In front of me as I type, I am surrounded by a potted history of my travels in objects; they tell a story and give my home a soul.
A green candle-stick holder from Marrakech that I bought on my babymoon. Two Bauhaus-inspired 70s lamps found in a Sicilian junk shop during the pandemic when I was living there. A curved vase made from calabash picked up in a market in Uganda. A raggedy comic book detailing the Cuban revolution from Havana while on an unforgettable girls’ trip with my best friends. An embroidered blue-and-white cushion cover bought in an airless store in Athens with my now husband. A piece of found art from our New Orleans honeymoon. Upstairs on the bed, there is an embroidered Italian eiderdown that my generous friend gifted me from her beautiful home in Abruzzo.
There is zero synergy between any of these objects, and I do worry that I am hurtling into hoarder space. But each piece is a reminder of adventures taken at different points in my life. I’m hardly the first person to start buying souvenirs on holiday, but what’s changed is our perception of them. Souvenir shopping has undergone a rebrand. The stylish homes that appear on our Instagram feeds tend to feature carefully chosen objets collected from around the world; a ceramic plate found in Italy or a basket picked up in Ibiza, for example.
Hotel merch is booming – walk around any branch of Soho House and you’ll find someone wearing a Sporty and Rich Hotel du Cap baseball cap, or a tote bag emblazoned with the Il Pellicano’s chic logo. Emporio Sirenuse – the resortwear label launched by the Positano-based perennially stylish hotel Le Sirenuse in 2013 – is now sold in 80 stores worldwide. The hotel store itself has two outposts in Positano with a third opening planned at an undisclosed location later this year. Finding the right keepsake from our travels has become a big business.
Le Sirenuse’s collaboration with Tombolo
“We have built an international brand based on our gift shop,” says Francesco Sersale, who manages Emporio Sirenuse. “The quality of souvenirs have changed, and so has the way we shop for them. At Emporio, we are selling a lifestyle that you can taste and feel. It’s, in a sense, non-commercial items that represent a memory and experience and that’s a very compelling mix. There is a higher demand for travel than ever before, and the brand identity of hotels has intensified. Depending on the exclusivity of the hotel, they have become clubs in themselves and merch is part of that.”
Andria Mitsakos’ chic Athens store Anthologist is filled with artisanal treasures that she sources from around the world. “Souvenirs are modern-day relics,” she says, her own home filled with conversation-starting artworks and objets from different eras of her life. “We seek them out because they tether us to an experience, a moment, or a feeling that we don’t want to lose. When I was little and we travelled, my mother would always ask the concierge, a taxi driver, or a shopkeeper, ‘What can I buy here that I can’t find anywhere else in the world?’ That curiosity stuck with me. It taught me that the best souvenirs hold cultural weight and personal memory – they remind you not just where you were, but who you were when you found them.”
Inside Andria Mitsakos’ Anthologist store in Athens, Greece
Fashion psychologist, Jennifer Heinen calls this ‘psychological time-stamping’. “Buying a keepsake is a way of crystallizing an emotional state, for example ‘I was joyful here’ or ‘I was free here’. ‘I was bold enough to be this version of myself here,’” she explains. “The keepsake becomes a portable version of the self we access on holiday – the freer, more curious, more expansive version of us. Psychologically, it’s a form of self-continuity, so keeping the thread of who we are across time, and also identity expansion. It’s less about the object and more about what the object reminds us of what we’re capable of feeling.”
Of course, part of the appeal of finding the perfect holiday memento is a form of status signalling, indicating that you’ve been to a certain destination (even if you haven’t), but it isn’t the only factor driving the souvenir rebrand. In a consumerist world where we are bombarded with information about what to buy, there is power in finding something meaningful that speaks to our identity and unique experiences. Style and travel content creator Kelly Eastwood is obsessed by souks because they allow her to find one-of-a-kind pieces that sit outside mass shopping destinations.
An unusual souvenir found somewhere far-flung enables us to create an aesthetic, either for our homes or style, that goes beyond the homogenised images we see on Instagram. “In an era of algorithm-driven style and copy-and-paste interiors, there’s a particular kind of satisfaction in uncovering something truly unique – hidden treasures tucked within the swirl of a Moroccan souk or the sprawl of a Maasai market,” she says. “These aren’t just souvenirs, but handcrafted pieces rich with character and story, that can’t be found on the high street or in any curated online basket. The beauty lies in the reimagining: beaded sandals, bold kaftans, hammered silver rings and delicate antique lace seamlessly woven into your own style, and the heavy, hand-dyed rugs and Tamegroute pottery layered into your home.”
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“In an overstimulated, hyper-digital world, buying something physical, local, and meaningful feels like rebellion – a way to prove to ourselves that we were there, that we lived it,” says Heinen. “It’s not only about showing off – it’s about preserving meaning, building identity, and sometimes trying to make a fleeting moment permanent.”
The criteria has changed in what makes a perfect souvenir now. While a kitsch fridge magnet might still have a nostalgic appeal, mass-produced items have less allure. As a number of countries voice concerns about tourism, there is also an impact of what we buy when on our travels. A 2022 report by the Australian Government’s Productivity Commission reported that up to 75 per cent of souvenirs marketed as ‘Indigenous’ in Australia were counterfeit, with boomerangs and didgeridoos traced to Indonesia; and more than 70 per cent of Thailand’s popular elephant pants are made overseas. As consumers become increasingly aware and worried about the planet, the type of souvenir we return with has shifted. London-based style coach Therese Bassler used to collect fridge magnets and snow globes from her travels, but stopped when she became aware of the environmental impact and limited life span.
“I decided to only bring back useful and locally made, non-plastic items ideally made with natural materials,” she says. “Sustainable souvenirs can be so many different things to me. It can be an old trinket box or vase found at a flea market, or locally produced chocolate or olive oil. It has to serve a purpose and not be a gimmick. In Puglia, we visited the ceramic village Grottaglie and bought beautiful bowls and plates directly from the artist, and in the Sicilian town of Savoca, we were given a lemon the size of my head which I brought home. Admittedly, it only lasted a few days post-holiday – but it really was delicious.”
A basket weaving shop in Catania, Sicily
Ceramics for sale in Yerevan, Armenia, photographed by Hasmik Ghazaryan Olson
The move towards more considered souvenirs reflects a wider consumer desire for well-made purchases that will last. “There’s a growing appreciation for provenance, craft, and objects that carry the soul of a place,” says Mitsakos. “People are craving connection, and the right souvenir isn’t just a reminder of where you’ve been – it’s a portal. We’re in a moment where storytelling and authenticity matter more than ever. A meaningful object, especially one made by local hands, has become the chicest memento of all.”
Lead image courtesy of Emporio Sirenuse
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