What Disappearing Fish And Cats Reveal About Us

Lucky 477?: At Gordon Ramsay’s Lucky Cat, perched on the 60th floor of 22 Bishopsgate, 477 tiny ceramic figurines disappeared in a single week. The maneki-neko, or “beckoning cats,” were meant to serve as chopstick rests. In Japanese culture they symbolise prosperity; in Ramsay’s restaurant, they became must-have tokens. Each cost £4.50. The first week’s bill for theft alone: £2,146.50.

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For as long as there have been restaurants, small things have had a habit of going missing. Napkins folded into handbags. A sachet of sugar tucked discreetly into a pocket. Condiment packets saved “for later.” The industry has long accepted this as part of the cost of doing business. But in 2025, the objects that vanish from dining tables are no longer paper goods. They are photogenic, collectible, and crucially – shareable.

At Gordon Ramsay’s Lucky Cat, perched on the 60th floor of 22 Bishopsgate, 477 tiny ceramic figurines disappeared in a single week. The maneki-neko, or “beckoning cats,” were meant to serve as chopstick rests. In Japanese culture they symbolise prosperity; in Ramsay’s restaurant, they became must-have tokens. Each cost £4.50. The first week’s bill for theft alone: £2,146.50.

Across town, Sexy Fish was facing its own vanishing act. The restaurant’s brass chopstick rests, cast in the form of miniature fish and inscribed, with a knowing wink, “Stolen from Sexy Fish” have been disappearing for a decade. As of this summer the restaurant claim more than 558,000 have gone missing.

From nuisance to narrative

On the surface, these are simply stories of theft. But to stop there is to miss the point. Consumers are not pocketing chopstick rests for practicality; they are claiming a piece of an experience that has been meticulously staged.

Humans have always collected souvenirs: shells from a beach, boarding passes from a trip, programmes from a concert. The instinct is a way of holding onto memory. In the experience economy, where dining is pitched as theatre, that instinct intensifies. A brass fish or a porcelain cat is the ultimate memento: tangible, enduring, photogenic.

In the social media age, that impulse is amplified further still. A photograph of a meal fades quickly into the feed; a brass fish displayed on a mantelpiece endures. It tells a story in three dimensions: I was there. Proof of access becomes cultural currency, elevating the object from utensil to trophy.

Theatre or just theft?

Restaurants are divided on how to respond. Ramsay voiced frustration on national television, bluntly describing the loss as damaging in an industry where margins are already thin. Sexy Fish took the opposite approach. To mark its tenth anniversary in August, it launched a “Missing Fish Amnesty”: diners returning a chopstick rest would receive a cocktail in exchange.

One reaction framed the behaviour as criminal; the other reframed it as marketing. In Sexy Fish’s case, the amnesty became a campaign in its own right, drawing headlines and reinforcing the restaurant’s myth.

There is precedent. Hotels long ago gave up trying to stop towels and robes walking out the door. Instead, they turned the problem into a product line, selling the very items guests could not resist taking – and leaning into resortcore.

The souvenir economy of dining

The transition from missing napkins to missing brass fish reveals a bigger truth about consumer behaviour. Yesterday’s ketchup sachet signalled thrift. Today’s brass fish signals belonging.

Dining has become a form of identity work. The restaurants most talked about are those that present themselves as full stage sets. Lighting, sound, interiors, uniforms, even the props on the table are designed to contribute to the performance. Diners want not only to experience that theatre but to own a piece of it.

This is the birth of what could be called a “souvenir economy” in dining. Items are no longer accidents of theft; they are tokens of participation. The smarter operators will begin to design with this in mind, either offering souvenirs for sale, or creating controlled opportunities for diners to take something home.

What comes next

For restaurants, the challenge is to strike the line between playful myth-making and unsustainable loss. Sexy Fish has demonstrated the value of embracing the joke; Ramsay’s Lucky Cat has shown the financial risk of letting it run unchecked. For smaller independents, the stakes are sharper still.

But one thing is certain. Diners will not stop pocketing tokens from their meals. In a culture that prizes both theatre and proof, the temptation is irresistible. The only question is whether operators will treat it as theft to be policed or PR theatre to be staged.