrylic paint into making it. This frame is not even technically mine; it is meant to be passed down to future generations. It is a reminder of my mentor Carla, as I hope one day it will be a reminder of me. I await the day I will feel ready to pass it along. I fear it may never come, and I will have to pass it along anyway.

What may seem like a small, poorly made picture frame is a symbol of strength in my home: the strength of women before me who put their heart and soul into achieving great things, and the strength they saw in me. Every day I face this frame I am challenged to make the women before me proud and support those yet to come. – Hannah K.

Keens Men's Targhee III Waterproof Mid Boots

Keen Footwear, Portland, Oregon, United States, circa 2019, Nubuck leather and thermoplastic rubber, length: 13”

These boots are tired. Their leather is as wrinkled and pockmarked as an old man’s face, and their soles have begun to peel from their bodies. These wounds are not signs of failure; rather, they are marks of devotion.

When I first saw these boots, their unblemished surfaces reflected my own inexperience. Since then, they have carried me from the plains of Tanzania to the peaks of the Slovenian Alps. A deep gash across the left toe is not damage, but rather a defense against a sharp rock. The frayed mesh near the laces marks a point of stress from my unique gait, revealing the boots’ core construction. They have warped to accommodate me, pouring their life into mine.

Most objects today are not allowed to grow old. We are encouraged to discard and replace, denying our possessions the chance to accumulate a story. These boots challenge this cycle, proving that an object’s true character is not found in its pristine, manufactured state, but in the rich, evolving narrative etched into its surface by a lifetime of faithful service. They exist not in a box, but on the trail, their story interwoven with my own. – William K.

Shark Toothbrush Holder

Dollar General, distributed from Goodlettsville, Tennessee, United States, circa 2024, Ceramic, height: 3.75”

This toothbrush holder was not made for me, but who cares? Good design often transcends target demographics. Intended for children with its cute, simple design, this shark works as a display piece whose multifunctionality becomes clearer when you observe it a bit closer.

Sharks have a universal appeal as gentle giants and ferocious predators, so the holder’s designers used their form to add a bit of whimsy to the lives of their object and its users. Yet the designers went further by using the anatomy of a shark as a guide for its use. Its wide mouth shows off its teeth and where the toothbrush should be placed. The exaggerated form of the mouth and the sea lion-like pose draw the eye towards the minimal red circle of the mouth.

Designed for a child’s toothbrushes, this shark currently holds my drawing tablet supplies, keeping it far from the messy ordeal of oral hygiene. My mom, who bought it for me, knew that its design and functionality would be perfect for my art materials. Despite being intended for a younger demographic, the design and the variability of its function completely drew me in. Good design is not limited by artistic intentions. – Nate G.

Princess Bunny

Source Unknown, circa 2004, Minky fabric, satin, black and pink thread, stuffing, height: 14”

I consider this stuffed animal a physical embodiment of what it means to grow into my womanhood. Princess Bunny was gifted to me on the day I was born by a great aunt I never met, someone untraceable, a mystery that has always felt strangely compatible with my own shifting sense of identity. Princess Bunny became a source of immeasurable comfort, wrapped tightly in my arms each night, her presence steady even as I grew uncertain of myself.

She originally wore a bow tie, but around age eight I asked my mother to move it atop her ears; I wanted her to look like the girl-best-friend I needed. As I grew into myself, her features aged with me. Her once-bright ivory fur dulled into a soft buttercream, warm from years of being carried everywhere. The faint stitching of her smile, pulled slightly tighter on one side, gives her a gentle, knowing expression that invites security.

Princess Bunny has been loved fiercely by every version of the woman I have become, and she will continue to be loved. – Emily T.

Lớp Lamp

Bằng (Thomas Bình Minh, Designer), Lớp Lamps, circa 2021, Acrylic, stainless steel, opal glass, LED bulb, height: 7.68” (small rectangle)

This Lớp Lamp by Bằng gave me my first and favorite lesson in product design: learning begins with simple curiosity.

I had to bring the lamp with me to the United States. To do that, I needed to disassemble it to fit in my luggage. I sat on the floor, slowly unscrewing the stainless-steel rods that held everything together. I lifted each of the nine clear orange acrylic sheets, thick and smooth at the edges, with care. One by one, I stacked them beside me, noticing how each piece caught the light. All nine sheets were divided by tiny metal spacers that kept even distances between the layers. When I finally reached the glass globe, I held it and felt its frosted surface blur the reflections of light.

Taking the lamp apart taught me more than I expected. I saw how light changed color as it passed through orange acrylic, how the steel reflected light onto the layers, and how every small detail worked in harmony. In that moment, I learned that design is not only about how something looks, but how it feels and inspires its user’s curiosity and creativity. – Chem D.

Monograph: A Dokja Insert Project Tarot Deck

@dokjasweep on X, United States, circa 2022, Cardstock, height: 4.72”

What if the answers we seek came from the stories we hold close instead of the stars?

I stumbled upon my Kim Dokja tarot cards, a deck inspired by a character from a novel I absolutely adore, when I needed direction most. At twenty-one, balancing school, work, relationships, and expectations felt like walking a tightrope without a net. Society tells us to have it all figured out by eighteen, yet it takes most of us longer to find our footing.

In this confusion, my deck became a compass. Each card, engraved with Dokja’s story of survival, sacrifice, and self-discovery, inspired me. The tarot transformed from being just a story I enjoyed into a spiritual companion that helps me navigate the chaos of life. Through these cards, Dokja’s fictional wisdom bleeds into my reality, encouraging self-reflection and mindfulness rather than a prescribed fate.

The cards remind me that our lives, our stories, are like tarot, never set in stone, but ours to interpret and forge. My deck does not dictate my path but invites me to see myself within it. As I shuffle the deck, I am reminded that meaning is what we make of it, not something we are given. – Fei Y.

The ÖSTANÖ Chair

Willy Chong, IKEA, circa 2020, Steel frame and polyester upholstery, height: 29 7/8”

What does a chair hold beyond a body’s weight?

The ÖSTANÖ sits quietly in my apartment’s corner, observing my daily rhythms. Through late-night deadlines and early-morning fog, it became a steady witness to my senior thesis journey. The seat imprint grounded me through a blur of drafting, sketching, prototyping, and assembling a process book that grew by the week. With every posture shifted, every lean, its fabric stretched in steady acceptance, reinforcing its quiet support.

One night, overwhelmed by my thesis, I leaned back into the chair, curled up with my legs folded and hands around my knees. With my eyes closed, I took a deep breath as the curved backrest caught me. In that moment, it felt as though the chair’s gentle curve was designed to fit the shape of my back and support me in my stress. This embrace became a quiet reassurance, a tangible symbol of support in uncertainty.

Though its form is simple—a black steel frame, a dark gray seat, and a curved backrest—the ÖSTANÖ’s familiarity elevates it beyond furniture into a quiet source of comfort. For me, the ÖSTANÖ has become a quiet companion, nurturing the space where ideas come to life. – Jocelyn N.

Tambour Embroidery Frame with Adjustable Trestles

2020, Wood and metal fittings, width: 24”

How can a wooden frame hold an entire world of creation?

This question emerged through my experience of working on this tambour embroidery frame, where the object revealed itself not as a passive support, but as an active force shaping the act of making. Standing over its stretched surface, the maker must adjust posture, reach, and rhythm as the fabric resists and responds. Each stitch becomes a negotiation between body and material.

Constructed from wooden beams balanced on stands, the frame forms a suspended plane where cloth hovers between air and touch. Unlike the small circular hoops often associated with domestic embroidery, the tambour frame expands the practice into something architectural. Its scale demands movement, endurance, and sustained attention, transforming embroidery from a contained gesture into a spatial and physical act.

Through this encounter, creativity is stretched alongside fabric. The frame slows the maker down, requiring intention rather than instinct. Built from modest wood, it carries no ornament yet makes ornament possible. In its stillness, it produces motion. In its simplicity, it demands discipline. The frame becomes a structure of making, where material resistance and human creativity meet, shaping not only what is made, but how making itself is understood. – Nivedha S.

Easy-Fill Formula Dispenser

Skip Hop (Carter’s), Atlanta, Georgia, United States, circa 2022, Polypropylene, height: 3 7/8”

I walked out of the hospital with our son for the first time and felt more weight than just the baby. The fear from that moment lingers long after it is over.

A lot of modern first-time parents assuage that fear by trying to get the “right” gear. We try to show ourselves and the world that because we are so prepared we must know what we are doing. The baby does not know what they will need later, so the formula powder gets scooped in while the world eavesdrops.

There is a tactile familiarity when you click open the caps of the dispenser that lends warmth to the cold plastic. The inviting design has few straight lines to its silhouette, its open curves designed to be held. Our family needs to use formula out of medical necessity. The dispenser’s approachability pushes back against the cold reality of that necessity.

On its face, this is an object made to exist between interactions, to be a bridge between preparation and execution. It is infrastructure written in molded plastic, made to be thrown in a bag. But perhaps some designer at Carter’s knew that what we really needed was comfort. – Nathanael K.

SONY WH_CH Wireless Headphones

Sony Electronics, San Diego, California, United States, 2023, Recycled plastic, ABS plastics, and silicone, height: 8.19”

The world hums too loudly; conversations, footsteps, passing thoughts blend into one endless buzz. In that noise, my thoughts fade. But when I place my headphones over my ears, the world softens. The noise quiets. What is left is just me; my breath, my senses, and my mind come back into focus.

The headband adjusts to every version of myself. Over a hat, my hair, or a hood, it shapes itself to every moment of living. Its bright blue color is bold, impossible to miss. This lets people notice me, which might be what I wanted all along: to feel seen. I speak many thoughts aloud, hoping someone will be impressed by me. But with this object, every thought stays inside my head, and I wonder if I will impress myself. Music deepens my experience, and podcasts help me engage with myself. The cushion pads rest gently on my ears, providing warmth in the cold.

My headphones are a silent protest against noise. In a fast-paced world, they slow me down mentally and physically. Difficult thoughts can be processed, and every long walk reminds me of the gift of simply walking. Silence is not quiet; it is clarity. – Meera J.

Knee Skin Swimsuit

Speedo, China, circa 2023, Nylon and lycra spandex, width: 11.5”

Thin fabric sticks to your skin as you feel unease, yanking the swimsuit up your thigh. Rippppp! The suit rips slightly near the seam. Time ticks by as fear floods your head. Fifteen minutes until it is your event. You run to the blocks and make it just in time, only to repeat this routine every month for the next twelve years.

To a normal individual, this might be overkill, but for an elite athlete, this is a way of life. Every second counts and every slight advantage adds up. Every decision, from the brand of the suit to the strength of the seams, has been carefully chosen to maximize the chance of dropping time and not offending the team’s sponsor. This swimsuit has been chosen for its fit rather than its brand. The thin spandex is more fragile than other competition suits, but the familiarity and sleek fit make it comfortable to move in. Even with its breakable and expensive design, it has done its part to create an advantage.

Being able to afford and utilize this advantage has been a symbol of a swimmer’s hard work and dedication to the sport. – Skye B.

Maracas, My Teddy Bear

Ty, Oak Brook, Illinois, United States, circa 2008, Tylux fabric, plastic, stuffing beads, polyester filling, height: 4”

Has my friend overstayed his welcome? Maracas has been my friend since before I could remember meeting him. He was a gift from my grandmother. We used to play all day, and cuddle to bed every night. Something about the inherent simplicity of Maracas’s form made me attach to it more closely than other branded toys I owned. Its pliable, lying form invited me to hold it against my chest, or lay it comfortably on my shoulder with its legs weighted. I do not play with Maracas as much now, but he still keeps me company every night. I have taken good care of him, watching his body shrivel from decades of being held. It is not exactly traditional to keep toys well into your adulthood, let alone still use them. People that keep their toys have them on display, so as not to ruin their condition. My family still teases me for taking Maracas wherever I go; their judgement has not swayed me. Maracas is my softest, smallest, and quietest friend, built for the sole purpose of being held in warm hands. Maracas is welcome as long as I see fit. – Kayla D.

Messmer the Impaler Figure, from Elden Ring DLC Collector’s Edition

PURE ARTS for BANDAI NAMCO Entertainment Inc. Japan, circa 2024 (released with the DLC collector’s edition in June 2024), PVC/ABS plastic, height: 18.1”

What does it mean to live with a conqueror on your desk? Messmer the Impaler, a boss from the Elden Ring expansion, stands mid step, spear planted like a claim on hostile ground. His silver scale armor, flowing red cape, and impossibly long limbs create a poised, almost elegant figure of power. Two coiling serpents wrap around his body, their metal wings blending sacred ornament and monstrous threat. The figure shows how fantasy design turns violence into something beautiful and collectible. Scratched sandals, frayed cloth edges, and twisted snakes suggest strain under that polished surface, as if power always costs something. On my desk, Messmer becomes more than merchandise. He becomes a small monument to the kind of worlds I study and hope to create, a daily marker of the patience, practice, and problem solving that game design requires. In this setting, the figure shifts in meaning. Messmer becomes less a symbol of conquest and more a reminder of effort, creativity, and the strange ways fantasy stories can support hopeful work in the real world. – Roman B.

Khmer Four-Tier Container

Phnom Penh, Cambodia, Stainless steel, height: 16”

This container is a piece of home that flew thousands of miles across the ocean with me.

It has been a significant part of my childhood and my family history. I remember standing beside my grandmother as we prepared rice, curry, and desserts for our traditional celebrations. I have fond memories of the clinking of the metal layers, the aroma of freshly cooked curry stew, and the spills that we made sure to clean up after perfectly stacking the container together.

Now, in a foreign country, the container continues to carry more than just family traditions. It affords the comfort of being able to celebrate religious events, even far away from home. The container is decorated with tiered Cambodian floral motifs inspired by twelfth-century Cambodian temple carvings, which are symbols of culture, identity, and endurance. The Floral motifs loop continuously around the natural stainless-steel finish with delicate precision.

What once served as a religious container carrying food now acts as an object preserving my identity in a new environment. This beautifully made tiffing container reminds me of the home that is very far away from me and connects me to my roots. – Monyvathana E.

Fujifilm Instax Mini Evo

Fujifilm, Tokyo, Japan, circa 2021, Plastic, faux leather, glass, and electronic components, height: 3.4”

Is it the object itself or the emotion it embodies that makes it most meaningful?

To me, the Instax Mini Evo is more than just a camera. The Polaroids it prints culminate on my walls as a reminder of my past, present, and future. Gazing at my smiling face next to those I love, I am reminded of my countless struggles with being in front of a camera and my growth through every picture.

Photography is a part of my journey of self-discovery, revealing facets of myself through the lens I see the world through. What once overwhelmed me with worry has shifted into a method of self-expression. Rather than hiding from the camera and denying those I love memories of me growing up, I boldly step into the frame to freeze time and remember the present moment.

My Instax is my everlasting bridge between capturing memories and connection. I carry it through countless adventures as a reminder to pause, appreciate my surroundings, and record the moments that shape me. Each Polaroid becomes part of the mosaic that blends nostalgia and excitement for what lies ahead. My camera remains a comforting anchor, inviting me to forge and remember. – Sreeja S.

Keepsake Carousel Display

Hallmark, Kansas City, Missouri, United States, circa 2004, Plastic and velour, height: 11”

What does it mean to perform? This miniature carousel performs by pretending; its gold-painted plastic trim and rearing horse encapsulate the grandeur of golden age carousels. I found it in a cluttered thrift store, half-buried beneath old clothing, its bright colors peeking out like a starlet waiting for the spotlight.

Gazing at its intricacy, I can hear the carnival music, feel the spin, and imagine the blurring of surroundings. The carousel’s being proves that to perform is to invite one’s mind to wander with it.

Over time, I began using it differently, placing small keepsakes on its platform and transforming the stage into one of my own design. It performs not for entertainment, but for preservation of personal culture, acting as a museum of memory. Visitors are immediately drawn to its spectacle; their attention affirms the carousel’s continual performance extends that invitation.

The carousel cannot spin without a hand from its viewer, just as memory cannot exist without a person to cherish it. An object’s performance is to invite, and our honor as humans is to accept that invitation. Each turn or rearrangement of trinkets exhibits the dance between human and object, performing together the ongoing task of remembrance. – Cecily R.

Vans SK-8 Hi Top Shoes

Vans, Costa Mesa, California, United States, circa 2023, Nylon, rubber, leather, height: 6”

My first steps in these shoes were on Drexel’s campus. The stark white on my shoes clashed with the coarse grey asphalt as I weaved between buildings and down pathways. I remember traipsing through buildings, desperately trying to find the right room in the labyrinth that is Westphal. Little did I know the journeys these shoes would take me on.

Hundreds of thousands of steps later, these shoes find their way to a grass field in Connecticut. Now worn and dirtied, the once white laces and soles marked with mud and grass, these shoes struggle up hills and over trenches to move a xylophone into a beaten-up blue trailer. A far cry from the crowded streets of Philadelphia, this setting is nonetheless part of another chapter in these shoes’ lives.

Today, these shoes collect dust on a wire rack in a cold, rank garage just twenty minutes from Drexel and three hours from Connecticut. Occasionally, I will sacrifice comfort for style and tie the flat off-white laces once again. Most of the time, however, my shoes take a backseat to my other sets of footwear. Yet, they are living tomes that have recorded my journey into adulthood. – Ben M.

Dell HP Laptop

Dell, 12th Gen Intel(R) Laptop covered in stickers, circa 2022, Aluminum, plastic, carbon fiber, magnesium, and Gorilla Glass, height when open: 12.5”

This laptop knows me inside and out; she looks after me just as much as any of my friends would.

To most people, my laptop introduces me before I do. She flaunts the California sticker anchored at the bottom, my roots, and the Delta Gamma symbols that display the community I belong to. Her surface becomes a visible map of the places and identities I hold close. 

Within her folders, she holds a history of my personal identity and proves her understanding of me in times of need. One memory in particular captures this.

In the middle of a lengthy study session, my laptop displayed moving, flashing bars on the screen. Though it was painful to look at, it was possible to work through. Most would have chalked this up to a broken screen and would have attempted to repair it, but I trusted my friend. I listened to what she said and turned the glitch into an opportunity to step away, with both of us returning stronger. Only she could have known I needed that break.

My laptop is a testament to my identity: the parts I choose to show and the ones that settle quietly beneath the surface. – Hannah D.

Fyresdal Daybed Frame

IKEA, Älmhult, Sweden, circa 2015-2025, Steel, height: 37”

This IKEA daybed was mass-produced, but in my apartment of six it has become singular. Originally bought by a neighbor, it came to us through a quick handoff, a small moment of generosity that turned a transaction into a gift. Now, it sits by the entrance where people pile up during movie nights, band members sleep after shows, and where I end up every evening, somewhere between relaxing and falling asleep.

Made to be flexible, shifting from twin to king, it reflects how my housemates and I live now: constantly rearranging, sharing, and making do with what fits. The steel frame is designed for durability, but its real strength is in the memories it has collected. Every scratch from its past life or from band gear brushing against it, and every thrifted pillow we picked up from the street or secondhand shops, reflects the people and moments that have shaped it.

Objects like this remind me that design does not end at the point of sale. Once it enters a home, the object takes on a new life shaped by use, people, and place. What began as a flat-packed product has become a quiet anchor for our routines and friendships. – Camden S.

Hirono

POP MART, Beijing, China, Released April 12, 2025, PVC / ABS plastic, height: 2.36”

Can we find genuine emotional resonance within the dopamine loop of mass consumption? While the blind box model relies on the capitalist thrill of the gamble, the objects inside often serve as unexpected vessels for personal reflection.

For me, this figure from the Hirono: Echo Series—a green dinosaur stoically stitching itself back together—transcended its status as a plastic commodity to become a totem of self-identity and personal expression. The figure’s act of repairing its costume, a mask that theoretically hides the self, mirrors my everyday complex journey: the struggle to maintain authenticity while patching up the wounds of trauma.

Initially skeptical of buying a surprise, I found that the value lay not in the transaction, but in the narrative discovered inside. This object holds a complicated joy: it is a guilty pleasure that acknowledges the trap of consumerism but evolves into the celebration of undeniable, intimate comfort through the externalization of the self. – Ryan Y.

Magic Stone Box

Verul, Maharastra, India, Stone, height: 1.9”

What a sweet bribe this box was.

Soft gusts of wind blew through my hair as tears rolled down my cheeks. It was a morning after a father–daughter fight.

The sun shone bright, but the inside of the cave was cold and quiet. I sat at the edge for a long time, soaking in the warmth and sorting through the thoughts crowding my mind. I had so much to say that day—feelings of anger, love, hurt, and despair were all tangled together.

And then he brought me a little, beautifully carved stone box.

I looked at it with glee, turned it around, and discovered the magic in it. When dipped in water, it changed to a powder purple colour; when left still, it kept its quiet charm. But most importantly, from that moment on, it became the keeper of my thoughts and made me wonder how often we hold on to the things that hurt us—tucking them away tightly in our hearts and minds—as if they were our own little stone boxes. – Anushka A.