For someone whose life has spanned studios, arenas, and global tours, one of Neil Diamond’s most personal passions isn’t framed gold records or old stage outfits — it’s a room overflowing with more than 200 toy cars. And not the expensive, collector-case kind either. Neil’s toy-car room is filled with the simple models he’s loved since childhood: metal pull-backs, plastic racers, brightly painted mini trucks, and a few battered matchbox cars with chipped paint and dented roofs.
What began as a tiny nostalgia habit grew over the years into one of the most unexpectedly charming collections in show business.
According to a close friend who recently shared the story, the collection started with a single vintage matchbox car Neil picked up at a flea market early in his career. It reminded him of being a kid in Brooklyn, racing toy cars across apartment floors, making engine noises with his mouth, and pretending the hallway was the open highway.
He bought it.
Then he bought another.
And then another.
Decades later, the “toy car shelf” evolved into an entire room — a museum of miniature vehicles lining the walls from floor to ceiling.
Visitors describe walking into the space as stepping into Neil’s imagination. There are:
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Neatly arranged classic convertibles in cherry reds and ocean blues
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A row of yellow taxis, a nod to New York
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Tiny pickup trucks with scratches he refuses to repair
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A collection of race cars in bright neons straight from the 1980s
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A handful of toy police cars he jokingly claims drive “recklessly”
One corner even has a small racetrack table where a handful of cars are always positioned mid-race, as if Neil had stepped away just moments earlier.
What surprises most people is how interactive he keeps the collection. These aren’t fragile display items placed behind glass. Neil touches them. Moves them around. Rearranges them like someone designing tiny cities. He picks up favorites while thinking through melodies, rolling a car back and forth across the table as he works out lyrics.
“He brainstorms with toy cars,” the friend said. “It’s like they loosen the world up for him.”
There’s also a deeper meaning behind the room — one Neil has mentioned quietly over the years. Toy cars were something he dreamed about but couldn’t always afford as a child. Collecting them as an adult wasn’t about value; it was about reclaiming a small joy he had once tucked away.
That’s why he keeps the battered ones.
That’s why he keeps the cheap plastic ones.
That’s why he keeps the ones missing wheels.
They’re memories — not trophies.
Fans who heard about the collection reacted with affection and laughter:
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“This makes me love him even more.”
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“A whole room of toy cars? That’s the sweetest thing.”
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“I can picture him humming a melody while rolling a little Corvette across the desk.”
In an industry that often celebrates extravagance, Neil Diamond’s vast room of tiny cars stands out for its innocence. It’s a reminder that even icons hold on to pieces of their childhood — not in grand displays, but in small, colorful objects that spark joy and imagination.
A room full of toy cars.
A man full of stories.
And a collection that says more about Neil Diamond than any award ever could.