An unintentional button collection

Every year on the 16^th of November, a small, often overlooked hero of the textile world gets its moment in the sun: The Button! Yes, today is National Button Day in the USA – but it’s a day recognised by button collectors around the world. Including me, here in Scotland.

To the uninitiated, button collecting might seem like a niche hobby for those with too much time and very small jars. But for the rest of us – the quiet curators of the “junk drawer” and the “sewing tin” – it is a celebration of a lifetime of accidental curation. Although we don’t always set out to be collectors. Sometimes, a collection finds you, one stray plastic disc at a time.

The anatomy of an unintentional collection

Many collections start with intent. You decide to collect vintage handbags or handkerchiefs or even old reference books. (Guilty on all counts.) But the button collection? That is a slow-motion landslide that starts with the “spare” button stapled to the inside tag of a new cardigan. You tuck it away just in case. Then, a coat loses its anchor, and the button ends up in your pocket. Slowly, you have little stashes of buttons in your jewellery box or in little dishes scattered around your home.

Then you start to find buttons everywhere you look.

There is a specific, quiet thrill in spotting a flash of pearlescent white or matte black against the grit of a sidewalk or the asphalt of a suburban street. A button on the ground is a tiny mystery. How did it get there? Was it ripped off in a hurry? Did someone lose a favourite coat during a brisk autumn walk? To leave it there feels like leaving behind a piece of a story. So, I bend down, pick it up, wipe off the dust, and drop it into my pocket before it finds its way to a button tin (or sometimes, a random jar of “found things”).

And soon, people started giving me piles of buttons they found whilst clearing their own clutter (or when an elderly family member passes away). And things grew from there.

Over decades, my tiny acquisitions transformed from random “clutter” into a vast collection of tiny treasures. Some more useful than others. Some more usable than others. But they all serve a purpose. Or they will, one day.

But something is grounding about a container full of buttons. It is a sensory experience. The sound of running my hand through a tin of buttons is a rhythmic, metallic clink-clack that feels wonderful in my hands and in my ears. And the visual: Oh, how beautiful they are.

Storing them is half the fun. Whether it’s an old Danish butter cookie tin (the universal international symbol for “sewing supplies live here”), a mason jar, or a decorative bowl that would otherwise serve no purpose, these vessels hold more than just fasteners. They hold potential.

The art of the button

Whilst many of my buttons live a quiet life of retirement in a jar, where they may live forever, many of them eventually get a “second job” of some description. Because, for me, button collecting isn’t about hoarding; it’s about the creative rebirth of these small objects.

As you may know, buttons are the multi-tools of the crafting world. They become the centres of felt flowers, fasteners on fun plague masks, or the decorative flair on a handmade greeting card. And many of my buttons are destined for some large pieces of artwork I plan to make once I settle into Castle Ryan a bit more.

But perhaps their most noble artistic calling is the gift of sight.

The soul of the sock monkey

Yes, one of the special touches to my sock monkey creations is the button eyes, mostly made from found buttons. And if you’ve ever sat down to create a sock monkey, you know that the choice of buttons is the most critical step of the entire process. The buttons aren’t just fasteners; they are the windows to the soul.

 A mismatched pair gives the monkey a look of chaotic, whimsical energy. Large black discs create a look of wide-eyed, innocent wonder. Four-hole classics add a touch of vintage, traditional charm. And four-hole classics with a double button, well, that’s just extra special.

Sewing those buttons onto a stuffed heel-turned-face is the moment the object becomes a “someone.” And I often find myself digging through my collection, looking for buttons that “feel” right. It’s a tactile search for personality. (And I always think about the recipient when I’d selecting these button eyes.)

A final thought

My button collection doesn’t focus on rarity or collector value. I’m not interested in searching for specific types of buttons or for buttons from specific eras or places. No, my button collection is a living testament to my magpie ways;  to my reduce-reuse-recycle ways; to my frugal ways; to my crafting and artistic ways.

The next time you’re walking down the street and see a small, round object glinting in the gutter, don’t just pass it by. Pick it up. It might not look like much – just a bit of moulded plastic or stamped metal – but it’s a tiny piece of history or wonder, waiting for a new home.

Whether they are destined to hold up a pair of trousers, decorate a scrapbook, or give life to a sock monkey, buttons are a reminder that the smallest things in life often hold the most meaning.

Happy National Button Day! May your jars be full and your threads be strong.