What Old China Taught Me About Collecting

March 17th has always felt like a special day to me. Yes, I’m Irish, so there’s that. But it also happens to be my sweet dog Ginger’s birthday—she’ll be six this year. A perfectly good reason to celebrate something small and joyful.

Which feels fitting, because this week I’ve been thinking about collections.

For me, the thing I’ve always been drawn to—almost without trying—is china. Not one pattern. Not one maker. Not a carefully matched set. I love all of it. Transferware, florals, delicate gold rims, the occasional strange little pattern that somehow still feels charming. There is something about old china that feels deeply human. It was once chosen carefully, registered for when someone got married, placed on a table for holidays and Sunday dinners.

When I owned my home furnishings consignment shop, women would come in carrying boxes of the china they had registered for decades earlier. Their daughters didn’t want it. Their sons certainly didn’t want it. And the truth was, most buyers didn’t want it either. Formal china doesn’t fit neatly into modern life. Most pieces can’t go in the dishwasher, and few of us are setting twelve-piece place settings for dinner anymore. But I could never see those pieces as obsolete.

To me, they were beautiful objects waiting for a new purpose.

These days I love wandering estate sales and antique shops, picking up one-offs here and there. Not full sets. Just pieces that catch my eye. In fact, just last week a lovely client gave me two beautiful soup tureens that had been left behind in a property she was renovating. I absolutely love them.

A soup tureen might have once been the centerpiece of a formal dining table. But today? It might hold rolled hand towels in a powder room. It might become a bowl for soaps by the sink. I can picture one with English ivy spilling over the sides on a windowsill, or filled with forced bulbs in early spring.

China adapts beautifully if you let it.

A single teacup can become a tiny nightlight. Three stacked and glued together can become a charming candle holder. A sugar bowl might hold jewelry on a dresser. The possibilities are endless—and if you’ve ever wandered down the rabbit hole of Pinterest looking for ideas, you know exactly what I mean.

But collections require a little wisdom too.

As Gen X’ers, many of us grew up watching our parents and grandparents collect… well… everything. Entire cabinets filled with Hummels. Shelves of commemorative mugs. Rows of porcelain dolls with curly hair and crinoline dresses. Disney memorabilia that multiplied quietly over decades.

Sometimes those collections became less about joy and more about sheer volume.

And eventually someone else inherits it all.

I’ve come to believe that a good collection is a restrained one.

A collection should be just enough to make you smile when you see it. Enough pieces to feel personal and interesting. Enough to bring texture and story into your home.

But never so much that you’re suffocated by it.

The moment you find yourself building extra storage for the things you own, it may be time to pause and ask a few honest questions. Collections should be curated, loved, and displayed—not boxed away or multiplying quietly in closets.

A thoughtful collection adds character to a home.

An unchecked one becomes clutter.

So I’ll keep collecting china. A teacup here. A bowl there. A soup tureen rescued from a renovation. Little pieces with a past that can still have a place in a home today.

Just enough to bring joy.

And not a piece more.