Confessions of a teeny-weeny devotee

Formally recognised lover of all things pocket-sized

One thing about me—if something is tiny, I simply cannot walk past it. There’s something about small things that pulls me in. It is probably why I’m incapable of getting rid of my extensive collection of Sylvanian Families that currently live in the back of my wardrobe, or why I routinely feel the urge to order a babyccino, despite being a certified coffee addict. It isn’t revolutionary to love little things, most would argue it is a part of our nature as humans to be drawn to puppies and babies. But my wider love for all things small feels almost instinctive, a tug somewhere deep in my brain that commands: this matters.

I know I’m not alone in this (thank goodness). The internet is full of people obsessed with the tiny—watching sped-up videos of tiny food being cooked on tiny stoves, gasping over hamster-sized crochet blankets, and collecting pocket-sized trinkets like they’re sacred artefacts. But why does smallness have such a grip on us?

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Psychologists have a few theories. One is rooted in something called the cute response—a deeply embedded instinct to care for small, delicate things, an evolutionary impulse designed to make sure we don’t abandon our babies. The science of cuteness tells us that large eyes, round faces, and miniature proportions trigger the same neural pathways that light up when we see an actual infant. Though I’m not wholly convinced that when I drag myself away from a tiny tealight, it is my brain shunning a baby.

Another theory is about control. The world is large and chaotic and small things are, by nature, manageable. A dollhouse can be arranged just so, with a collection of tiny books lined up in perfect order and the bed made in one fell swoop. There’s a kind of quiet satisfaction in curating something miniature, a world where everything fits in the palm of your hand. Tiny things demand attention. You have to slow down, look closer, appreciate details. They resist the big, brash, and obvious. In a world that rewards the loudest voice and the grandest gesture, maybe there’s something subversive about finding delight in the minuscule.

I’ll take ten.

I think, for me, nostalgia has a big part to play. Many of us first encountered small things as children—Sylvanian Families, Polly Pockets, model trains, and the satisfaction of a perfect shell tucked into a pocket. We harboured these treasures during a simpler time when 50p felt like £50 and 30 minutes felt like an entire afternoon. After weeks of saving our pocket money pennies ahead of a family holiday, we would indubitably purchase a little trinket (most likely a keyring for an imaginary set of keys) from the local gift shop and be satisfied for weeks. Holding something tiny can feel like holding a moment in time, a return to the version of ourselves who could find satisfaction in the littlest of things.

Maybe that’s why tiny things can feel oddly emotional. They make the world feel smaller, in the best way—more contained, more precious. They remind us of childhood wonder, of patience, of paying attention. A little object can hold an outsized meaning.

Whatever the reason, I know this: I will always marvel at a perfect miniature…and I will never stop being compelled to spend 10x the amount on a miniature book than its full-sized counterpart. Oh, and I will likely never find the strength to throw away my Sylvanian Families (sorry Mama and Papa).