Tag Archives: evocative objects

General Media Theory

McQueen: Evocation and the Fashion Madhouse

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Image sourced from GATA Magazine

I will begin with the statement that fashion, as an umbrella term, is not an evocative object. In its modern form, fashion is too widespread, commercial, capitalized, and individual for all of it to be considered evocative. Fashion is viewed by the mass majority of people in the way Kopytoff defines commodities- being produced materially as something, but also being marked societally as such. It is a wonderful, divine medium, but it doesn’t have one singular meaning, as not all of them are exactly designed to shake a person’s worldview or way of thinking, nor act as a transitional object and a basis of emotional connection. What is infinitely more interesting, however, is when designers use the medium of fashion as an object through which they can proclaim their own evocations, as does the Spring 2001 collection entitled Voss by the late, great British designer Alexander McQueen.

There is an evocation of insanity throughout the collection- the models walk with jerky, unnerving, enigmatic movements and expressions. The makeup is pale and bilious, the hair is covered with wrappings and bandages as if they’ve just come out of surgery. The set is designed to look like a padded cell, and there are one-way mirrors inside offering a voyeuristic view into the encagement, a view that satirizes the way the fashion industry preys on designers and models, treats them as entertainment, discards them the moment their evocation has been ran dry.

There is an evocation, that of discipline, throughout the collection. It is often said that fashion is a discipline itself, a code, a simultaneous desire and denial of values, be it aesthetic, functional, or emotional. The showpieces are uncomfortable, made of unconventional materials, both unorthodox in style and responsibility. A bodice of blood-red venetian glass, a breastplate of spiked silver and black pearls- a dress of ostrich feathers and microscope slides, a periwinkle straightjacket frilled with amaranth. It is all a discipline, a discipline of lunacy that is par for fashion’s course.

Furthermore, the evocation of transition and reinvention manifests with intrigue and aplomb. Many pieces are distinctly androgynous- menswear staples such as the pantsuit are deconstructed into gauzy and feminine silks and chiffons. Comedic surrealism is also used- a necktie becomes a makeshift halter, an unfinished puzzle is now a chestplate, a model castle perches itself on a model’s shoulder, weighing her down with the burden of being just that, a model. It’s a very liminal form, a form that tiptoes between expectation and self, the cultural and the natural, the rigidity of grounded society and the freedom of surreal insanity.

And another evocation begins to reveal itself, that of meditation and vision. Natural materials feature throughout- seashells fresh from the British coast, various explosions of feathers, the fearsome stillness of taxidermied birds. They are indeed familiar, but they are manifested uncannily, disorientingly unfamiliar. They infuse the collection with a contemplation of sorts, a contemplation on how these objects have both been made and found, found to be made into its own reflection on the hauntings and perils of modern fashion.

Indeed, at this point in his life, McQueen, who was 31, had grown tired of the insatiable thirst of the fashion elite. He was in the process of leaving his position as the head of Givenchy, a storied Parisian couture house, and he had always struggled with the press’s framing of him as a rebellious, working-class outsider in the upper-class society of luxury fashion. He was heavily smoking and using drugs, and had grown weary of the immense pressure put on him, especially regarding rumours surrounding his work at Givenchy.

So when one analyzes this show retrospectively, it becomes clear that this collection is, by both definition and practice, a quintessential example of what Turkle considers to be an evocative object. The whole show is a double-entendre, showing the fashion elite what they want to see by way of “wearable” clothing and commercialized androgyny, but also laughing in their face, satirizing their seriousness and forcing them to commit their own sins, viewing the clothes and models as scrutinized lab rats for experimentation. It is an object of discipline and desire, controlling his deranged fantasies within the constraints of traditional fashion. It is an object of transition and passage, allowing the concepts in his mind to be transported into reality, traversing the line between the constructed and the abstract, the self and its surroundings. It’s a liminal collection, an intermediate space between fashion’s expectation and McQueen’s heedlessness.

And, most obviously, it is an object of meditation and new vision, giving old objects a new meaning and purpose through a new medium or way of thinking. A dress of razor clam shells is most likely the most obvious reference to this logic, with McQueen even referencing it in a 2000 Women’s Wear Daily interview, saying “The shells had outlived their usefulness on the beach, so we put them to another use on a dress. Then Erin [O’Connor] came out and trashed the dress, so their usefulness was over once again. Kind of like fashion, really.” (Fallon)

It’s all a phantasmagoric display, escalating into a final display of writer Michelle Olley, fat, nude, and covered in moths, a direct contrast to the sanitized, tall sylphs floating through the show. And yet, the collection is its own evocative object for McQueen, in its existence as a provocation to thought, a companion to his emotional life, an undying legacy in the face of modern fashion’s tendency to steal, beg, barter, copy, backstab, and ignore. It’s pure, unbridled, raw, hopelessly realistic fashion that is simultaneous in its purpose as a commodity and its evocation as a manic transcendence.

Objects, as per Turkle, shift their meanings with time, place, and individuals. Fashionable objects go in and out of style. But just like the amaranth, the unfading bloom, a designer’s evocation never dies.

Works Referenced:

Turkle, S. (Ed.). (2007). Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. The MIT Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt5hhg8p

Fallon, J. (2020, April 23). The McQueen Chronicles. Women’s Wear Daily. https://web.archive.org/web/20240807033219/https://wwd.com/feature/article-1201126-1706647/

Kopytoff, I. (1988). The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process. The social life of things (pp. 64–91). Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9780511819582

understitch,. (2024, March 2). The Life and Death of Alexander McQueen. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CY1fkAWprE

All photographs sourced from firstVIEW unless otherwise stated

Written by Rosetta Jones

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Return to Sender: On Friendlier Cups and the Rage They Evoke

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The Friendlier cup program on campus presents itself as a reusable alternative to single-use plastics. With a $0.50–$1.00 deposit, a companion app, and a two-week refund window, Friendlier promises less waste and more responsibility. What it actually gave me was a latte I couldn’t finish and a new ritual of carrying an extra object that made my day worse. These cups are an evocative object: small, material, and infuriatingly demanding. The Friendlier cups evoke not just personal reflection, but genuine rage.

The Cup That Followed Me Home

I bought an iced latte one Thursday before a lecture. Instead of the disposable cold cup I expected, I was handed a reusable Friendlier cup meant for hot drinks. I agree that UBC goes through an excessive amount of disposable cups, and I welcomed Friendlier as a potential solution. But not only was my drink served in the wrong vessel—it was half full when class ended. My commute is over an hour and a half, and I carry a purse, not a backpack. That meant balancing a half-full drink on a rapid bus ripping through Vancouver while also trying to balance myself without a seat. And since I didn’t have class the next day, I kept it over the weekend until Monday to finally return it and see my $0.85 deposit again. When I got to campus, the café I’d bought it from didn’t have a Friendlier bin, so I had to track one down elsewhere. Once I found it, I stood there beside the bin creating a Friendlier account, an app I didn’t want, for at least a full minute before I could toss my cup in the bin. Two weeks later, the refund was still pending.

Getting a coffee is something I used to do almost every day. It was a small ritual that fit easily into my routine. Now, it feels like a chore. I’m not just annoyed, I’m enraged. This isn’t a personal failure to be eco-minded; it’s the result of a design that ignores real students and real routines. It assumes I can reshape my day around an object I never asked for. That friction is the point: these cups insert themselves into my everyday life, and they do it badly.

Rage, Routine, and the Objects That Shape Us

Sherry Turkle emphasizes that objects are “relational”: we form relationships with them much like we do with people, bringing expectations, attachments, and sometimes disappointments into these interactions. The Friendlier cup, intended as a reusable alternative to disposable coffee cups on campus, positions itself as a companion to daily routinesInstead, it has become a source of irritation. Rather than supporting my coffee habits, it mediates my interactions with campus life, sustainability practices, and even my own sense of efficiency in ways that frustrate me.

Turkle also notes that objects function as agents of reflection, prompting us to consider who we are, what we care about, and how we navigate the systems around us. The Friendlier cup forced me to confront the misalignment between the ideal of sustainability and the reality of campus infrastructure: missing bins, app registration delays, and pending refunds turned a daily ritual into a source of stress. What was meant to be a simple tool for environmental mindfulness became a reminder of friction in my already established routines, revealing how much our interactions with objects reflect broader social and institutional structures.

By framing the cup as both relational and reflective, we can see that its design is not neutral: it shapes behaviors, emotional experiences, and our relationship to sustainability, intentionally or not. I am passionate about sustainability, but my frustration with Friendlier has made me confront how a well-intentioned system can produce stress and resentment instead of care Rather than facilitating care and responsibility, it evokes rage, highlighting the tension between policy and lived experience.

Exchange, Deposits, and the Medium of Value

In David Graeber’s chapter “Exchange,” he helps explain the emotional politics underlying my frustration with Friendlier. A deposit is a token, a small piece of monetary media intended to guarantee return. Graeber argues that media of exchange can take on lives of their own: they may become detached from the social relations they were meant to mediate. The Friendlier cup’s $0.85 deposit is meant to be a simple economic nudge; in practice, it becomes a lingering IOU, processed by a corporate app, delayed, and sometimes never returned. This system transforms a socially oriented sustainability gesture into a market, in which the campus may even monetarily gain from unreturned deposits.

Reddit users on the r/UBC subreddit echo this logic. One commenter observes that the cups are “theoretically nice, but in reality […] stupid,” expressing concern that someone could snatch a cup from the bin and the original returner would never receive the refund. Others note that slow or unreliable processing could turn the deposit into a revenue stream. Another user flagged data privacy concerns: to get refunded, students must download an app and create an account, surrendering personal information to a private company for a campus sustainability initiative. These complaints are not trivial; they illuminate how the cup functions as a media of exchange that reconfigures obligations, trust, and data flows.

Viewed through Turkle’s lens, this is more than just a transactional failure: it is a relational failure. Turkle emphasizes that objects are companions to our emotional lives, carrying histories, expectations, and feelings into everyday routines. The Friendlier cup, rather than supporting sustainable habits, has become a companion of frustration, a persistent reminder of misaligned systems. Graeber helps explain why: when the cup’s deposit detaches from its intended social logic, it erodes trust and amplifies irritation, making me experience sustainability not as a shared ethical practice but as a set of obligations. In this sense, the Friendlier cup mediates campus life emotionally and materially, exposing the tensions between policy intentions and lived realities, and highlighting how even well-meaning objects can evoke rage when design and routine collide.

Affordances and Friction

From an affordances perspective, the Friendlier cup offers: reuse, reduced disposables, and potential normalization of a circular system. What it lacks is matched affordance for everyday bodies and schedules. A commuter with a purse, someone with irregular on-campus hours, or a person who has to wait days to return a cup are all disadvantaged by the program’s assumptions. The cup mediates access to a convenient beverage experience by adding layers of time, technology, and logistics. Instead of reducing friction, it slides friction into other parts of students’ lives.

Turkle’s point about objects catalyzing self-creation is helpful here: we do change around our objects when they become meaningful companions. But that process requires careful attention to how people actually live. A well-designed evocative object ought to invite incorporation; a poorly designed one forces compliance.

Sources:
Turkle, Sherry. Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. MIT Press, 2007. 

Mitchell, W. J. T., and Mark B. N. Hansen, editors. Critical Terms for Media Studies. University of Chicago Press, 2010.

https://www.reddit.com/r/UBC/comments/1mqewj0/thoughts_on_friendlier_resuable_containers_in_the

Photos:

“UBC Launches Reusable Packaging with Friendlier.” Food at UBC, University of British Columbia, https://food.ubc.ca/ubc-launches-reusable-packaging-with-friendlier/.

Header made on Canva by Sam Garcea

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Tresses of Expression

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The tangles and knots of my morning hair don’t hurt anymore when I pull them out; I have become accustomed to the soft tug and immediate static separation of strands, like polarized magnet ends. I pried red wisps from my clothes as I readied myself today, and I recalled when the strands were black and orange and blue and blonde. My hair is an identity of mine, the style and cut can define who I become for a time – imbued with confidence or dysphoria. We use it to express or resist, but also to categorize, admire, or control. Hair evokes emotions, represents identities, provokes thought, and also, perhaps most importantly for me, remembers.

Before my mother’s hands I recall sitting, gazing in the mirror as she guided a brush through my tresses, brown in this faded memory, and saying it reminded her of her mother; of youth spent under the sun, of gardening together, of running barefoot. Hair is a bridge for many, a symbol of what was lost or where you came from. It is at once a memory and memorabilia; it can provide us with identity or strip it, it constitutes our expressions but at once evokes it from us and from others. It separates us by aesthetic, vanity, and personhood, but connects us to our cultures – to our people, our interests, and our own lives. Hair is both an object of the body and an embodied object; we don’t just use it, we think using it. It affords us a sense of belonging, resistance and expression, but can afford others the ability to categorize and stereotype. It is a medium requiring thought – it is communication without words that shapes social interactions. Furthermore, Bill Brown would argue that hair is a material medium – it is not just symbolic, but has physical affordances. My hair has been braided, fishtailed, space-bunned, chopped, dyed, and styled an uncountable amount of times in my life. It becomes most visible as an object of the self when we manipulate it, but it is the perception (and often, preconception) that it affords us that defines it as an embodied medium, too. It is evocative because, as Turkle would say, it acts as the “companions to our emotional lives” and as a “provocation to thought”. As I lay the fresh blood-red dye in my hair last week, I thought of my mother doing the same to cover up her greys. I thought about whether people would notice that it stained my ears. I thought I looked a bit like Carrie at prom. It reminded me that hair is not only an object that sits on my head and tells people how much I rolled around in my sleep, but by understanding how it mediates our actions and thoughts, we can reconsider the boundary between medium and body. Our correspondence with the world is through these strands – through memories, rituals, and cultural practices. It defines how I interact with the world, and how society interacts with me. 

Hair is also a rare physical representation of a moment that has passed and yet remains unchanged. Some wealthy Victorians kept locks of hair from late loved ones in jewelry, and many cultures view the cutting of hair as a spiritual severing of sorts (grief, marriage, coming of age etc.). Hair, when it is detached from the human body, stops being part of the living self and becomes a “thing” – an artifact that represents an identity or relationship during a specific moment in time. Hair is no longer an object of mediation, but as Bill Brown may say, a “thing” once it has been removed from the context of its existence within the self. This “thing” is that which mediates memory and loss, but is also that which is in direct opposition to the very nature of hair – growth. Hair exists as an object between the transient and the permanent: on the head, it changes daily; off the head, it becomes a fixed representation of a particular time, person, or feeling. Like photographs or audio recordings, preserved hair mediates the present and the past, turning lived moments into material memorabilia.

Hair, as both living material and preserved artifact, reveals the complex ways media mediates identity, culture, perception, and time. Through our attentiveness to styling and care, hair functions as an embodied medium of self-expression, a form of communication without words. When it is cut, saved, or transformed, hair becomes a tangible record of specific moments, anchoring personal and collective memories in a physical form. Victorian mourning jewelry makes this especially obvious: hair becomes a medium that bridges presence and absence, life and death, permanence and change. The ways in which we view hair on both ourselves, others, or alone reveals how bodily objects participate in broader cultural systems of meaning. Hair is not simply something we have; it is something through which we express, connect, and remember. This perspective challenges us to look beyond conventional technologies and recognize how our bodies mediate the world, and how medias are woven like threads through the very fabric of our lives.

  1. Turkle, Sherry. “WHAT MAKES AN OBJECT EVOCATIVE.” Evocative Objects: Objects We Think With. 
  2. Brown, Bill. “Thing Theory.” Critical Inquiry, 28, no. 1 (2001): 1–22.
  3. Brown, Bill. “Materiality.” Critical Terms for Media Studies, edited by W. J. T. Mitchell and Mark B. N. Hansen, University of Chicago Press, 2010, pp. 49–63.
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Evocative Objects and Memory

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My Evocative Object


Pink baby, and later to be known as Baby Jordan, was the first “friend” I ever had. It was a pink doll that I was given at birth, and I brought it everywhere with me from my first sleepover to blueberry picking with my family. It rarely left my side until I got older. As a kid, it was the perfect companion, played well with my other friends and was there with me through everything, nightmares, playdates, and listened to everything I had to say. The presence of this plastic pink doll kept the outgoing spark alive within me. 

Growing up, I gradually feared more and more about other people’s options and started fearing and learning the concept of social norms, and slowly became more embarrassed to keep this doll with me and would keep it hidden between my bed and wall so that my friends wouldnt know, and later it eventually moved to a dusty box in my basement, along with that extraverted self. Looking back, I am fond of my younger self and how outgoing she was. She took that doll everywhere with her, without a second thought, not caring what others may think. Baby Jordan was a comfort to my younger self, a friend who would do and go through everything with me. 

Connections to the Inner and Outer Self

From the perspective of Sherry Turkle, my doll Baby Jordan was more than just a toy. Turkles describes evocative objects as things that connect through feeling and thought, acting as companions through life. This doll is a transitional object, as described by D.W Winnicott, a theorist who believed that transitional objects “are destined to be abandoned. Yet they leave traces that will mark the rest of life. Specifically, they influence how easily an individual develops a capacity for joy, aesthetic experience, and creative playfulness”(Turkle 314). The transitional object of my doll, Turkle suggests, is a bridge between my inner world and the larger world surrounding me, marking my stages of growth. Constantly being with me, I created an environment where I felt unselfconsciousness and began to hide it once I learned about embarrassment, social rules and identity. Putting it in my basement, the doll now became a memory attached to an object that I no longer hold present in my daily life, but it shaped a part of me. 

Materiality of an Object

Bill Browns thoughts on materiality adds another layer of understanding that materiality is more than just the physical presence, but an object whose texture and use created an emotional connection. Brown said that “materiality thus glimmers as a new rapier, cutting two ways. On the one hand: Doesn’t the medium elide the materiality of the object it represents? On the other: Aren’t you ignoring the materiality of the medium itself, the material support, the medium’s embeddedness within particular material circumstances, its material ramifications?”(Brown 50), My doll worked in both these ways as I got older, I dismissed the presence of my doll, hiding it away as if it had no meaning. But my doll Baby Jordan carried both material and immaterial meaning suggested in the brown chapter; the soft texture of plastic was a familiar presence were not just the physical quality of my doll, but anchored my feeling of safety and belonging. Even after she was put away in a box, the doll holds traces of how carefree and confident my younger self was, and my confidence to express myself. The materiality extended beyond “just being a doll,” it transformed into an object holding memory, emotion, and growth. My old doll shows how objects can embody parts of ourselves, being both a companion in the moment and a lasting symbol of who I once was. 

Refection

Reflecting on Baby Jordan and seeing how such a simple object from my childhood can carry so much meaning, then its physical form allows it.  Being an evocative object, the doll carried joy, self expression and companionship. Through Turkle and Winnicott, we can understand how Baby Jordan bridged my inner and outer worlds around guiding me through learning stages of growth and awareness throughout my life. Brown’s insight into materiality and how it further highlights the doll’s physical presence through the texture, shape, and tactility, how it was inseparable from the emotional and symbolic presence it holds. Even now, being stored in a box, my doll Baby Jordain, though it is not an object used in my everyday life, holds meaning and memory that embodied my younger self, my fearlessness. It now reminds me that the objects we cherish are not just objects but symbolic identity, experience and transformation. In this way, my doll had taught me about how material and evocative objects shape who we are, in present and past moments following us throughout our lives. 

Work Cited

Brown, Bill. “Materiality.” Critical Terms for Media Studies, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, Illinois, 2010, pp. 49–63

Turkle, Sherry, ed. Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. MIT Press, 2007. Accessed 6 Oct. 2025

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The Locket I Never Filled (Until Now): A Heart as Medium for Memory and Intimacy

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❦︎

Introduction


Growing up as an only child, I received a lot of speculation — usually in the form of little jokes — about my parents absolutely spoiling me. The logic being that, since my parents have only one child, all birthdays, Christmases, and even day-to-day gestures of giving were magnified, as they only had to make one child happy via gifts. Although my parents were generous with the gifts they gave me on the two major celebrations per year, they were, above all, thoughtful with their giving; every gift had to have deep emotional meaning and was usually small, in some form of metal. One of the first gifts that I can remember receiving from my parents was a small heart locket. It is silver, engraved with swirls and now slightly tarnished from years of wear. I have worn it since childhood, and initially, my parents gave it to me so I could place photos inside that represented the subjects that mattered to me deeply at the age of five. I always wanted to put my parents inside of it, but alas, I didn’t have a colour printer for the first nine years of my life, and after that point, I had simply just forgotten about it. For years, the locket sat empty around my neck, enduring the hot waters of many showers and the stinging cold of the winters it brought to the metal. Only recently have I filled it with photos of my partner and me. To me, my locket mediates both potential and presence-in-absence. Even when empty, it carried cultural meaning and expectation; when filled, it enacted intimacy, rendering it a rich example of media theory around hypomnesia, anamnesis, and image as paradox.

Description

Describing my evocative object is fairly simple: if one pictures a heart locket in their mind, there is a high chance that the conjured image will resemble my locket. I wear a thick, 15-inch chain, which has replaced the thin, 20-inch chains that came before and broke due to excessive wear. On the chain sits the pendant itself, which is round and heart-shaped, meant to carry images close to the heart, quite literally. Despite the locket being empty for fourteen years, the absence of the photos did not erase the meaning of the locket for me, as the shell of the pendant reminded me of what is missing, and what is yet to come. As I have recently filled my locket with two images of my partner and me, the locket now mediates and embodies intimacy, love, and continuity.

Mediation

When empty, my heart locket mediated potential and expectation, as it was quite literally an object “waiting” for memory, in the form of special images. In terms of cultural and historical significance, heart lockets have been “associated with love, affection, and emotional connection” (Locket Sisters). Lockets bloomed in popularity as early as the Victorian era, in which lovers would store photos, letters, and even locks of hair from their loved ones — even when a pendant is empty, it stages that possibility of being filled. When filled with sentimental items, most commonly images, the heart locket mediates presence-in-absence: in my case, the photos of my partner stand in for him when apart. The heart locket creates intimacy through selection and scarcity, as the two images that are selected to reside inside the pendant are special and limited in quantity. Furthermore, the ritual of opening and closing the pendant’s hinge is a tactile mediation of memory itself. Empty or filled, the locket is never neutral. Rather, the shift demonstrates that this object and its mediation are dynamic and flexible, never fixed.

Theory

Upon thinking of which object of mine I would like to write about as an evocative object, my heart locket came to mind because of its ties to the theories and discussions we have engaged with in class. In Critical Terms for Media Studies chapter 05 “Memory”, Bernard Stiegler writes about hypomnesis, as the technical and externalized forms of memory, such as photography serving as memory externalizations, and anamnesis, “the remembering of things from a supposed previous existence” (Oxford). The former correlates to the locket when it held no photos, as it was already a technical support of memory. Its very design, with the hinge, cavity, and chain, indicates its intended use, of holding images of ones near and dear to your heart. When I wore my necklace as a child, I was very much aware of what it should contain — this cultural script is a form of hypomnesis as the object outsources memory before it is even filled. Its design and cultural script reminded me of the relationships I may one day want to preserve and honour with my pendant. When I finally placed photos of my partner inside, the locket became a coupling of hypomnesis and anamnesis: the images function as external memory supports, but only matter because they call forth embodied recollections each time I open it. In Stiegler’s terms, the locket demonstrates how technical memory and lived memory are inseparable in mediation (Memory 77).
In chapter 03 “Image”, W. J. T. Mitchell argues that images are always paradoxical — they are both present and absent, here and not-here (Image 35-36). My heart locket demonstrates this paradox in both ways: when it was empty, the absence of images was still meaningful as it reminded me of what should be there, consequently staging the absence as potential presence. Once filled, the photos embody the paradox even more clearly. My partner’s face is materially here in the locket, but he is also not here — only represented. Each time I open it, I experience both recognition and loss, the double-moment Mitchell describes where an image appears as both a physical object and a ghostly apparition (Image 39).

Conclusion

As a mediator, a heart locket is certainly dynamic, as they do not necessarily have to be “used” in the intended manner to mediate meaning. Connecting my evocative object to Stiegler’s theories of memory’s exteriorization and Mitchell’s detailing of image’s paradoxical nature reminded me that mediation is not solely about digital technologies — even small analog objects shape memory, intimacy, and identity. This is something that was also revealed to me in Sherry Turkle’s Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. However, connecting these theories to an object that I consider mundane and wear every day, is even more revealing, as it suggests that mediation includes both what is present and what is possible.

Works Cited

“Locket Sisters.” Locket Sisters, 2020, thelocketsisters.com/locket-stories/the-meaning-behind-heart-lockets-a-symbol-of-love-connection-and-cherished-memories/. Accessed 4 Oct. 2025.

Stiegler, Bernard. “Memory.” Critical Terms for Media Studies, edited by W. J. T. Mitchell and Mark B. N. Hansen, University of Chicago Press, 2010, pp. 64–87.

Mitchell, W. J. T. “Image.” Critical Terms for Media Studies, edited by W. J. T. Mitchell and Mark B. N. Hansen, University of Chicago Press, 2010, pp. 35–38. Accessed 4 Oct. 2025.

Turkle, Sherry, ed. Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. MIT Press, 2007. Accessed 4 Oct. 2025

“Anamnesis.” Oxford Languages, Google, 2025, https://www.google.com/search?q=anamnesis+definition. Accessed 4 Oct. 2025.