The 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan and Cortina have unleashed a frenzy unlike anything seen before: 'Pindemonium' has gripped the cities, turning collectors into treasure hunters on a mission. Imagine this: before dawn breaks, a dedicated crowd gathers outside Milan's metro stations, eyes glued to their phones, waiting for the daily Instagram clue. At precisely 8 a.m., the post drops: 'Castello area, pins available while supplies last—run, don’t walk!' And just like that, the race begins.
This isn’t your average souvenir hunt. It’s a quest for highly coveted, limited-edition Olympic pins, distributed for free—but only to the fastest. Take Ilaria Pasqua, a Milan-based English teacher who’s been up at the crack of dawn since Saturday, determined to complete her collection of pins representing seven neighborhoods and five iconic landmarks. She’s even teamed up with fellow collectors she met on day one, strategizing to be first in line.
'It might seem extreme,' Pasqua admits, 'but it’s not just about the pins. I’ve met incredible people, and it’s a unique way to explore the city. Plus, you take home a little treasure every day—it’s a blast!’
But here’s where it gets controversial: is this a brilliant way to engage locals and visitors, or a time-consuming obsession? Some argue it’s a waste of time, while others see it as a social, cultural experience. What do you think?
Pin collecting isn’t just a Milan phenomenon—it’s a global Olympic subculture. Die-hard collectors travel across continents to expand their collections, often boasting thousands of enamel pins. For those who prefer a more straightforward approach, Milan has introduced the first official pin trading center since Pyeongchang 2018, sponsored by Warner Brothers. Here, kids interact with Looney Tunes characters, while seasoned traders from the U.S. to Japan display their wares.
Eddie Schneider, a collector from New York, has been trading since the 1984 Los Angeles Games. His collection of 25,000 pins includes a rare gem from the 1948 London Games, gifted by his mother. 'It’s like attending a World’s Fair every two years,' he says. 'You travel, experience cultures, and have fun.'
And this is the part most people miss: the pins aren’t just trinkets—they’re categorized by value, from retail and delegation to team, sponsor, media, and national Olympic committees. Japanese media pins are particularly prized for their rarity, while in Cortina, athletes clamored for Iran pins. In Paris, Snoop Dogg’s pins stole the show.
Official pins feature the Milan Cortina 26 logo and Olympic rings, exclusively produced by Honav, a Los Angeles-based pin-maker. Owner Mario Simonson reveals that his company designed hundreds of pins and produced millions for these Games, each authenticated with a Honav back-stamp. Pins without these official marks? 'Zero value,' he says.
Take Josh Waller, a 21-year-old Londoner who started collecting at age eight during the 2012 Summer Games. His collection now exceeds 10,000 pins, and he’s brought 1,500 to Milan for trading. He calls it 'Pindemonium,' and his award-winning London Olympic pin collection is a testament to his passion. Waller even developed software to authenticate high-value pins, showcasing the depth of this niche hobby.
Meanwhile, pin enthusiasts are crisscrossing Milan at dawn, determined to complete the YesMilano set. The campaign has been a runaway success, drawing over 1,000 people to the NOLO neighborhood on the first day and 600 to Torre Velasca the next. Latecomers receive stickers, but pins can be purchased for 20 euros—up from 12 due to soaring demand.
Beatrice Biondi, a university student from Varese, woke up at 6:30 a.m. to secure her spot at Sforza Castle. 'We had to run, but it was worth it,' she said, already planning to add a focaccia bag charm and a Coca-Cola pin to her collection. 'All the pins I can find, I will take.'
YesMilano’s campaign isn’t just about pins—it’s about promoting lesser-known parts of the city and encouraging exploration. It’s a win-win: collectors get treasures, and the city gets visitors to underappreciated landmarks.
So, here’s the question: Is 'Pindemonium' a brilliant cultural engagement strategy, or a fleeting obsession? Are these pins mere trinkets, or do they hold deeper value? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s spark a debate!
