You may be asking, what is a woobie? Think Linus and his blanket, the teddy bear you carried around as a child until it finally disintegrated, or your favorite pair of jeans which you refuse to give up despite the hole in one knee and the torn back pocket.
Woobies are possessions to which we are so attached, we will go to insane lengths to repair them, locate them when they are lost and keep them at any cost.
The term “woobie” was coined by Kenny, the son of Michael Keaton in the 1983 film, Mr. Mom. It was the name he gave his ever-present blanket. Psychologists refer to woobies as “transitional objects”. I personally like woobie better. “Transitional object” feels cold and clinical and can never capture the childlike love we feel deep in our hearts for these special treasures.
In 1953, psychologist Donald Winnicott introduced the term “transitional objects” to refer to blankets, soft toys and other items to which children developed an intense and persistent attachment. If you’ve ever tried to take one of these things from a kid, you know what he meant. Winnicott theorized that these attachments represent an essential phase of ego development leading to the establishment of a sense of self.
I believe we never actually outgrow the need for woobies. I’m sure if you think about it, you can identify a number of woobies that you cling to despite the desperate pleas from family and friends to “get rid of that.” For me, it’s my riding hat.
I found it in the back of an old horse trailer my husband and I bought in 1998. Over a decade after my discovery, I still wear that beat-up, Aussie-style hat on every ride. It’s faded and worn, leaks in a bad rainstorm, and sits a bit askew on my head. I can thank our oldest horse, Whisper for that last bit of character.
One night, in a fit of boredom, he pulled it off the tree I’d hung it in, stomped it flat into the ground and peed on it. I was on the verge of tears when I found it and carried it back to camp. In a chivalrous gesture, a Texas cowboy on that ride took it from me, rinsed it off in the creek, sat down next to the fire and reshaped it. If I have my way, I’ll wear that hat ’til I can’t ride anymore, and then hang it on a nail as a fond reminder of my days on the trail.
The other day my husband sat across our dining table from me, brow furrowed in concentration, bent over his favorite pair of sweats. The drawstring had broken. He had a bag of extra-strength nylon twine, one end of which he tied onto the remains of the drawstring. He pulled the knot through the waistband and triumphantly assured me that “it will never break again.” I am resigned to the fact that I will see him in these sweats every morning for the rest of our married life.
Given the current financial crisis, saving your woobies is a great way to save money. When we are all looking for ways to stretch our dollars, it makes sense to fix our old standbys instead of buying something new. I learned this concept from my parents—survivors of the Great Depression. We lived on a ranch and we saved and repaired everything, because “you never know when you might need it.”
Saving woobies also helps protect the environment by decreasing the amount of rubbish in our land fills and cutting down on the need for raw materials for those replacement objects we don’t need. In a world struggling to absorb our ever-growing mountains of waste and insatiable demands for more stuff, this is one thing we can all do to make a difference, while saving a buck.
Rhonda Ashurst (rashurst@centurytel.net) is a life coach practicing in Alamosa who helps clients master their finances and realize lifelong dreams. EDITOR’S NOTE: This is an online-only column and has not been edited.
