A fridge magnet is a fridge magnet is a fridge magnet, as Gertrude Stein didn’t say. Or is it? I suspect not. If it were, why would I have so many? And why would they all come from museum gift shops rather than any old souvenir shop?
I used to think of museums as the ultimate clash between high and low culture. In the galleries you encounter historical artefacts and unique works of art. In the gift shop you’ll find their mass-produced cousins. On postcards, keychains and fridge magnets. Same, same, but very different.
The most obvious job of any souvenir is to preserve a memory. “I was there!” As if you’d forget your once-in-a-lifetime visit to the Colosseum unless a cheap plastic bottle opener reminded you every time you cracked open a beer.
Then again, it’s not only a reminder. It’s a message to the world. And not all messages are created equal. A T-shirt that says “Ibiza” sends a different signal than a tote bag that says “The Louvre”. The former says, “I was there to paaaarty!” The latter says, “I was there because I’m a cultured soul.”
But there is no way of knowing, is there? You can spend your holiday in Ibiza reading Marcel Proust and your time in the Louvre looking for the toilets. Still, you wouldn’t catch me dead in the Ibiza shirt.
None of this explains all my museum fridge magnets. I remember my museum visits vividly. If I wanted to send a message to the world, I would be hard-pressed to find a less effective transmitter than my fridge. Let’s just say it’s not out and about much.
Every time I’m in a museum, I want to capture the feeling of being face to face with something truly special. For me, it’s not about remembering or showing off. It’s something much more intimate. Faced with an Anubis statuette from the New Kingdom or one of Rembrandt’s self-portraits, who wouldn’t want to take it home?
It’s all well and good to harbour such thoughts. Acting on them, however, is generally frowned upon. So, if you can’t have the real thing, you can take a tiny piece of that feeling home by splashing out in the gift shop.
A fridge magnet doesn’t reproduce the original artwork particularly well, but it reproduces a little something of your relationship with it. It may be cheap and tacky, but it still carries a tiny bit of that magic.
And that’s not all. As museums face increasing financial pressure, the humble fridge magnet and its little friends in the gift shop have become unexpected heroes, bringing in some much-needed bacon for their fancy cousins in the exhibitions.
A fridge magnet is a fridge magnet is a fridge magnet. And dare I say, proudly so.
Did this send your thoughts bouncing off in unexpected directions? I’d love to hear where they went! Memories, disagreements, peculiar associations or gloriously half-baked thoughts. Big, small or silly. You’re amongst friends here. Spill it! :-)
You’ve just read a Tiny Tendency, the smaller sibling of the usual Cultural Tendencies essay: one little thing I’ve noticed about culture, taken seriously for a few minutes—just for fun. Tiny Tendencies appear every other week, between the longer essays.
Still feeling a bit culturally promiscuous?
