Opening Ceremony is pleased to present columnist Alexis Wilkinson's after-hours thoughts. And you know she has thoughts: the terror of The Harvard Lampoon; wearer of "big girl pants"; educator of Darwinian origins for the bad bitch, Alexis—with her candor and wit—is our new girl crush. Here, "Late-Ish With Alexis" muses on possession as love.
I was recently faced with a dilemma regarding a diamond necklace an ex-boyfriend once gave me. I know, I know: a boy gave me diamonds once. Oh, the horror! Woe is me. My life is full of nothing but ceaseless suffering. But the issue wasn’t the gift, which was lovely if not a little intense. (For reference, my gift was a remastered Beatles discography that I had purchased from Best Buy earlier that day.) The issue was, what to do with the accessory now that he’s gone from “boy toy” to “boyfriend” to “ex-boyfriend” to “man I’ve considered getting a restraining order against.”
Should I give the necklace back? And if not, should I sell it?
After talking with friends, I received varying opinions on what was socially appropriate based on how much the necklace cost, what terms we were on personally, how long it had been, if I had offered to return it, and how badly I needed the money. Everyone was in agreement, however, that he could not ask for it back. It was a gift. He had given it to me, so it was mine.
Possession is a complex thing. The word itself dates back to the mid-13th century and has roots to the Latin potis (“able or powerful”) and esse or (“to be”). Possession is power. It’s nine-tenths of the law, as the saying goes. I wonder then, what the other tenth is. Bodily autonomy? Family? Arbitrary nonsense?
But possession is arbitrary as well. It is not a natural occurrence in most basic organisms. A goldfish does not “possess” the plastic castle you’ve put in its tank and it certainly would not expect your new guppy to respect that. Ownership is a social contract. When I give you a gift, I agree that it is yours. When I purchase some clothes or a handbag, the seller agrees that it is mine. I can smash it, forget about it, and otherwise misuse it and it doesn’t matter—because it is mine. Oh, and don’t forget the elementary philosophy of “finders keepers,” a phrase I typically followed with “losers weepers” or more pejoratively... “losers suck.”
Possession is also (supposedly) a part of love. Valentine’s Day is in ten days, and the pink cards reading “be mine” and “forever yours” have filled shop windows since December 26. “To have and to hold,” another common phrase for this time of year, is the definition of a “possess” ancestor, the Latin possidere, and that phrase has a front-row seat in that sacred ritual known as marriage.
But when you think about it, does ownership really have any place in the space between two people? Is it romantic to imagine belonging to someone, or a little frightening? And all of this brings me back to the necklace and the man in question.
So I’ve dec
I was recently faced with a dilemma regarding a diamond necklace an ex-boyfriend once gave me. I know, I know: a boy gave me diamonds once. Oh, the horror! Woe is me. My life is full of nothing but ceaseless suffering. But the issue wasn’t the gift, which was lovely if not a little intense. (For reference, my gift was a remastered Beatles discography that I had purchased from Best Buy earlier that day.) The issue was, what to do with the accessory now that he’s gone from “boy toy” to “boyfriend” to “ex-boyfriend” to “man I’ve considered getting a restraining order against.”
Should I give the necklace back? And if not, should I sell it?
After talking with friends, I received varying opinions on what was socially appropriate based on how much the necklace cost, what terms we were on personally, how long it had been, if I had offered to return it, and how badly I needed the money. Everyone was in agreement, however, that he could not ask for it back. It was a gift. He had given it to me, so it was mine.
Possession is a complex thing. The word itself dates back to the mid-13th century and has roots to the Latin potis (“able or powerful”) and esse or (“to be”). Possession is power. It’s nine-tenths of the law, as the saying goes. I wonder then, what the other tenth is. Bodily autonomy? Family? Arbitrary nonsense?
But possession is arbitrary as well. It is not a natural occurrence in most basic organisms. A goldfish does not “possess” the plastic castle you’ve put in its tank and it certainly would not expect your new guppy to respect that. Ownership is a social contract. When I give you a gift, I agree that it is yours. When I purchase some clothes or a handbag, the seller agrees that it is mine. I can smash it, forget about it, and otherwise misuse it and it doesn’t matter—because it is mine. Oh, and don’t forget the elementary philosophy of “finders keepers,” a phrase I typically followed with “losers weepers” or more pejoratively... “losers suck.”
Possession is also (supposedly) a part of love. Valentine’s Day is in ten days, and the pink cards reading “be mine” and “forever yours” have filled shop windows since December 26. “To have and to hold,” another common phrase for this time of year, is the definition of a “possess” ancestor, the Latin possidere, and that phrase has a front-row seat in that sacred ritual known as marriage.
But when you think about it, does ownership really have any place in the space between two people? Is it romantic to imagine belonging to someone, or a little frightening? And all of this brings me back to the necklace and the man in question.
So I’ve dec