The Argos catalogue took us on a tour of our imagination

Thin, shiny pages offered a chapter by chapter framework for adult life – briefcase and all – writes Laura Waddell

Farewell to the Argos catalogue, which after 48 years on paper is no longer to be printed; no longer to be lugged home, doodled on while on the phone, or fashioned as a doorstop. I am sad to see it go.

The BBC reported that the catalogue at its peak “was Europe’s most widely-printed publication, with only the Bible in more homes across the UK”. Now that the retailer’s online sales have tipped the scales, ditching the paper is an unsurprising move, particularly following the cessation of the Yellow Pages just last year, comparable in its obsolete, nostalgic heft. But still, this marks the loss of a particular print culture, the tomes beloved by generations of analogue children, who consulted its thin, shiny pages with the utmost concentration in preparation for composing hopeful letters to Santa. For many of us, circling a My Little Pony pencil case in the weeks prior was as much a ritual as leaving out milk and a carrot for Rudolph on Christmas Eve.

Of course, it is with adult eyes I see the problems in valorising a book of consumerism. No doubt there were demands and disappointment. But, especially for children with no money of their own to spend, the Argos catalogue spurred the imagination. It was exciting just to look at all the branded games and toys. Wasn’t it really a book of dreams? One of the best pastimes was turning the pages, picking the best item from each, whether Game Boy cartridge or kettle. Poring over it with a friend, sometimes over the phone, we honed our aesthetic tastes as though money was no object. It was free to look at all of those things. And looking was leisurely, with no witness to the embarrassment of coveting outside our means, unless we circled it pointedly in pen.

The chapter by chapter breakdown provided a framework for adult life. In flipping through the domestic sections, there was all you needed for one future, and several alternatives. Would you prefer a classic kind of look, or might you be partial to a Garfield-shaped phone? Just as the Ikea floor plan guides consumers through a physical mock-up of the house we might have, the Argos catalogue took us on a tour of our own imagination. Here is the kitchen inside our mind, and now the lounge.

In the decades the Argos catalogue was in print, game shows were offering the same kinds of objects as their grand prizes, held up by glamorous assistants or photographed before glittering, sometimes even moving, backdrops. It is no wonder the book elicited some of the same excitement. This is what you could win, it winked, showing off a suitcase set.

And, in ordering from one of the high street shops, each with catalogues piled outside, there was something magical about the chosen object appearing through a hatch, the mechanisms of the warehouse behind it hidden from view.

Desire pushed the pen of every circle looped around an object. It wasn’t so much about getting the thing as the pleasure of wishing itself. Wishing lounging in possibility, wallowing in craving for anything that caught the eye, before turning the page and doing it again. Browsing the Argos catalogue was an exercise in preference, studying each object in turn to decide which pleased us most, just as a king might.

In retrospect, the items for sale have always been very everyday. An alarm clock. A lamp. Perhaps the dream was really to glide through ordinary life with ease, every