Collecting anything is a little bit strange.
From the outside, it looks like one step away from organised hoarding, or perhaps folks with too much money trying to justify how they spend it.
For those who do collect, however, it’s an undeniably rewarding pastime offering intellectual curiosity, community, and the thrill of the hunt. Jean Paul Getty, patriarch of the Getty oil and media empire, was one of the 20th century’s greatest collectors and described himself as an “incurable art-collecting addict.”
While plenty has already been written about the psychology of collectors and their buying behaviour, less has been written about the actual elements that make collecting so enjoyable. Specifically, how different kinds of limits make collecting such an addictive pursuit.
To explain why limits make collecting enjoyable, it’s important to understand that one of the most consistent themes when speaking with a collector is their love of the hunt. What folks don’t always realise about why the hunt is so exciting, however, are the stories that are inexorably tied to the pursuit.
I spoke with Cameron Ross Steiner, the founder of the Collector’s Gene Radio podcast, which is dedicated to conversations with collectors. He explained that of the hundreds of collectors he’s interviewed, almost all were in it for the thrill of the hunt and the stories they can tell after a successful catch.
“There’s one thing I think all collectors will agree on – for true collectors, it’s about the story.”
We’re all constantly telling ourselves stories – about who we are, why we do things, and where we fit into the world. And collectors are doing the same, both about why they collect and the collections themselves. The most obvious stories collectors tell themselves are the histories of the category they’re interested in, an essential step to understanding the context of what they’re collecting.
Once a collector has a solid handle on the stories that explain how their objects of fascination came to be, the next stories they tell themselves – and other collectors – are the tales of how they came to buy an object.
In short, the hunt.
“It’s about how they found it, what happened during the hunt, and how long it took,” Steiner tells me. “Only then can they focus on how they use the object and how they live with it, right?”
We instinctively understand there’s no interesting story in a typical trip to the supermarket, but when you’re looking for something collectable, unexpected and interesting things are almost guaranteed to happen. If it took the same amount of effort to find an Eames lounge as it did a bottle of milk, no one would covet the designs of Charles and Ray.
“There’s something to be said about working hard towards something,” says Steiner. “It’s about spending the effort and time to do your research and learn about the thing you want, so you know what to look for when the right thing pops up.”
The harder the hunt, the more satisfying the catch, and there are a range of different factors that make for a more satisfying hunt. Of these factors, financial limits are the most obvious.
The money you have to spend on collecting will dictate whether you collect Monet paintings or artworks from your local market. However, while many dream of winning the lottery and building a world-class collection, financial limits are a huge part of what makes collecting exciting.
“If you could just buy whatever you want, you lose the fun in collecting,” says Steiner. “You don’t feel the sweat, you don’t feel that pressure, and you don’t feel the same urge to go and find something if all you need to do is make a couple of phone calls.”
“Look at Mark Zuckerberg. He’s popped on the scene all of a sudden and started collecting some insanely expensive and hard-to-get watches when he probably didn’t care about watches a year ago. To me, there can’t be that much fun in that – it’s almost more of a project than a hobby.”
Financial limitations form a key part of almost everyone’s collecting story because – as Steiner explains – there’s no challenge if anything is available at any time. Limited funds force collectors into careful decision-making, deeper levels of research, and a more deliberate focus on what it is they’re interested in chasing.
I also asked Silas Walton – founder of A Collected Man and one of the most well-respected dealers of rare and independent watches – if he believed financial limits were a positive factor in collecting.
“Constraints, whether financial or otherwise, force collectors to refine their focus and develop a more personal, thoughtful approach,” he tells me. “Many of the best collections are built through discipline and patience, rather than an indiscriminate pursuit of the most expensive or rarest pieces. Limits can drive deeper research, greater connoisseurship, and ultimately more rewarding acquisitions.”
He uses a different word than Steiner to characterise the driving force behind collecting habits, but the intrinsic motivations aren’t all that different.
“I think collecting is ultimately about connection – whether to a craft, a history, or a personal narrative. The thrill of discovery, the satisfaction of learning, and the relationships formed through collecting all contribute to why people are drawn to it. There’s also a deep psychological aspect: collecting imposes structure, offers intellectual challenge, and, at times, even serves as a form of self-expression.”
You can’t have a good story without connection, and the depth of connection that collectors have to their category of focus is something Walton has seen consistently in many of his clients over the years.
“Regardless of budget or category, the most passionate collectors tend to share a few traits: intellectual curiosity, patience, and a strong emotional connection to what they collect. Many are drawn to the pursuit itself rather than just the acquisition. The best collectors are often those who take time to understand, rather than simply accumulate.”
This curatorial instinct is another self-imposed limit that collectors exhibit, not only one that’s driven by financial means but one that’s driven by their knowledge of the category, their aesthetic interests, and the objects they’ve bought and sold over time. In other words: personal taste.
Taste can easily have negative associations with snobbery, the circumstances into which someone is born (“money can’t buy taste” has long been a way for the generationally wealthy to distinguish themselves from the nouveau riche), and an understanding of whatever the trend of the moment might be.
Though the simple fact is that everyone has their own taste, developed over years of experience and exposure to countless influences, leaving everyone with their own perspective on what makes something “good” or “interesting.”
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It’s this personal taste that informs the self-restraint to ignore some segments of a category and doggedly pursue others. While we can try to feign interest, it’s impossible to fake the genuine enthusiasm that collectors have for the specific sub-category of their choice.
Another element that informs the tastes of many collectors – especially those who’ve been collecting for many years and have seen trends come and go – is a streak of contrarianism (an adjacent attitude to that found in investing circles).
This is a natural function of collecting over many years and the accumulated learning that comes with it, which sees collectors’ focus narrow as they better understand what makes something interesting to them. Inversely, the easier something is to appreciate, the less interesting it becomes.
Eryca Green, a dealer who owns Smith Street Bazaar in Melbourne and specialises in antiques, objet d’art, and furniture, explains that while her personal taste in collecting is largely driven by sentimentality, the rarity and story behind something is another driving force behind what she’s interested in buying.
“I probably wouldn’t love something if it’s become very common, and I think there’s definitely some sense of superiority that collectors feel if they have something they know is rare and you can’t just get from a department store.”
“I’m not impressed by someone who’s gone to a nice furniture store and spent $50,000 because all it means is they’ve got a lot of money. But if they’ve found something in the depths of an antique store in Italy, then I am interested.”
“It’s like the Togo sofa. I thought they were great, and then all of a sudden, they were on every magazine cover, and everyone got one, and I didn’t like it as much anymore. It might as well be from Kmart.”
Thanks to a natural link between hard work and pride, the exclusivity of taste forms another key part of the story that collectors tell themselves. Just as one might be proud of their position in life because of the hard work that has gone into a successful career or happy family, so too does a sense of pride come in the objects that a collector has acquired over the years and the knowledge that informed those purchases.
The final limitation I’ll mention is much more practical than it is psychological: the challenge of space. While watch and coin collectors can stash millions of dollars worth of wares into a drawer, those who collect cars, furniture, or artwork (even the biggest houses will eventually run out of wall space) will naturally be limited by the space they have access to.
“Space is an important limit too,” Green tells me. “Because what you collect might depend on the space that you have. I live in a small apartment, and I love art and furniture, so I definitely have to make decisions because of that.”
This is perhaps the only limiting factor faced by Rohan Garnett – other than being time-poor – who has spent four decades building one of the world’s best collections of aviation paraphernalia and ephemera.
“I have five collection points around the world set up in New York, Los Angeles, London, Auckland, and Sydney. All the things I buy will be sent to one of those five places, and I have people who then package them up and arrange the shipment to be sent to me.”
“If it’s something interesting, I’ll bid, and then I’ll have it sent to the nearest collection point from there.”
Unlike many other collectors, Garnett isn’t as interested in the hunt and also never set out to build an enormous collection. He simply loved the aviation industry and understood the value of preserving parts of it as something of a historical record.
“I got very interested in the airline industry as a child, but I didn’t want to be a pilot. I was just fascinated by the whole corporate piece to it and started building model aircraft and collecting postcards.”
“[When I started collecting] if you wrote to an airline, they’d actually respond to you, and if you asked for something, they probably sent it to you.”
This interest in the airline industry saw Garnett spend his career working at many airlines, including Qantas and British Airways. His professional success has also meant his limits are not financial ones, but instead concern the space he needs to house it all.
“I tend to buy whatever I feel like, but space is often the limit in my case.”
“I got a warehouse a few years ago to store my collection, but I’d been dragging it around for years in storage sheds before that.”
Once again, it’s the limits faced by Garnett that have made the story of his collecting journey such an interesting one. Beyond the countless stories he could tell you about the finer points of Qantas’ history or the different generations of British Airways’ Concorde cabin layout, his collection has become a part of the story of who he is.
For Garnett, it’s not about having a lot of stuff, it’s about the energy he’s spent moving his collection from one home or storage shed to the next. It’s about the story his collection tells and the relationships he’s built through the pursuit of it.
The reason people collect isn’t just about buying and selling, nor is it simply the joy that comes with each courier delivery. The real joy in collecting is found in the stories that can be told about each new object found and the sense of satisfaction that comes with knowing what was overcome to ensure its arrival.
