GENEs #13 - Andrew Stephens (@owensoddities)
Visiting Andy at Owens Oddities revealed a nostalgic haven filled with collectibles. His passion for unique finds, highlighted by an incredible marble bust story, emphasizes community and memory.
This is the 13th installment in my series, GENEs where I interview locals I have met over my time taking photos in “east vancouver” and unravel the stories behind their favorite things.
To check out the previous interviews covering a range of clothing with innate gorgeous stories, see the link here.
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After a busy few months with school and coaching basketball, I finally had an opportunity to line up some GENEs interviews during my spring break. Excited, I arranged a few for the first week but subsequently was put out of commission for a few days due to some sort of plague going around the school. Just in time for my “vacation”. Luckily, during the second week of the break, I was able to coordinate a time with Andy (@owensoddities) and visit his showroom/shop. I had a feeling he would have something truly unique to share as his item and knew this would likely be the first “non-clothing” interview of this GENEs series given the type of collector he is.
I met up with Andy after a busy morning walking around the neighborhood taking photos. Some dark clouds had started to roll in, and it was the perfect time to get indoors, take some photos, and talk about his store and his favorite item. I walked into the historic Ellis Building, turned the corner, and was instantly hit with a large dose of nostalgia. Everywhere I looked was an item I recognized, from franchises I love or had forgotten I loved. Toys and iconography influential at various points in my life leaped off the shelves. I spent a good chunk of time looking through the different sections while Andy chatted with a couple of collectors who had been visiting and dropping off some new pieces for him. His daughters, on March break, were sitting tucked away on a vintage couch watching a classic VHS. I quietly interrupted them and asked them to show me some of their favorite pieces while I waited.
For a bit of background, I’ve run into Andy a few times in the neighborhood and have had some short conversations with him, as we share a habit of commissioning work from Matthew (@no_omens). I’ve followed his Instagram page for a while, fascinated by the collectibles he finds and the stories he tells about both the origins of the pieces and the unique features that toys and memorabilia have. I was curious about how he started collecting and how he has honed his skills in finding some of the most iconic and timeless pieces I’ve ever seen, so we started from the beginning.
A few years back, when Andy moved from Kelowna to the Lower Mainland, he started going to garage sales and scouring Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist, looking for specific recalled IKEA furniture, which he would buy cheaply and then return to IKEA for full price—a hustle that IKEA was not too impressed with, eventually putting him on a "do not allow to return" list. During his IKEA hunting, he came across old VHS tapes, TVs, and VCRs, DVD sets, and mid-century furniture and slowly began to collect and resell them, noticing a demand for these pieces. Gradually, he realized that these items, generally discarded as "out of date," were special in their own right, and he capitalized on the resale value of some rarer items. Initially, his approach was "shotgun buying," grabbing large collections at estate or garage sales. Over the years, however, he refined his craft, honing in on truly special pieces appealing the audience he has been able to build through social media.
After buying and selling the mid-century furniture and books Andy began gravitating more towards nostalgic items, mainly toys and collectibles, with a healthy dose of VHS, DVDs, and what now seems “ancient” tech. When asked to describe his buying criteria, he simply said he looks for things that spark "childhood whimsy." I described my initial feelings upon entering the shop as reminiscent of entering a video rental shop, comic book store, or pawn shop from the 90s—places I haven't visited in decades but felt instantly transported me back to. The days of exchanging five Sega Genesis games for one Nintendo 64 game with my dad and brother were brought to the forefront of my mind. Andy was thrilled by this recollection, as it was exactly what he aimed to achieve with his shop.
“Honestly, that’s the feeling I want people to have because our experiences weren’t all the same but were all very similar. Whether it was your local pawn shop, a free junk store on the island, or a rental shop, when you come here, it transports you into those places. I find that part so exciting.”
The more I looked around, the more the shop felt less like a pawn shop and more like a museum or art gallery. Andy, however, didn't love the "museum" description, emphasizing the interactivity of the pieces.
“My favorite part is when they first come in and they'll stand in the middle with their hands behind their backs. I'm like, no, no, no—touch anything you want. Nothing here is made of gold. You're not going to hurt anything. I love when they start pulling things out and interacting with the items. Then they're like, ‘Oh, I had this.’ My favorite thing is when siblings come in because they start connecting on pieces that were big when they were 5, 6, or 10. It's really fun.”
Every time Andy spoke, I would notice another toy or VHS that transported me back in time—from Mighty Max McDonald's Happy Meal toys to the Fisher-Price tape recorder, all the way to the Nokia 6110. My mind kept jumping between different eras of my youth. As we chatted, visitors passed through, and Andy would pick up a random toy, absolutely blowing their minds with the sound effects of a working Star Trek starship from the 1980s or explaining the origin story of the Kenner Alien toys (of which he had one in very good condition). Andy's authentic "childhood whimsy" was on display both in both his store and the way he approached his “customers”.
It became clear that Andy had a passive and artistic approach to his collecting and selling. He doesn’t see it as a competitive business venture but rather as a way to share his findings. If something "pops off," great—it funds his next haul and covers rent. Otherwise, it joins the greater collection to entertain and amuse future visitors.
Through his collecting and sharing, Andy has honed his social media skills, actively using Instagram and TikTok to build an audience fascinated with his finds. Occasionally, an item gets so hot it sells within hours (recently, an Ed, Edd, and Eddy bowling ball went "viral" and sold instantly). Again, rather than focusing purely on business, Andy encourages creativity and content creation.
We continued chatting about our mutual appreciation of ChatGPT as a research and editing partner, disdain for soulless eBay resellers, how inflation has even affected the CRT TV market, and our shared respect and appreciation for Matt's custom artworks.
Finally, we discussed the marble bust sitting casually at the entrance. Andy removed a custom-painted motorcycle helmet from its head and, with a bit of effort, slid it across the floor so I could photograph it from different angles. Initially, I had imagined Andy would share a rare Star Wars collectible or some sought-after misprinted Japanese Batman VHS from the late 80s—not a marble bust. But it had an incredible story behind it, truly capturing his carefree and lighthearted approach to collecting.
“I found this marble bust at a Queensborough community-wide garage sale. Queensborough is one of the oldest neighborhoods in the lower mainland, full of beautiful old estate houses. Usually, everything is out on the road, but someone had passed away, so the family opened up the entire house for the sale. All the dealers rushed inside to grab furniture and other things, and this marble bust was just sitting on top of a mantle. Nobody said anything; I think everyone assumed it would either be too expensive or wasn't for sale at all. I arrived a bit late, so I asked the owner casually, "Is that for sale?" and he simply said, "Yeah."
I asked how much, expecting to hear something outrageous like $1,000, and he just said, "$100—but you carry it out yourself." Immediately, my dealer mind realized it was an insane deal. I didn't even think about how heavy it might be yet, I just said, "Deal!"
I went to get my truck, parked closer, and handed over the hundred bucks. Still, none of the other shoppers had caught on. Then I picked it up and immediately felt how heavy it was—probably two or three hundred pounds of solid marble. I'm not built; I don't go to the gym. To move it, I had to wedge it against my belt buckle. As soon as I lifted it, I felt my vertebrae collapsing under the weight. But there was no turning back.
As I carried it outside, I started losing my breath. My vision began to tunnel as I approached the truck, about to pass out. There was a teenage girl on the sidewalk with her parents, and I urgently yelled at her, "Open my truck door!" It wasn’t like me to yell at anyone, especially someone I didn’t know, but I was literally about to faint and drop this bust on myself. Thankfully, she opened the truck door, and I managed to throw the bust onto the seat. Instantly, I felt relief as my spine expanded back to normal. I stood there, breathless, and apologized profusely to her and her parents, who were understandably startled by the whole ordeal.
When I got it home, I started researching and discovered it's a genuine marble bust by P.F. Connelly, signed and dated around the 1880s. Connelly was an American carver who trained in Italy, and his works are featured in museums like MoMA. This piece, known as "The Parisian Boy," is beautifully detailed and incredibly rare.
It's one of those finds that I'll probably never come across again—definitely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Eventually, I might crate it up and send it to a major auction house like Christie's. A similar piece by Connolly previously sold at Christie's for around $28,000 USD. For now, though, it's one of my favorite treasures, something special that continually surprises me every time I see it.”
As we began to wrap up, Andy shared a few more stories—especially about the large, iconic cereal boxes he's recently become enamored with and his Jar Jar Binks alarm clock—but we'll save those stories for another time.
Eventually, his daughters got bored with their iPad and gravitated right back to browsing the shelves for a new toy to play with. It’s remarkable how these toys continue to draw everyone in and spark curiosity, and I look forward to visiting again someday with my own child, eager to share with her some of the toys that shaped my own childhood.
Leaving Andy's shop, I felt genuinely grateful—not just for the trip down memory lane, but also for the reminder that objects, whether clothing or collectibles, carry stories connecting us deeply to our past selves and to one another. It was incredibly enjoyable to hear the GENEs of his favorite item. Although it wasn't clothing, the story of how he obtained it, its meaning to him, and what it represents about his artform and work fit perfectly into this project.
Above all, it was beautiful to see what Andy has managed to curate: more than just a collection of nostalgic items, he's built a space where memories are reignited, stories are exchanged, and community naturally forms. In a world that's increasingly digital and transient, it's comforting to know that places like Owens Oddities exist, patiently waiting for someone to rediscover a forgotten piece of their own story. Of course, you can see this all online as he leverages social media and the fast moving nature of the digital age to share these relics to a wider audience. But if you can, I encourage you to visit the shop and get your hands onto the past and ask him to share a story or two.
As always, I include two suggestions for GENEs interviews in the future. One local and one “reach”.
Andy’s picks:
Local: Kirby from Dead Union (of whom I have already reached out to and am planning on getting an interview with!). “One of friends, a great guy, and an amazing collector.""
Reach: Matt McCarthy, a comedian and VHS expert who runs “the video garage” out in California.