#56 introducing: it's the small things
on silver and smoke; inside my best friend's home
I’ve spent the last four years mostly on the move, months at a time. Because of that, I’ve never been able to collect large pieces. No furniture, framed art, or vintage lamps. Everything has to stay light. So instead, I find myself bringing back small things from each stint—my choice of souvenir. Objects that fit into one luggage and one duffel, tucked between clothes and other daily necessities. They’ve become my way of making a space that isn’t mine, mine.
That’s how the idea for it’s the small things came about, a new series about the objects that mark chapters in our lives and make a space feel like home. For longtime readers, this might feel full-circle—back to conversations about the things that shape us and the lives we build around them. (I’ve missed talking about our lives through objects, I guess some things find their way back!)
I’ve just wrapped up another six-month stretch, and it feels like the time to finally start the series. But before sharing what I’ve brought back this time, I wanted to begin with one of my best friends, Nicole.
She moved into her own apartment last year, and I’ve seen it come together from renovation dust to her personal sanctuary. She’s stylish and deliberate, with a gift for curating a mood. She’s also the one who taught me that you don’t have to wait for an occasion to celebrate, dress up, or light a candle. That not all stories have to be big stories. You see, it’s the small things that count. I thought she’d make the perfect guest to kick this off.
We spent ninety minutes walking around her home as she picked things off her shelves and opened boxes to knick-knacks I’d never seen before. From many an incense stick marking her travels, to a confiscated knife tale and a Japanese clock found in a small Italian town. She even unpacked, item by item, the metal tin she always carries on the go. When asked if it makes a noise, she smiled and said, “Yes. I like it though.”
“I found this box in an Australian thrift store. It’s the perfect size, I like its curve and finish. It felt like a waste not to use it. Inside, I keep eyedrops; a good luck amulet from Tokyo, for love; a rose quartz, also for love; small perfume samples, including one from Diptyque. They fit perfectly; the best things in life are unplanned. There’s also floss, of course; Panadol in case I have a headache, or someone else has one; bobby pins, for when I want to bun up my hair when I exercise.”
How her love for shiny things began: “I was in Paris with my family when I was five or six. There was a shop filled with quirky, colourful things. I saw a robot keychain—its arms could move, it was entirely metal, and every part of it had a different finish. I bought it and held onto onto it for the entire trip. I was obsessed with how shiny it looked. When I think about my love for metal, that’s the first thing that comes to mind. After that, I’d carry around a bag with nothing inside, just so I could hang the keychain on it.”
“I had a knife I was obsessed with. I got it in Portugal on a graduation trip, attached it to my keychain and never took it off. I used it to cut tags and open packages; I pulled it out of my bag more than I thought I would. I never got into trouble for it until a business trip to Vietnam, when it was confiscated at airport security. I was so sad because it was such a part of me. Then last year, in Japan, I went to the traveller’s notebook store, and they had this. It’s different, but I still love it—it reminds me of my old knife.”
“I was inspired by a feature on Never Too Small.1 The designer in it influenced so much of my apartment—the yellow tiles and mid-century furniture. I was obsessed with everything: his preference for darker wood, and especially, this lamp.2 No lamp has ever made me feel this way. I like how thin and simple it is, and the chunkiness of its base.”
“We were in a small Italian town when I walked into a secondhand shop run by an older woman who didn’t speak English. I was drawn in by all the silver trinkets, of course. Behind her, I spotted this clock. She put in a battery—it still worked. It was a bit dirty, but whatever, I wanted it so much. I love its shape and colours. My friends teased me for it, Why are you buying a Japanese clock in Italy? But it made me wonder, How did you end up here? It’s now travelled from Japan to Italy to Singapore. It’s perfect for me, because I’m always late.”
“I really like this shape. Can you see the similarities? Between that clock, this clock, and my ring.”
“I first fell in love with candles, but started getting into incense after my friend Jill bought me some for Christmas a few years ago. I like watching the movement of the smoke, it’s meditative. I like that it ends, like a record. There’s a journey to it.
It almost acts as a timer. There’s one incense I bought because of how it was described—the shiso one. They made it short because it’s for you to burn while you do your skincare. It makes the process relaxing.
When I went to Japan, incense was everywhere in temples, I felt very drawn to it. Later, I bought more in Thailand on a yoga retreat, and then in Nepal while doing my Yoga Teacher Training. I like to burn one when I practice yoga, it just goes together.”
“I recently rediscovered this [100 Things in My Room.] and read it cover to cover in one sitting. I probably got it in secondary school; I love it even more now as an adult. The colours in the book—blue, yellow, pink—and its size, how it’s old now and the pages have browned.
I wish I had made this. I love talking about my objects, drawing them, describing them. I see a lot of myself in what she writes. When Japanese is translated into English, the phrasing reads so tenderly. “I cannot show you letters from friends.” It becomes very matter-of-fact.
“John, I’m so sorry about that. I found this in my moving box from London. Of course I did not do it on purpose. Luckily it reminds me of you and how helpful you were to me. John’s measure.”
It’s exactly what life is about. Everything has a memory and an attachment.”
Ed note: We continued to flip through the book and found many parallels between Ban’s objects and Nicole’s, as seen below. Life imitates life.
Photos by me. Here are a few more from that day:
If you enjoyed this, you might like these earlier features on collections of things: Marcus Mohan, a designer (and another one of my best friends) with impeccable taste, on five of his favourite objects; and Caitlin’s Things, a 100-day project by creative strategist Dan Azic, who catalogued his partner’s ‘clutter’ each day.
Jacobo Valentí’s apartment in Barcelona. I’m into the wooden frame running across the wall.
It’s the Lumina Daphine Lamp.