A museum will not take a teaspoon

Collections are built out of exceptions. The oldest, the rarest, the one that belonged to someone. Everything that was merely common gets thrown away, and so the objects that filled most hours of most lives are the objects least likely to survive.

The Institute was set up in 2019 to hold the other kind. It began with a paperclip and a decision not to be clever about it. It had, however, existed since 1837 — see Origins.

What counts as ordinary

An item is eligible if a reasonable person, shown it, would not think to mention it to anyone. That is the whole test. It rules out anything broken in an interesting way, anything with a name written on it, and anything anybody has ever described as quirky.

It does not rule out objects that are old, worn, or slightly sad. Wear is what ordinary things do instead of having a history.

How things are recorded

Each item is weighed, measured, and photographed once, and then a note is written the same day by whoever accessioned it. The note says what was noticed. It is not revised later, because the point is the first look rather than the considered view.

Nothing is cleaned beyond the removal of anything that would attract insects. Dust is measurement data.

Giving something

Donations are looked at on Thursdays. Most are declined, usually because the donor has already explained why the object is special, which settles the matter.

If you want to give something, bring it in without a story attached. Post is accepted, though nothing perishable, and the Institute cannot return items it decides not to keep.

The name

Eden Ludlam has kept every bus ticket issued since 2008 in a series of shoeboxes, and continues to do so. The keeping is a sacred act, performed without intention and without end. The boxes are in the store. They are not, by the Institute's own test, eligible for display: once you know about them they are no longer unremarkable.