Souvenirs meaningful carriers of history from museums to the home

One of this summer's hottest-selling items was, unexpectedly, a fridge magnet. Inspired by the gold hairpin of Li Jingxun, a girl from the noble families who died at 9 during the Sui Dynasty (581-618), the moth-shaped Nao'e Jinchai magnet sold out almost immediately after it went on sale at the National Museum of China. Resellers quickly drove up the price online, visitors waited in line for hours, and social media buzzed with excitement over the latest cultural obsession.

The frenzy wasn't about buying a mere souvenir; it was about gaining access to a story. Li Jingxun, who lived for only nine years, is remembered through archeological findings that depict a child surrounded by immense affection. Modern netizens have even dubbed her "the most pampered child in history". The NMC exhibition features more than 390 artifacts excavated from her tomb, with the Nao'e gold hairpin standing out as the most exquisite. Historically worn by women during the Lantern Festival, its motif symbolizes protection against evil and the welcoming of spring.

In the glass case in the museum, the hairpin is a beautiful artifact. Transformed into a fridge magnet that people can touch, wear and take home, it becomes evidence that history is not as distant as it seems.

For a long time, museums invited visitors to admire the past. But they are now asking them to participate in it. That shift reflects broader changes in modern society as well as in museum strategies.

A decade ago, museum gift shops were largely afterthoughts where visitors bought a catalog, a few postcards or perhaps a bookmark. Today, they are destinations in their own right. People go there to compare new product releases, discuss limited editions and line up before museum doors open. Sometimes the line outside the gift shop is longer than the one for the exhibitions themselves.

It is easy to dismiss this as consumer culture commodifying everything. But the remarkable success of museum-inspired products suggests that people are seeking something that consumer culture rarely provides: continuity.

Modern life encourages us to move constantly from one trend to another. News disappears within hours, algorithms reward novelty, and digital experiences are designed to be consumed and forgotten. Against this backdrop, objects carrying the weight of centuries hold a unique emotional force.

A fridge magnet cannot transport anyone to the Sui Dynasty, but it can make history part of an ordinary Tuesday morning.

The popularity of such objects also reflects a shift in how people relate to cultural heritage. Previous generations often encountered history through textbooks or official narratives, and museums themselves maintained a dignified distance. Artifacts were preserved behind glass, accompanied by labels explaining their age, origin and historical significance. Visitors were expected to observe, not engage.

Today's audiences desire something more intimate. Owning a carefully designed object inspired by an archaeological relic does not replace historical knowledge, but it allows for a personal connection with the past — one built on everyday familiarity rather than academic expertise.

That may explain why the most successful museum products rarely depend on luxury materials or complicated technology. Their appeal lies in making civilization feel tangible.

This trend is not uniquely Chinese. Museums worldwide are trying to become less intimidating and more accessible through sleepovers, concerts and interactive exhibitions. They constantly search for ways to tell visitors that history belongs to everyone, not just specialists.

China's booming museum economy is part of this broader story, but it also reflects something distinctively Chinese. Cultural symbols once reserved for emperors and aristocrats are now available to all. Imperial ornaments, ceremonial motifs and architectural decorations that once signified hierarchy have entered everyday life, shedding their political exclusivity while retaining their artistic and cultural significance.

This democratization deserves recognition, but it also raises difficult questions. When every successful exhibition is expected to produce the next viral souvenir, commercial logic can start shaping cultural expression. Historical artifacts risk becoming visual symbols detached from the experiences that gave them meaning. A design can circulate widely while the history behind it quietly disappears.

The debate surrounding the Shanghai Museum's products inspired by a Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) porcelain vase illustrates this tension. Some critics argue that transforming an object with a complicated historical journey into a fashionable consumer item blurs the line between remembrance and marketing. Others see no contradiction, believing that broader public engagement ultimately leads to preservation.

Neither side is entirely wrong. Museums today face a challenge their predecessors rarely confronted. They must attract visitors without reducing history to entertainment, and they must encourage emotional connection without sacrificing historical complexity.

The popularity of Li Jingxun's hairpin suggests that this balance is achievable. People did not fall in love with a piece of metal. They connected with the remarkably ordinary emotions preserved within it: the grief of a family, the tenderness shown to a child and the quiet hope that memory might outlast mortality.

Perhaps this has always been the purpose of museums — not merely to preserve objects, but to ensure that the human stories they carry continue to find new owners across the centuries.

The author is an associate researcher at the Institute of Finance and Banking of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences and a senior research fellow at the National Institution for Finance and Development.

The views don't necessarily reflect those of China Daily.

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