For the longest time I've kept a notebook with business ideas in it. Most are complete nonsense, others get promoted to the lofty rank of “business plan” yet go no further. They march, chest out, straight from vaguely plausible scribble to failed start-up, without ever troubling the world with pesky details like customers, profit, or taxation. Others never see the light of day at all. They remain in the notebook, fermenting quietly like an under-ambitious cheese.
I was flicking through it the other day and came across an idea I still think is properly banging, except for one tiny flaw: it fails on capital. It needs a shop. An actual, physical shop. And it would cost a small fortune to stock, because the whole concept revolves around imported inventory. You can’t run it as a pop-up on Etsy because the purchase is, in a weird way, location-dependant.
Anyway, I present it to you here. Run it up the old flagpole and see if anyone salutes. If you want to pick it up and sprint off with it, it’s all yours. I gift it to you in the spirit of Gnu. (Which are currently out of stock, but I can offer you a charmingly wrong substitute from Helsinki.)
The business is called: Anywhere But Here
A souvenir shop in your city that sells souvenirs for every tourist destination in the world except the one you’re standing in.
So for example, if you’re in Madrid, you can buy:
- Arc de Triomphe paperweights
- Moscow fridge magnets
- a “Greetings from Singapore” tea towel
- a miniature Statue of Liberty (that looks faintly embarrassed to be abroad at the moment)
- A fluffy kangaroo in an I ❤️ Sydney T-shirt
…but absolutely nothing Spanish. Not a flamenco doll. Not a bull. Not a “Madrid” keyring. Not even a postcard of a breakfast churro. If you ask, the staff look at you with the polite concern reserved for people who’ve tried to pay with a Blockbuster video card.
“Spain?” they say. “Is that near Belgium?”
The Mission Statement (printed in tasteful italics on the wall)
We believe travel is about disappointment, confusion, and buying objects you do not need.
We specialise in the disappointment and confusion, and we’re open seven days a week.
The Branding
The shopfront is beautiful. Warm lighting. Tasteful shelves. A little bell on the door. Everything says curated. A place for discerning travellers.
The sign says:
ANYWHERE BUT HERE Souvenirs for places you’re not in
Inside, a big world map with pins everywhere except your country, which is just… blank. A tasteful void. A cartographic snub.
How It Works
You walk in. You’re a tourist. You’ve got that “I’ve just paid €4.60 for a coffee” glaze in your eyes. You want something to take home. Something that says I was here.
We give you the opposite.
The categories are:
1) The Wrong City Wall
A whole display dedicated to the nearest famous landmark you are not visiting.
So for example, in Madrid you would see:
- Paris: Eiffel Tower keyrings, Arc de Triomphe paperweights, “I ❤️ Paris” berets (made in a factory in a country that has never heard of Paris).
- Rome: Colosseum snow globes (no snow, just small bits of dust that may or may not be historical).
- London: “Mind the Gap” mugs, tiny red buses, a Queen’s Guard figurine that looks like it’s been through a long day.
If you point out you’re not in those cities, the assistant nods sympathetically, as if you’ve just told them about a long illness.
2) The Deep Cut Shelf
This is where you earn your keep as a retailer of nonsense.
- “Greetings from Reykjavík” oven mitts
- Ulaanbaatar shot glasses
- A hand-carved wooden moose from “somewhere in Canada, probably”
- “I Survived The Hague” t-shirts (nobody survives The Hague, they simply endure it)
3) The Confusion Range
Souvenirs that are wrong in more than one way.
- A Stonehenge dinosaur diorama
- A Dubai rain poncho
- A Venice beach towel
- A Sahara lighthouse ornament
- “Welcome to Edinburgh” flip-flops
A customer will stare at these items like they’ve just seen a dog solve a Rubik cube.
4) The Ethical Luxury Corner
For people who want meaning, but also want it to be inconvenient.
- a recycled-glass ornament shaped like Mount Fuji
- artisanal “authentic” New York subway tokens (made yesterday)
- a candle called Eau de Glacier that smells like expensive melancholy
5) The Kids Section: “Where Are We?”
Little plush toys and sticker books, all themed around places you are not.
- Furry Aardvarks in a city where the only wildlife is pigeons with opinions
- a sticker sheet titled “My Trip to Antarctica”
- a cuddly toy gnu (sold out, again, obviously)
Staff Policy
This is the important bit. The shop only works if the staff commit.
Rules:
- If a customer asks for a souvenir of your city, you act genuinely confused.
- If they insist, you offer them something nearby but wrong.
- “Madrid? We’ve got Marseille?”
- If they start getting angry, you guide them gently toward the Customer Support Penguin, a life-size cardboard penguin wearing a lanyard that says “I’m Listening.”
If someone demands to speak to the manager, the manager appears wearing a Clown costume and says, “We don’t carry local.”
The Loyalty Scheme
The Frequent Disappointer Card
Collect stamps. Redeem for rewards available only in:
- countries you have never visited
- cities you cannot pronounce
- places that may be fictional
After ten stamps you qualify for the Golden Wrongness tier, which gets you a free upgrade to “a bigger version of the same mistake”.
The Best Part: The Reviews (already written, because the internet is inevitable)
⭐☆☆☆☆
“Asked for a magnet that said Madrid. They sold me one that said Minsk. I don’t even know where Minsk is.”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
“Absolutely brilliant. Bought an ‘I ❤️ Tokyo’ t-shirt while standing 50 metres from my Barcelona hotel. My wife hasn’t stopped laughing.”
⭐☆☆☆☆
“They told me Spain is ‘out of season’. This is ridiculous.”
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
“Came in angry. Left with a Chicago Cubs 47 Brand Wrigley Field Marque Fitted baseball cap. Couldn't be happier. I respect the commitment.”
Why It Would Work (in a parallel universe where I had money and serotonin)
Because tourists don’t buy souvenirs. They buy a story. They buy a prop. They buy the ability to say:
“Look at this. I don’t even know why this exists.”
Also, the shop becomes a destination in itself. People don’t come for the merch. They come to experience being gently gaslit by tasteful retail shelving.
The Fatal Flaw (and why you’re reading this instead of visiting my shop)
Capital. Rent. Stock. Shipping a thousand tiny monuments to a thousand wrong places. It’s a money bonfire, and not the warm cosy kind.
So instead, I’m doing what every failed entrepreneur eventually does: abandoning my dreams and blogging about them.
The Flagpole Bit
If this idea made you smile, here’s my offer:
Take it. Steal it. Launch it. Franchise it. Build it into a global empire of tasteful nonsense. I officially gift it to you in the spirit of Gnu.
(Still out of stock. Supply chain issues. Try again next week.)
And if you do open one, please do me just one small favour:
On the quiet, put a single, lonely postcard of the local city behind the counter, face-down, like contraband.
Because we’re not monsters. We’re just… curated.