When M and I were just dating, we ended up one night at Rudy’s, that dive bar on 10th Avenue in Manhattan, somewhere in the 30s or 40s, where you get a free hot dog with every drink. I still have no idea why that’s their thing, but it’s a thing.
Anyway, we were walking in, and right by the door there’s this big pig statue. Like, a life-size pig, standing upright, greeting everyone as they stumble inside. I don’t remember if I was the one who wanted to take a picture with it or if M said, “Hey, you should totally take a picture with that weird pig,” but either way, I did.
Side note: while we were trying to get this very important photo, some very drunk woman tried to insert herself into the moment. She might have been hitting on me, which was equal parts awkward and hilarious, because M and I both just stood there like, “Ma’am, no.” We brushed her off, got the photo, went inside, had a drink (and a hot dog, probably), and that was that. A fun night, a random photo, end of story. Or so I thought.
Fast forward less than a year later, we’re in Amsterdam. I take another photo, this time with a giant anthropomorphic French fry container. (If you’ve been there, you know exactly what I’m talking about.) And somehow, without meaning to, it became a thing.
Over the years, it’s turned into this quiet little tradition: whenever I come across an inanimate character, statue, mascot, random object with a face. I have to take a picture with it. Doesn’t matter where I am. A cruise ship, a street corner, a theme park, an airport gift shop. If it’s there, I’m probably posing with it.
I’ve got photos with everything from a teddy bear sitting on a bench in New Mexico to Winston Churchill and Sherlock Holmes statues in London. There’s one with a giant Hello Kitty in Bangkok. The list goes on. At this point, I probably have a hundred or more of these photos—enough to make a coffee table book no one asked for.
I’ve started calling them my imaginary friends. I know, they’re not actually imaginary (or alive), but “inanimate friends” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Now that the kids are older, they sometimes join in, or they play photographer while I strike my now-traditional pose. Sometimes I’ll get a picture with them, then immediately request a solo shot because, well, tradition.
I didn’t plan this. I didn’t set out to start a collection. But here we are, fifteen years later, and it’s one of those odd little through-lines in my life that I can’t help but keep going.
I might even try to count how many I’ve got, challenge accepted.
So yes, this is a thing. A ridiculous, wonderful, slightly embarrassing thing that makes me smile every time. And now, you know about it too.
