I’ve always been convinced that other people don’t really exist, at least not until I can see them existing. It’s hard for me to grasp the fact that there are billions of people in the world, not to mention hundreds of billions that came before us. So I guess you could say that exploring the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen was an unsettling and overwhelming experience.
Walking past an endless row of tarpaulin tents, I was met with remnants of what once was. Boxes filled with lenses and antique cameras, brooches and jewels, undeveloped rolls of film, stamped cards, grainy photographs. I found these booths and their vendor’s more compelling than the luxury boutiques with glamorous articles of clothing, chandeliers and ornate furniture. I just couldn’t quite figure out why.
I continued to explore the maze of booths and eventually stumbled upon a tray of seemingly worthless trinkets: paper clips, pins, chains, buttons. As I shuffled through the items, I came across a silver pendant with a photo of a woman printed on it, the date 1917 engraved on the side. Although the photo had faded with age, I could make out the young woman. She had thick dark hair pinned up in a bun, a gown with puffy sleeves, and a pearl necklace around her neck.
Who was this woman? What was her name? How was it that her pendant ended up here and now in my hands? Would she ever know that in a hundred years, this pendant would bring her memory back to life?
Unlike a vintage leather Prada purse or Valentino gown, the objects I was fascinated by don’t have much economic worth. But what they lacked in monetary value they made up for in sentiment. Something as trivial as a paper clip or a ribbon has a history we’ll never know, an owner we’ll never meet. These objects symbolize someone who once was and can now only be remembered through them.
Our possessions are our identities, and one day our entire life will be condemned to items in a box. Perusing through a crowded Parisian flea market, I couldn’t help but think about how for every article of clothing, antique, trinket and photo, a glimpse into someone’s secrets is being offered. And all we can do is piece these items together and create our own idea of what they meant to their previous owner.
One day, our existence will only be remembered through a rusty locket or a wallet-sized photograph scattered alongside keychains and bottle openers in a tray of a foreign man’s booth.