You Can Decorate with Collections, But When Selling, No
By Bill Primavera
The Home Guru
As Published in The Examiner, The Putnam Examiner and The Yorktown Examiner
One in three adults collects something, according to a study done in 1980. Some people collect for investment, some for pure pleasure of the quest, and others, according to the observation of some psychologists, to fill a gap and calm apprehension about an insecure world.
If the “things” collectors gather have survived wars and the Depression (Depression glass is a big collectors’ item, remember), they can provide a sense of security, even if only a false one. Or it can be a very healthy way of projecting one’s identity to visitors. Whatever the reason for collecting, when it’s time to place a collector’s home on the market, listing agents most always suggest that the interior be “de-cluttered,” “neutralized,” and “de-personalized.” Whether it’s a lavish display of Lionel trains with their tracks running through an entire village in the bonus room or Barbie dolls and Beanie Babies in the bedroom, they would best be dismantled and put away before the first Open House.
For some, with homes filled with things that signaled either success or sophistication, such a move can be tough. The goods are already there in abundance, attachments have been formed, and it can be hard to separate from possessions that project memories of a life well lived.
I have a good friend who has a town house filled to the brim with dolls. Not antique dolls, but literally hundreds of new dolls acquired mostly online during the past 15 years. The entire living room, dining room, the bedrooms and even the stairwell are filled with her collection. It is so extensive now that she has given tours of the house simply for her doll collection. If she should choose to sell, surely she will be advised that the dolls must go into storage, tantamount to losing a lot of housemates.
In the case of my wife and me, however, it might not be as difficult because it was decided early on to collect only things that could be incorporated into our home’s décor in a seamless way. Collections that separate themselves from the flow of living space or stamps and coins, squirreled away, out of sight, never held any interest for us. With us, it was early 19th century oil portraiture and landscapes that appealed to us at a time when they were affordable and our walls were bare. Combined with our collection of 19th century children’s and funereal needle points, a collection of prints of New York City and the Hudson Valley, as well as contemporary paintings from family artists, our walls today have transformed into a vast artistic canvas for our eyes to enjoy on a daily basis.
As we contemplate the sale of our home, however, we face the onerous task of deciding which of our paintings and prints to put away while the house is being shown – surely buyers will want to see a patch of wall someplace -- and which to bring with us to a much-wanted downsized living space.
There are other decisions to be made about de-personalizing our space. Our collective gatherings have been amplified by our individual interests and the collections those spawned. With my wife, it started with a modest collection of porcelain mushrooms and mushroom paintings in her kitchen, but these were quickly discarded when we sold our first home. In our second home, her kitchen collecting advanced to 18th and 19th century utensils, pots, pans, molds and bowls, along with a cookbook collection where each cookbook is signed by its author. (We own a public relations firm that has represented restaurants and food celebrities.)
For me, my interests for individual collecting were antique toys and children’s games, end-of-day glass marbles, and WWII-period glass boats, tanks, cars and trains (filled with the original candies). I also collected crystals, very large ones, mostly fluorite, the stone to which I related personally and used for energizing in meditation (yes, I’m a weirdo of sorts). Each of these collections has their place, with bookshelves designated to display them. But I won’t be able to share these pleasures with prospective home buyers.
In the real estate business, we sometimes see cases where the collecting experience has morphed into the obsessive compulsive pattern of hoarding. You’ve no doubt heard the story of the Collyer Brothers in New York City who collected literally tons of junk to the point where they became synonymous with the condition. When they passed away, their brownstone was so packed to the ceilings with old newspapers and assorted junk that the police could not gain access to the house. I’ve witnessed two similar cases recently in Westchester where obsessive collectors died before they could dispense with the things they collected over a lifetime, and professionals had to be hired to clear and clean the premises.
As I sit in my library (actually it was a music room until we inherited a collection of handsomely covered books from an aunt), I wonder if I really want to pack all these books and display them again in leaner quarters? Do I really have need of an antique toy collection when I want to live more sparely?
While contemplating this subject, I wonder whether the trend toward collecting was nourished more greatly during a long period of unbridled excess in the past two decades and whether that trend is being stemmed by our current economic crisis. Surely if we are ready to live more prudently, collecting might be considered the ultimate form of conspicuous consumption. Am I hearing that antiques dealers are on the heap of businesses doing badly now? Do we really want to add to collections when we don’t know whether we have to spend our harder-earned moneh on mortgage payments and the electric bill?
Yet, fine art is still selling for both pleasure and investment. So it can be hard to know if we hear a death knell for collecting. Only time will tell.
In the meantime, when it comes to listing a house for sale, sellers must present a cleaner canvas to potential homebuyers who want to envision their own things in a property being shown. As I survey our collections, all filled with fond memories, I know that it’s time to let go and travel more lightly. I’ll be fine in the necessary de-personalization process . . . if I can just deal with this lump in my throat.
Bill Primavera is a Westchester, NY-based realtor ( This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it ) and marketing practitioner ( This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it ) who can be reached for questions or comment directly at 914-522-2076.
To read more in The Examiner, go to: www.TheExaminerNews.com