What does my Coke collection say about me?
“It says I have no self-control. I love stuff from the 90s – I was a child then, but now no one is saying: ‘You can’t have that…’”
And what it really says
Ladi has an awful lot of Coke merch, and when you see it all together, the brand repetition turns each piece into a part of a whole. We can pick out individual items – the big Coke can seat, the special yellow T-shirt – but there is so much stuff that it merges into one. Ladi is living in a Coca-Cola world.
He is cool with this on a couple of levels. As a buyer and seller, he knows how much his collection is worth; plus it makes him happy, which is trickier to price. Coca-Cola reminds him of being a kid in the 90s, he says. The 90s were a strange combination of dully neutral (CK1, cargo trousers, beige computers) and maddeningly bright (rave, enormo-logos, that awful purple dinosaur). As a kid Ladi would naturally have been drawn to the bright, modern side. But Coke is also wrapped in nostalgia: a yearning for a happier, simpler, more “real” time, which chimes with present-day Ladi and his childhood memories.
Coke also represents somewhere Other. Coca-Cola is not a Mancunian brand. Coke is USA, more USA than pumpkin pie with a Stars-and-Stripes flag stuck in the top. As an all-American brand, only McDonald’s comes close, and as Ronald is a clown, the creepy factor is always close with McDonald’s. Coke doesn’t have a creepy factor. It’s an upbeat, fizzy tonic; a sugar-fuelled dream that brings together childish hope and American achievement. It’s designed to make you happy, and a bit fired up. Collecting Coke souvenirs is different from collecting china frogs. Or Second World War memorabilia.
I like this collection. I like its spirit: the time spent, the hard search, the delight in the find, the lining up for display. Collecting things you like is a hunt for happiness and order. In an unhappy, disordered world, we all want a bit of that.
If you would like Miranda to cast an eye over your favourite possession, email a photograph to magazine@observer.co.uk
