I have a terrible habit. It started when I was 18, and for decades, I haven’t been able to shake it. I am—deep breath—an antiques dealer. It’s an addiction, really. Some people collect stamps, some hoard shoes. Me? I’m surrounded by a lifetime of treasures, most of which I picked up in my twenties.
Take my enamel signs and my old pub advertising jugs. Half-decent collection, I tell myself. They were everywhere back in the day, antiques fairs, car boot sales, auctions. Hunting them down was the thrill. You never knew what you’d find. But now? The fun has been sucked out of it by the relentless efficiency of online platforms. There’s no joy in stumbling upon a rare advertising sign when you can find a thousand of them with a quick search. The hunt is dead, and with it, the passion fades. They are not collectibles anymore, the fun has gone from it.
I’ve also noticed a shift in how people live. Thirty years ago, when I delivered furniture, houses were packed with bric-a-brac, collections, and stories. Now, homes are minimalist showrooms, clean lines, empty spaces, and a distinct lack of soul. My mother still asks, “Did you find anything at the market today you’d like to keep?” The answer is always no. I still love what I do. I love old things, their history, their stories. I just don’t feel the urge to keep anything anymore. Well, almost anything…
My Achilles’ heel? Old electronics. Radios, televisions, hi-fis, kitchen gadgets, even laboratory and technical equipment. I don’t want to hoard them—I just love them. These objects defined their eras. They were integral to people’s lives, shaping the sounds, images, and experiences of their time. And unlike most antiques, this is a growing market. Retro electronics are booming, and for once, I feel like I’m ahead of the curve rather than watching another trend fade away.
At a market in Arundel last week, I stumbled upon an absolute gem. A huge retro Durst D 659 Enhancer. It was upside down, and from a distance, it looked like a motorboat engine. A dense tangle of working parts, an array of functions I couldn’t begin to comprehend, topped off with a glorious chrome column. I was fascinated. Maybe that’s what draws me to these pieces—the mystery. After handling nearly 100,000 items in my career, I’ve become immune to the charm of simple decorative antiques. But put something in front of me that I don’t understand, and suddenly, I’m captivated.
Maybe this is my final frontier. I’ve always been a generalist, never specializing in one particular type of antique. I’ve dealt in everything—furniture, mirrors, china, metalware, you name it. But perhaps, after all these years, I’ve finally found my niche. The word “antiques” has long been replaced by “vintage,” and the trade is always evolving. Victorian mahogany that once sold for a fortune now struggles to find a buyer. Retro is in.
And now, things I saw brand new in my youth are considered vintage. That’s a bit of a wake-up call, I’m 58 now. But with, hopefully, a few decades left in me, maybe it’s time to move from jack of all trades to master of one. If so, it looks like my future lies in the fascinating world of vintage electronics. After all, if I don’t understand it, it must be interesting.
The Rights of Fans. 