A Pocketful of Plastic Memories: The Story of a PEZ Collector

 It started with a clown.

Not the terrifying kind with wild eyes and smeared makeup, but a cheerful plastic clown with a blue hat and a slightly crooked grin. It sat in a cardboard box at a flea market, nestled between chipped teacups and a broken yo-yo. There was something oddly magnetic about it. Maybe it was the whimsy. Maybe the faint rattle of candy still inside. Or maybe it was nostalgia, though for what exactly, I wasn’t sure. For a dollar, the clown came home with me, and that—though I didn’t know it yet—was the beginning of my life as a PEZ collector.

PEZ dispensers are peculiar things. They are part toy, part candy container, part pop culture time capsule. Invented in Austria in 1949 as a way to market breath mints (the name comes from “PfeffErminZ,” the German word for peppermint), they were originally sleek and utilitarian. It wasn’t until the 1950s, when PEZ tried to break into the American market, that the dispensers got character heads and took on a child-friendly image. Suddenly, Mickey Mouse and Santa Claus were doling out sugary bricks with a satisfying click.

I didn’t know any of this when I found that first clown. But after a bit of research and a few YouTube rabbit holes, I was hooked. I began haunting thrift stores, antique malls, estate sales—any place with forgotten junk and the possibility of treasure. You’d be surprised how many PEZ dispensers live in the bottom of kitchen junk drawers or buried in dusty attic boxes.

At first, I picked up anything I didn’t already have. Batman with his stern cowl. Cinderella in a sparkly blue tiara. The Hulk, with a spring so stiff you practically had to wrestle him to get your candy. Each one was a miniature artifact from a different era. The Star Wars ones alone could fill a shelf: Yoda, Chewbacca, and at least three different versions of Darth Vader. And don’t get me started on the seasonal ones—bunnies, pumpkins, turkeys, snowmen. PEZ has a dispenser for every holiday, every emotion, and seemingly every intellectual property ever licensed.

But as with all collecting, the passion deepens. You move from casual picker to deliberate hunter. You start to learn terms like “no feet” (referring to early dispensers without the base flanges), and you know to check for country of origin stamps—Austria, Yugoslavia, Hungary—each hinting at age and rarity. You know which versions are common, which are rare, and which were never sold to the public at all. You also begin to understand the unique madness of PEZ collecting.

There’s the Make-A-Face dispenser from the 1970s, which let kids change the character’s eyes, nose, and mouth like a Mr. Potato Head. It flopped commercially, but try finding one in decent condition now without selling a kidney. Or the “psychedelic eye” dispensers, discontinued after a few years because, frankly, they creeped people out. And then there are the holy grails—the political misprints, the promotional one-offs, the mis-colored prototypes that somehow escaped the factory floor.

One of my best finds came in a cardboard box marked “kids’ stuff” at an estate sale in a sleepy Ohio suburb. Amid broken Hot Wheels and plastic dinosaurs was a green dispenser with a peculiar head. It looked like a space helmet but had a label I didn’t recognize. I paid five bucks for the whole box. Later, I discovered it was an early “Robot” PEZ from the late 1950s—rare, and in surprisingly good shape. It was worth hundreds, maybe more to the right collector. But I never sold it. That little robot now stands front and center on a narrow shelf above my desk, reminding me that sometimes treasure comes disguised in cheap plastic.

PEZ collectors, I’ve come to learn, are a varied and passionate tribe. There are casual fans with a dozen favorite characters on display in their kitchens, and there are hardcore collectors with climate-controlled PEZ rooms and insurance policies on their collection. Some focus on vintage pieces. Others collect everything PEZ has ever released. A few go wild for misprints and factory errors—imagine a Hello Kitty with Spider-Man’s head by mistake. These are prized like rare gems.

There’s even a PEZ convention circuit. Yes, conventions. Every year, collectors gather in cities across the U.S.—Cleveland, Stamford, Anaheim—lugging suitcases of dispensers to trade, show off, or sell. There are trivia contests, auctions, lectures on production history. People dress up. Friendships form. Some collectors even marry after meeting through PEZ groups. It’s a community built on tiny, spring-loaded necks and a shared delight in something delightfully odd.

Of course, not everyone understands the obsession. “You collect those?” people ask, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

There’s no neat answer. Part of it is the thrill of the hunt—never knowing what you might find. Part of it is the joy of preserving something ephemeral. But mostly, it’s the stories each piece tells. A dusty Bugs Bunny from the ‘60s is a remnant of childhoods long grown. A limited-edition Elvis set is both kitsch and pop culture history. A dispenser shaped like a nurse, released to honor front-line workers, tells a story of a moment in time.

And there’s something deeply comforting about lining them up—row after row of bright colors and goofy grins. They remind you not to take life too seriously. That sometimes, joy really can come in a small, candy-dispensing package.

These days, my collection numbers in the hundreds, and I’m running out of shelf space. I still carry that first clown with me, sometimes tucked in a coat pocket like a lucky charm. It’s scratched and faded now, but I don’t mind. It’s the piece that started it all.

And maybe that’s the real magic of PEZ. Each one is more than plastic and sugar. It’s a marker of memory, of discovery, of delight in the small, unexpected wonders of the world.

So next time you see a PEZ dispenser—whether it’s in a checkout aisle, a thrift store bin, or the bottom of your kid’s toy box—pause for a moment. Flip the head back. Listen for that soft click. You might just feel a spark of something joyful. And who knows? That one piece might be the start of a collection all your own.

🕰️ PEZ Through the Decades: A Visual Timeline

📍 1927
🟢 Invention
Eduard Haas III creates PEZ mints in Austria as a peppermint breath freshener for adults.

📍 1949
🔲 First Dispenser
A sleek, lighter-shaped dispenser is introduced for adult use—no characters yet!

📍 1952
PEZ Comes to America
PEZ enters the U.S. market and soon shifts focus from adults to children.

📍 1955
🎭 Character Heads Debut
First character dispensers appear—Popeye, Mickey Mouse, and Santa lead the charge.

📍 1973
🏭 U.S. PEZ Factory Opens
A new production plant opens in Orange, Connecticut (still operational today!).

📍 1987
👣 Dispenser "Feet" Added
Base flanges are added to help dispensers stand upright—vital for collectors.

📍 1991
🎉 First PEZ Convention
The inaugural PEZ convention is held in Ohio, sparking a vibrant collector community.

📍 Today
🌍 Global Pop Icon
Over 1,500 dispenser designs exist, from superheroes to seasonal favorites. New releases continue to delight fans and collectors worldwide.