Objects of Affection — From the Desk of van Schneider — Edition №257

by Tobias van Schneider
Published Feb 3, 2025

As always, if you missed last weeks email, its now on my blog. Last week I shared my big bucket list "Designs of my Dreams" with you. Feel free to forward this article to friends or colleagues if you like, its now open to everyone to read.

For this week I got another special essay for you. Fresh from my desk and never shared before. You're the first to read it and I hope you enjoy it.

Objects of Affection

⏱️ Estimated Reading time: 4-5
🎵 Soundtrack for this article: Listen here

Over the past decade, minimalism (a quasi religion to us designers) promised us freedom from clutter and a new way of life. We all fell in love with minimalism and followed it religiously without question. But to our surprise, it ended up bringing us something unexpected: a kind of cultural and personal emptiness.

While minimalism started as a thoughtful movement against consumerism, it ended up becoming our aesthetic prison where museum-like beige walls, empty spaces and carefully curated Instagram feeds have replaced the chaotic beauty of personal collections and idiosyncratic tastes. And the beautiful keyword here is idiosyncratic. It wasn't just about being different — it was about being authentically, unconsciously, and most importantly unapologetically ourselves. Something we've lost in this new age of conformity.

And let me be the first to admit: I've become everything I'm criticizing here. But I've been on a journey of change, inspired by the beautiful oddities of life. And let me tell you, I've been loving it so far (:

Remember the uncle (we liked to called crazy) with his insane collection of Swiss vintage toy trains in his basement? All trains in perfect shape, with their original packaging and labels neatly organized.

Or the neighbor whose garage was a museum of hundreds of vintage traffic signs? Where the hell did he even get all those from? And why traffic signs?

Or that one peculiar friend (who's not a child) with her collection of weird rocks?

Remember when homes felt like archaeological caves of someones personality? When you'd walk into someone's house and you could piece together their entire life story just from the odd furniture, weird items on their shelves or crooked framed photographs on their walls? Those things only made sense to them, but each room was filled with meaning. They are items that weren't chosen to impress but accumulated because they meant something for them, not because everyone else on social media had them too.

And this brings me to my mother. She's been collecting swords and knives ever since I've known her. She also collects rocks: beautiful rocks, odd rocks, rocks that just look cool. Some of them sparkle, some of them are kind of boring. The criteria for what makes a rock worthy of her collection remains a mystery to me, but I can see how each new addition brings her joy. Her rooms are full of personal trinkets and delicate figurines made of porcelain or glass. Every wall is adorned with her own paintings, and there are many of them. Her clothing and shoes are lined with carefully placed glitter and shimmering stones, all decorated by her own hands. Every piece is unique, nothing is left untouched.

While some might consider her apartment cluttered by today's minimalist standards, I see it as a living museum of her spirit. When I step into her apartment there's no doubt it belongs to a real person, someone with stories to tell.

Idiosyncrasy isn't a fashion statement or a carefully curated aesthetic. It's the natural result of someone letting their curiosity run wild. It's a beautiful way of letting the souvenirs of your life's journey decorate your space because they speak to you in a way nothing else can. It only has to make sense to you.

To me, it's been like a second awakening. Letting go of the strict rules of minimalism (which especially comes with being a designer) opened my eyes to an entirely new world. And I fucking LOVE IT!

I don't care anymore if my home or collections are "Instagram-worthy" or perfectly curated according to one particular aesthetic. I want them to be weird. I want them to be random. I want them to be unapologetically MYSELF. This goes both for my digital collections (inside mymind) as well as my physical collections, the things that surround me everyday.

Instead of the cold comfort of collective approval, I want the beautiful warm chaos of whatever I am currently interested in. Maybe it's one thing today, and another one tomorrow. Who am I? What do I like? It's a moving picture, and that's ok.

Maybe it's time to reclaim our right to idiosyncrasy.

Let's collect the uncollectable.

Let's let our obsessions run wild and enjoy that one life we have (:

And remember, the beauty of collecting things isn't in the objects themselves, but in the process of your personal discovery and curation. Each piece you collect is a small choice you make, a small but meaningful declaration of what YOU find beautiful, interesting or meaningful in that very moment. Not what others tell you to find beautiful. We're not concerned about anyone's approval here.

Over time these personal choices compound and you'll find yourself surrounded by your own personal museum. Isn't that amazing?

As we grow, our collections change and evolve with us. They become the story of our lives. They become manifestations of our identity, you could say. Some of those things will stay with us, and some of them may only visit. Our collections can and should be in constant flux.

Want to know the strangest part? I believe all this even makes me a better designer because my eyes are finally wide open to the odd beauty of the world. It's about finding inspiration in the overlooked, casting my net wide, away from the beaten path we're all inevitably on.

And before I end this essay, let me leave you with some inspirational examples ↓

Charles & Ray Eames

The Eames name has become synonymous with sleek, modernist furniture design with their iconic pieces often showcased in stark, minimalist and restrained interiors.

But stepping into Ray and Charles Eames' own home (I visited it years ago in LA) it reveals a radically different aesthetic. Shelves full of art, candles, seashells, interesting fabrics, patterns and personal trinkets everywhere. You'd expect that the Eames house would be a minimalistic modernist temple, but it's far from it. It's a true home, a playful space full of life and beauty.

Bill Cunningham

One of my all-time favorites. Beyond his well-known street photography, Bill Cunningham was a obsessed collector and archivist of historical fashion and architecture and his apartment and studio was a wonderful reflection of just that. Also, if you haven't watched the documentary about him, please do.

Tony Duquette

This legendary designer's personal home (or more like museum?) is a masterpiece of maximalism. The rooms are literally dripping in gilded furniture, exotic artifacts and sculptures. It has it all. And even if its not your taste, you can appreciate it for what it is.

William Haines

A mix of Hollywood glamour and California modernism. The home of Williams Haines feels personal and full of treasures. Somehow it all feels mismatched yet so perfectly together at the same time. It's a beautiful paradox that can only exist if you truly love collecting. There are some more photos of his former home here. Once you see it all it together it starts to make sense to you.