Anyone who has the (mis)fortune of knowing me in Real Life has undoubtedly been asked to save their bread clips for me. It’s not the strangest request my friends have gotten from me—I’m always asking them to take pictures of me doing silly things. Nor is it the first time they’ve collected things for me—they’ve dutifully saved plastic bags for me to turn into plarn and hundreds of pop tabs for mask ear savers. I have good friends, you guys, and as a result I have gathered several hundred bread clips from all over the United States; my friend in the Netherlands has accumulated quite the pile for if and when the current tariff nonsense allows her to send them to my side of the globe. But all of this begs the question…what am I doing with all those bread clips?
Allow me to share with you my latest hyperfixation where I have, arguably, gone completely off the rails. Early last year I discovered the wonderful world of occlupanids and the people who study them, the Holotypic Occlupanid Research Group (HORG). Basically, it’s a group of nerds on the internet who classify plastic bread tags in a scientific way. The name comes from the Latin word “occlu,” which means “to close,” and the word “pan,” which Hunger Games fans will already know means “bread.” Online, occlupanologists discuss the taxonomy and classification of specimens all over the world. HORG describes itself as “a nonprofit organization dedicated to the study, education, and preservation of a group of inanimate objects that garners little attention in our modern world.” I encourage you to read more about this fascinating and witty community. It was created in 1994 and the creator, John Daniel, never thought it would get so popular. But you know how these things go.
Why have occlupanids captured the hearts of so many? As the HORG website puts it, “Their stunning diversity and mysterious habits have entranced many a respectable scientist into studying, collecting, and cataloging specimens late into the night.” When you start to pay attention, you’ll see the surprising variety of colors, shapes, and sizes on this formerly mundane everyday object. But once you get bitten by the occlupanid bug (figuratively; they don’t actually bite), it will no longer be mundane. And that’s what I like so much about occlupanology. It turns something ordinary into something delightful. It certainly makes grocery shopping a thousand times cooler.
It’s fun collecting them. My grandmother, Nana, has enlisted all of her bowling friends to save theirs too, and she told me they’ve been selecting their bread based on the appearance of the occlupanid. She sends me a letter every couple weeks stuffed with occlupanids, leading to a memorable occasion when the envelope tore and scattered specimens all over the mail room floor. (“We like our carbs,” she explained. Same here.) Unfortunately for Nana, her friends have been asking what her granddaughter is doing with all these bread clips, so I have written this blog post in an attempt to explain. At least her grandchildren aren’t boring. (And if Nana’s friends are reading this, thank you for your valuable contributions to the field of occlupanology.)
What do you do with the specimens once you’ve collected them? This is where the real fun begins—sorting and classifying! I’ve always loved sorting things and have fond childhood memories of my mom overturning the coin jar onto the table for me and my sister to sort into categories (honestly I still do this with the coin jar and I’m 28). I have a gigantic black binder with pages upon pages of specimens sorted into coin-collection sleeves on classification cards that I designed and printed myself. I cannot describe how much entertainment I’ve gotten from this ridiculous activity. Much like a magpie, I’ve collected things ever since I was a child—business cards, keychains, state quarters, and Rapunzel dolls, to name a few—and this has quickly become one of my favorite collections of all time.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s very silly. But the silliness is the best part! We take ourselves too seriously. Collecting little creatures and researching their names feels like being a little kid pretending to be a scientist with your friends. We don’t have to stop having fun when we grow up, but for some reason it’s so easy to forget that. To me, occlupanids are a way to recapture that excitement and joy that felt so innate when we were kids but that the drudgery of adult life has slowly stomped out of us. It’s okay to be whimsical. For me, it’s vital.
And honestly, what’s not to like about seeing beauty in the boring? As HORG says, “Its use in our society is ignored, and its fascinating forms and colors are underappreciated.” I could not agree more. So while at first glance they are just plastic bread tabs, I think occlupanids are a great example of the best that the internet has to offer and what I love most about humanity. I’ve said for years that life is more fun when you get excited about the little things. It’s how I fight depression. And occlupanids are a beautiful example of excitement and fun over life’s little things.
If we know each other in real life, or if we’re online friends who know each other’s addresses, I would be most grateful for any occlupanid specimens you wish to contribute. I am from Portland, Oregon, so I am especially looking for biodiversity from different parts of the world. Or you could start collecting them yourself. Just don’t blame me when you find yourself down the rabbit hole of occlupanology.