The practical, impractical impulse to stockpile a ‘good bag’

Some people collect comic books or vinyl records. I cultivate a few collections myself.

I’ve got my one big plastic bag, which holds a tangle of smaller plastic bags. There’s the pile of paper grocery bags behind my kitchen sink. Similar but entirely distinct is the nearby stack of “good” paper bags – the ones from nicer retailers, the ones with a cool image on them or an enticing texture or high-quality ribbon handles. A skilled bag collector can instantly sort which bags are destined to hold a dirty diaper or a wet bathing suit, which ones were built to be recycling receptacles, and which ones are worthy of transporting something special, like a dish to a potluck or a gift to a friend.

I’m hardly the only one to have a collection of bags – and subcollections within that collection. Many of us have a mental hierarchy of the bags and boxes we encounter, determining which we keep and which are destined for the trash heap. It takes a discerning eye to pluck these bags from obscurity and then, uh, stash them all over the house. The ones that make the cut tend to fulfill a number of desires: Most of all, they’re helpful for some future task, plus it feels good to reuse something. And, of course, some bags and boxes – by virtue of their design or craftsmanship – are simply worthy of our admiration.

“Let’s remember – they’re kind of a technological marvel,” says Susan Freinkel, who wrote “Plastic: A Toxic Love Story,” to describe single-use plastic bags. “They are incredibly lightweight. They’re waterproof. They can hold something a thousand times their weight.”

Sho Shibuya, an artist in New York City, began noticing said plastic bags when he moved from Tokyo in 2011. He was struck by their durable texture and even more so by the varied “Thank You” branding emblazoned on each. “It’s very attractive, somehow,” he says of the bags. “It is kind of creating a design culture.”

He began amassing a 200-strong collection of these bags, publishing a coffee-table book in 2019 with gorgeous photographs of the bags called “Plastic Paper.” Ultimately Shibuya wants the environmentally damaging bags eradicated (proceeds from the book went to an ocean protection nonprofit), but he still has his collection. He describes them as folded up, Marie Kondo-style, inside a larger plastic bag.

Paper bags and boxes, too, communicate their own visual language. Shannon Mattern, a professor of media studies and the history of art at the University of Pennsylvania, began studying cardboard boxes when she learned that the Container Corporation of America, which made corrugated boxes in the 20th century, “attracted a staff of some of the most prominent and progressive graphic designers and architects and other designers writ large of through the postwar period,” she says. “They communicate a lot about geography, logistics, our values, taste, aesthetics, our belonging to a particular community.” And of course, they perform the very task they were designed to: holding stuff.

Luxury items, perhaps most notably Apple products, come in boxes engineered to ensure the feeling of opening them has an element of “elegance and performativity,” that it provides “an experience at every stage of the unboxing,” she says. People often save these boxes out of sheer appreciation, or in case they need to eventually transport or sell their expensive device.

A supposed single-use shopping bag can similarly find itself toted out time and again. And these, even more so than boxes, have a chance of others spotting them. “If the bag is from an expensive store, maybe it indicates that you have a nice income,” says Sally Augustin, a principal at Design with Science, which makes recommendations to designers based on neuroscience research. Or, it might send a message about your interests, like a bag from a craft store that “signals that you know and care about really cool crafts.” And just like luxury boxes, fancy bags often do have more finesse in their design.

Professional organizers see collections of bags and boxes all the time. Blake Jones, professional organizer at the Organizing Boss, says it’s common to find 50 to 100 plastic bags in the cabinet under a client’s sink, or a pile of paper grocery bags near the recycling. He also frequently has clients who save gift bags and tissue paper, or stockpile cardboard boxes before a move.

But collectors of good bags and boxes must be honest with themselves. We live in a world filled with disposable items that we cannot bear to dispose of, and our collections can tip over into clutter. If your big plastic bag can no longer contain all of your little plastic bags, or you find that your pile of luxe shopping bags has grown unwieldy, perhaps it’s time to reconsider your cache.

“I think it’s perfectly fine if you want to keep stuff … if you both have the space and if you’re also planning to use it,” says Jones. But if you never end up putting those bags back into service, or if seeing them stresses you out, it’s best to get rid of them, he advises. (He recommends taking your single-use plastic bags to a grocery store, which often collects them. You might also consider trying to avoid them altogether in favor of reusable totes.)

“I think the instinct for the most part is conservation, not wasting, reusing,” says Jaime Hecht, a D.C.-area professional organizer who founded Aunt Jaime Organizes. People hold onto them with the notion that “this will have a purpose.”

When Hecht is trying to get clients “to build the muscle” of getting rid of stuff, she often starts with disposable bags and boxes. “Never has anyone texted me and been like, ‘Oh, Jaime, you made me get rid of those bags. I haven’t stopped thinking about it,’ ” she says. “Once it’s out of the house it’s like, poof, out of your mind. You do not regret it one second.”