Has collecting anik-anik to heal our inner child lost its meaning?

Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations by our Gen Z columnist Angel Martinez.

Tucked under my bed is an old shoebox, filled to the brim with tokens and trinkets that the cover no longer fits right. Most of its contents have now been rendered useless. There’s the museum brochure for an exhibit that ended five years ago, the sticker from a cafe I frequented in college losing its sheen and stickiness, the three-part palanca letter from a stranger who was once my grade school best friend, all swimming in a sea of seemingly meaningless souvenirs. But together, they make up the parts of my life worth remembering. 

I used to think that my adamant refusal to dispose of them could be chalked up to my Cancerian sentimentality. But this is simply anik-anik culture at work. Long before the term made rounds on social media, it has been an integral part of our collective cultural identity. “We Filipinos deal with this gripping feeling of ‘sayang’ as we deal with having to discard objects,” anthropology professor Szusza Velasco tells PhilSTAR L!fe. “Think about our plastic or paper shopping bag collections or the food containers we reuse.”

Practicality aside, Velasco points out that we have “a penchant for sentimentality.” Various items are not just meant to decorate and color our spaces but provide documentation of a life well lived. “Part of it is also fandom-driven, which has existed for a long time but has now become globalized, mainstream, and therefore ‘acceptable.’” Over the years, these have expanded to include what are called “blind box toys”: newfangled bunnies, butt naked babies, and beasts that are only unveiled to the buyer once opened. The dopamine rush linked to the experience has been likened to winning at a casino slot machine, which just proves the effectiveness of uncertainty marketing tactics as a consumer engagement strategy.

Presumably geared towards younger audiences, these toys have found an unexpected home in working professionals seeking to heal their inner child. I’m sure we’ve all seen—and even related to—a social media user’s viral video, where he dropped by a toy store and got himself a bunch of Harry Potter paraphernalia. While some Internet users were quick to criticize how he rewarded himself, it’s actually a psychologically sound method.

“We all process our past experiences in different ways. For some people, buying what they were deprived of as kids now that they have the means to do so is considered healing. For others, it might just be getting to try something that you never had the opportunity to,” psychologist Riyan Portuguez explains to L!fe.

“These are physical manifestations of how an individual has progressed in life. For us Filipinos, it’s important that we share how we achieved our dreams and celebrate the realization of these dreams with others,” former marketing professor and now marketing consultant JB Bolaños adds.

But like any trend that reaches critical mass, the richness of anik-anik culture has been distorted and distilled into an online microidentity. “What we collect serves as an extension of ourselves. Not only do they satisfy what we deem as our ‘ideal selves,’ but they also communicate to the world how we want to be seen,” Portuguez says. That’s why social media feeds are saturated with self-proclaimed “anik-anik girls,” who show off their extensive collections in pristine plexiglass cases and stage photoshoots to be enjoyed by their sizable following. Each sticker, figurine, and keychain adorning a certain space is meant to symbolize their cultural cachet and prove the owner has all the resources needed to sustain an ever-growing collection.

Unfortunately, this means that a practice that once had little to no barriers to entry is now being infiltrated by the ones who are just going with the trend. Such cycles in and out of the public eye, with people holding “quitting sales” for their Sonny Angels or Sylvanian Bunnies to make way for the newest Pop Mart collectibles.

Prices have soared to keep up with the unprecedented demand, with Labubus seeing a 300% increase in resale fees after BLACKPINK’s Lisa posted them on her Instagram story. Celebrities like Marian Rivera are now seen posing with their new fuzzy friends or clipping them to their designer apparel. Fans and fellow collectors have justified their right to spend their hard-earned money however they please, but some say these displays are done in poor taste.