Physical media continues to captivate us, even as digital formats dominate. While history is often viewed through the lens of books, events, and art, it encompasses far more. Our shared narrative has been documented for thousands of years, sometimes intentionally, and other times not. Yet, educational systems frequently overlook the complexity of our past and future, reducing profound stories into mere summaries. True understanding requires a lifetime of exploration, focusing on narratives that resonate beyond traditional historical accounts.

My weekends are usually serene, often spent wandering into either a LEGO store or my local Tower Records. These two places, rich in creativity—one filled with colorful plastic bricks and the other with vinyl records—are havens where I can lose myself for hours. Recently, I left Tower Records in Dublin with new albums from Norah Jones and She & Him, pondering a question I had never fully considered: Why do I collect physical media in this digital era? What drives this pursuit?

As a software engineer in my late 30s, I enjoy streaming services like Apple TV+ and Apple Music, yet my home is overflowing with physical collections of CDs, vinyl records, Blu-rays, and DVDs. This raises a question: Is there something wrong with me? Am I simply compelled to own things? My extensive collection of Helene Fischer albums in various formats suggests a deeper connection, as one format shouldn't suffice for a fan. In this article, I aim to explore my attachment to physical media, seeking to affirm my sanity in this age of digital convenience.

Despite the seemingly trivial nature of my obsession, there appears to be no remedy for my craving for physical media. It’s a fundamental need that transcends mere desire.

When it comes to media consumption, I have constructed my own hierarchy. My relationship with physical media is complex, particularly because my childhood was marred by my parents' involvement in a religious cult, leading to the disposal of cherished cassette tapes and records. The memory of watching my beloved Heidi tape and fairy tale vinyls tossed away is one I carry with me. It wasn't until I salvaged a gutted radio and heard "Yellow Lemon Tree" by Fools Garden that I realized music was essential to my existence.

Born during the tail end of the cassette era, I quickly adapted to CDs, DVDs, and eventually streaming. Although vinyl seemed a relic of the past, the resurgence of records sparked my interest, complementing my growing collection of CDs and DVDs. The evolution of my music consumption reflects a clear preference: the more analog and tangible the format, the more valuable it is to me.

In my personal format hierarchy, vinyl reigns supreme, followed by Blu-rays, audio CDs, and DVDs. Digital backups and streaming come last, with the former offering a level of permanence that streaming lacks. As a result, I find myself with multiple formats of favorite artists like Helene Fischer and others. Music, particularly, has been a lifeline through challenging times, serving as a testament to my survival and connection to art.

Another compelling reason for my dedication to physical media lies in its durability. Streaming services, once hailed as the ultimate solution, have proven to be unreliable, with content disappearing due to licensing issues or corporate decisions. The ephemeral nature of streaming means that songs tied to significant moments may vanish without warning.

Conversely, physical formats, especially vinyl, have shown resilience. Music stores today display an impressive array of records, while charity shops abound with affordable playback devices. Classic technology is readily available, ensuring that I can continue to enjoy my collection for years to come. Vinyl records, if properly cared for, can last for centuries—an incredible feat for a medium that relies solely on analog technology.

The notion of ownership with physical media differs fundamentally from digital purchases. With physical copies, I have the right to enjoy my media as long as I or the medium exists. In contrast, buying from platforms like iTunes often means entering a precarious rental agreement bound by device compatibility and regional licenses.

Collecting physical media is an investment, not just in monetary terms but in the potential for lifelong enjoyment. Despite initial costs, these formats rarely lose value and can even provide financial security during tough times. My vinyl collection, only a few years old, is already worth more than I originally paid.

Ultimately, my collection represents more than just music and movies; it encapsulates my life story. Anyone who engages with my collection will glean insights into my identity, my interests, and the cultural context of my generation—the millennials—who navigate the space between analog nostalgia and digital convenience.

As I reflect on my journey, I realize that my story is far from complete. There’s much more to explore, and perhaps all I need is a little more space to accommodate my passions.

Attila Vago — Software Engineer improving the world one line of code at a time. Cool nerd since forever, writer of codes and blogs. Web accessibility advocate, LEGO fan, vinyl record collector. Loves craft beer! Read my Hello story here! Subscribe and/or become a member for more stories about LEGO, tech, coding, and accessibility! For my less regular readers, I also write about random bits and writing.