Peeling back my sticker obsession

An essay about stickering as self expression.

I’m a sticker person. I’m not sure what this means, and where I fit in to this undefined space, or even why I have a propensity to place stickers on everyday objects.

I’ve been tempted to justify this penchant to non-sticker people. I’ve pointed out that I have limits. Rules. I’m not like that person, the one who drives a Subaru whatever with bumper stickers covering the entire backside. 

Or, I’m not like that person, the one who’s circa 2008 Macbook Pro is covered in obscure coffee roaster stickers. 

But the truth is I am that person. It’s just that my sticker personhood manifests differently because of which objects I choose to sticker, and which stickers I prefer to display. For a while, I didn’t know where to stick my stickers. Skateboard? Nah, they’ll just scrape off. Also, I’m not really a skater. Snowboard? Nah, you only see them on the way to the slopes — and then you don’t see them for the rest of the year because it’s warm outside. I love the pow pow, but I’m not really a snowboarder. Car’s dashboard? Nah, that’s just dumb. Bumper? Nah, overdone.

Today, I’ve decided to peel back this part of me, so that other sticker people can find solace in knowing they are not alone. But first, let us answer the question every non-sticker person asks: why?

It’s a big question, really. And I understand why it must be asked. To the non-sticker person, the sticker is juvenile; even, perhaps foolish.

“If you put a Ferrari sticker on a toaster, it doesn't go any faster.” 

Yeah, but it would be kinda funny.

Sergio Marchionne, the revered Fiat Chrysler CEO who died at 66 in 2018 made that comment. He wasn’t necessarily attacking stickers or sticker people. Instead, he was insisting the newly branded and standalone Ferrari company would produce race cars, not toaster-like cars — ahem, Chrysler PT Cruisers — with the Ferrari logo slapped on the grills.

It’s a fair point, I guess. But again — a Ferrari sticker on a toaster would be pretty funny. (At least until the sticker melted down the sides — then it would be hilarious.) 

And so my point, or at least part of my point, is to say that stickers turn ordinary items into something of their own — whether the aim is to be funny, crude, political, helpful or artistic. 

The sticker is a memento. The sticker is an inside joke. The sticker is code.

The sticker creates oneness. Yet, the sticker encourages individuality. 

To the unknowing sticker outsider, it is an inconvenient piece of vinyl stickiness intruding on the original. A wart. Blight.

To the sticker person, however, the sticker is a statement. An oeuvre. A hat tip to a dubious subcultural idea or movement. The sticker, or stickers, become part of whatever is being stickered until the stickered thing transforms into a wonderful relic in and of itself.

So, again: why? 

Bottom line, stickers are a medium for self expression.

Got it? OK. Next question: where do you stick them? 

For years, this proved to be my conundrum that blocked me from embracing this curious part of me. I’ve always known I’m a sticker person. But I’ve only recently found an answer to this question. 

The question of where to stick a sticker is an important piece of the puzzle. This decision sends a message as powerful as the sticker itself, because the where typically supplements identity. As a cyclist, I wanted my stickers to align with that part of my identity. And so, naturally, I stickered bike frames. Helmets. Bidons. Bike stands. As a writer, I also wanted my stickering to align with that part of me. So I stickered notebooks. A laptop. A file cabinet. Books. A coffee travel mug.

I also value exercise and health. So I stickered water bottles. I like music. So I stickered iPods. (Remember those?) CD players. Stereos.

Anyway, you get the idea. This practice became inconsistent. And sometimes the stickers would peel off their misshapen surfaces. It’s also a shallow way of thinking about stickering. Being a sticker person is so much more than displaying your allegiance to a material thing. 

Being a sticker person is about displaying your allegiance to a lifestyle. For me, I decided my stickering-hood would align itself to the lifestyle of exploration through cycling. 

This discovery was enlightening for me. No longer was I constrained to stickering cycling-related stickers on cycling-related things. No longer was I constrained to stickering literary-related stickers on literary-related things. And so on. It was also freeing. No longer did I need categories for my stickers, because most of my stickers are somehow related to exploring and cycling — and sometimes they mix.

That red Moosejaw sticker? The company included it in an order for cycling socks.

The Wigle Whiskey sticker? The Pittsburgh-based distillery reminds me of the city where I found my first mountain bike.

The TC sticker is from Traverse City, where we recently vacationed — with our bikes in tow.

As a person with a bend for artistry, I wanted a permanent setting.

During this search, my stickers went unstickered — mostly. Some went tucked away in random drawers and boxes until I found an ideal canvas. Some ended up on my giant Hydro Flask.

When my wife and family moved back to Ohio in 2021, the new house came with a detached garage. It has become a place for storing my bikes, and a place to work on them. I built my own work bench and have been slowly working to organize my tools, parts and cycling gear.

All shops, in my mind, should have a fridge for beverages. I happened to have one, and it has its proper place underneath my work bench — easily accessible during work projects.

So my stickering canvas is this small fridge’s door. Every time I approach this necessary enclosure to imbibe while tooling or tinkering, I’m reminded of the exploration-on-a-bike lifestyle I choose to live and enjoy. (If I have extra stickers, the Hydro Flask becomes an overflow canvas.)

I am not naive to the fact that this mini-fridge door is temporary. There will be a day when the door will be covered in stickers and will need to retire as a piece of stickering art. At that point, I will search for another — whether that be another door or fridge. 

So … happy stickering, friends.

Cycotherapy’s workbench and sticker canvas, circa November 2022.

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Where do you stick stickers, fellow cycopaths? And if you’re not a sticker person, do you still think I’m crazy? Let us know in the comments!