“Is a Millennium Falcon the emblem of a geek, a man frozen in nostalgia’s tender embrace? Or had I misjudged the situation completely and this was a woman’s cherished model, or even the handiwork of a prodigious brick-building baby?”
There I was, during my lunch breaks, engrossed in a review of a 1998 Lego set, notable for being the very first to feature a two-tone print on C-3PO's torso. This was exciting stuff. Then there were the videos of adults critiquing the playability of Lego sets, assigning scores out of 10 after demonstrating how Andy could soar through his bedroom with Buzz. Perhaps the category of playability was intended for a younger audience, but I have suspicions to the contrary given how naturally these reenactments were executed.
I was hooked. But during one lunch break, the YouTube algorithm shoved an indisputable gateway video under my nose: ‘A journey through my Lego Star Wars investment room’.
Investment rooms, I learned, consist of the careful alignment of unopened Lego boxes, reminiscent of a data centre. They are dedicated spaces where enthusiasts safeguard their Lego for years because as the company discontinues sets, the older, rarer ones rise in value. As I watched, my entire being spun with euphoria, and my brain pinged with inspiration. As those who have visited the world wide web know, it would only be a matter of time before I would encounter an irresistible investment opportunity:
‘Lego, a treasure trove appreciating faster than gold.’ I clicked.
‘My Star Wars Lego investment insights for 2023.’ I clicked.
And that was it. My investment journey began.
"What have you bought now?" my partner would inquire as I covertly accepted yet another parcel from the courier.
"Another Lego set," I’d mutter, with a lowered gaze. They looked at me, eyebrows raised. "IT'S AN INVESTMENT!" I would proclaim as it made its way onto my investment shelf.
“It allows me to traverse the light-years between the present and the past, granting passage to that halcyon realm. And if this journey is not regarded as cool by the galaxy at large, well, I am content with that.”
As my investment shelf grew crowded, I began to assess my life choices.
I thought a lot about the wondrous magic of Toy Story bestowing an investment room. I imagined an uproar of horrific screams that would surely escape from the unbuilt bodies, awakening only to realise they’re forever entombed within the darkness of their cardboard confines.
There's an undeniable melancholy at the sight of unopened toys – a sense of joy imprisoned in darkness. But surely, I’m not the only one with this impulse to buy and to carefully store?
‘I’m concerned I have an addiction.’ I clicked.
‘How do I stop buying?’ I clicked.
‘I want a divorce.’ I clicked.
The headlines paint a picture of families broken by drug addiction and gambling issues but they are in fact, people struggling with their expenditure on Lego, or partners sick to death of looking at it. “Our little two-bedroom house is bulging with more than 70 models,” Kirsty weeps in one article.
The idea of adults indulging in Lego still harbours an element of taboo. It’s a shame because it’s a way for me to reconnect with my inner child. When I was a kid, building Lego or watching Star Wars left me in a state of wonder. I wasn't bogged down by bills, concerns about my success, the creeping death of older family members or my own less impending demise. So, it's no surprise that the nostalgic double whammy of Lego AND Star Wars continues to wield its charm. It allows me to traverse the light-years between the present and the past, granting passage to that halcyon realm. And if this journey is not regarded as cool by the galaxy at large, well, I am content with that.
Have I evolved from Lego critic to geeky enthusiast? Or have I grown comfortable enough to embrace the vision that, one day, I shall be the Lego aficionado encountered by a young couple seeking to acquire our dwelling.
The circle is now complete.
This is the first one!
Thank you for reading! Merry Christmas! 🎄