More than three years have passed since Paul Reubens left the earth, yet his presence somehow still feels immediate. When fans hear that unmistakable staccato laugh, or see a red bow tie, or glimpse a child’s bicycle with too many decals, they are instantly transported back to a world where silliness was allowed to be profound. Those who loved Reubens know that this sale is not about letting go; it is about carrying forward. Julien’s Auctions has tapped into exactly that reservoir of feeling with Pee-Wee’s Big Auction, an extensive and lovingly curated sale of more than four hundred objects from Reubens’ life and career. The auction will happen simultaneously online and at The Groundlings Theatre, located at 7307 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90046, on Wednesday, October 28th at 10 a.m. Tickets go on sale Friday, October 2nd at Groundlings.com. The catalog itself is a biography in miniature, tracing a career from improvisational theater to Hollywood films to Netflix specials, and the offerings range from high-end film memorabilia to humble personal curiosities. The choice of venue is rich with meaning. It was at The Groundlings, back in 1978, that Reubens first discovered Pee-Wee Herman during an improvisational exercise, turning a chance moment of play into an enduring persona. To bid on a piece of that journey, from the very theater where it all began, feels like holding a conversation with the past. For those who grew up in the 1980s, Pee-Wee was not just a character; he was a friend who made chaos look harmless and imagination look like the most sensible occupation in the world. This auction, then, is more than a sale. It is a memorial made of objects, a way for fans to bring a fragment of that happiness into their own homes, and a reminder that Reubens’ enormous heart was always hiding in plain sight beneath a too-tight suit and a too-perfect bow tie. No one is quite sure what the emotional temperature of the day will be—tears, laughter, or some beautiful mix—but that ambiguity is exactly right for a man whose comedy always lived somewhere between childhood and adulthood.
To understand why these objects matter so deeply, one has to understand how Pee-Wee Herman was born. Reubens had studied improvisation and comedy for years, but on that evening at The Groundlings Theatre in 1978, a character came through him that felt less like an invention and more like an old soul waiting to be introduced. He was a comedian who built an entire world from a single voice. The Pee-Wee Herman Show, launched in the early 1980s, was an immediate theatrical curiosity—a mixture of vaudeville, children’s television, and adult humor, delivered with the total sincerity of a boy who had somehow been granted a license to play forever. That stage show became the foundation for Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure in 1985, a film that also marked the feature directorial debut of Tim Burton. Produced for just seven million dollars, the movie grossed more than forty million, an enormous success by any measure, and it introduced audiences to a visual language that was equal parts whimsy and anxiety. The following year, Pee-Wee’s Playhouse premiered, running from 1986 to 1990 and becoming a cultural phenomenon. The series was a sensory explosion of stop-motion animation, puppetry, surreal guest stars, and the unforgettable energy of Pee-Wee himself, who presided over his playhouse like a child-master of ceremonies. It also gave early opportunities to remarkable performers such as Phil Hartman, Laurence Fishburne, and S. Epatha Merkerson, each of whom went on to distinguished careers. Watching those episodes today is like opening a time capsule of American pop art—bright, weird, fearless, and brilliantly sincere. Reubens understood that children and adults were not so different when it came to joy, and he refused to talk down to either. He filled his playhouse with secrets, jokes, warnings, and wonders, and he made it acceptable to be a little strange. That is the soul behind the objects now being auctioned. Every script, every prop, every crumpled bow tie is a relic from that brave, funny, stubbornly imaginative universe, and together they tell the story of a performer who never lost his faith in the power of play.
For serious collectors, certain lots stand out as the crown jewels. The most coveted item is likely the full slate grey suit and red bow tie that Reubens wore in Netflix’s 2015 film Pee-Wee’s Big Holiday. That movie arrived after a long silence, a gift to fans who had feared they would never see Pee-Wee again, and seeing Reubens back in costume felt like a reunion with a beloved uncle who had been away far too long. It is hard to look at that grey suit without feeling a flood of nostalgia for the big-screen comeback that many of us never expected to see. The suit carries with it all the warmth of that last, lovely performance. An opening bid of $4,000 has already been placed, and Julien’s Auctions estimates that the final sale will land between $8,000 and $10,000. Another extraordinary offering is a replica of Pee-Wee’s iconic bicycle, similar to the one in Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure but not the exact bike from the film. This particular bike has its own history: Reubens rode it on stage at the 2011 Spike TV Scream Awards to accept the Visionary Award, an honor that recognized his impact on popular culture. To climb onto that bike, even at a ceremony, was to step back into a role that had made him a legend. The estimated price for this rolling piece of happiness is between $5,000 and $7,000. These two items are more than props; they are extensions of the character himself. A suit is just fabric until someone with courage and imagination wears it, and Pee-Wee’s clothes seemed to vibrate with Reubens’ commitment to the bit. The bike, too, represented freedom, movement, and the open road of childhood. Owning them would mean preserving not just an artifact, but the very energy that made people laugh, gasp, and cry. For the superfan with resources, these lots offer a direct connection to a man who taught us that the right outfit and a willing heart could transform the ordinary world.
But Pee-Wee’s Big Auction is not only for wealthy collectors with display cases and white gloves. There are many affordable lots that allow ordinary fans to carry home a small piece of the magic. A collection of thirteen bow ties, for example, has an estimated value of $100 to $200, although the current bid has already climbed to $500—a testament to how much these little symbols mean to people. For someone who grew up drawing Pee-Wee’s face on school folders, a bow tie is not just an accessory; it is an emblem of pure, undiluted ridiculousness. There are also six Pee-Wee Herman matchbox ventriloquist dolls, strange and delightful objects that could easily sit on a shelf and spark conversations for decades. The current bid for the set is $500, exactly at the low end of the $500 to $700 estimate. There is a signed photo from Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, now attracting bids around $350, and an abundance of scripts from Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and other Reubens projects, alongside clothing, toys, and merchandise that range from everyday to extraordinary. The complete list is available on Julien’s Auction website, where browsers can scroll for hours and dream. Each of these items offers a different kind of intimacy. A piece of paper covered in stage directions can feel like a map of Reubens’ mind; a toy from a McDonald’s promotion can evoke the strange commercial ubiquity of Pee-Wee in his heyday. The range of prices is intentional, perhaps, because Reubens’ legacy was never elitist. He wanted to make everyone laugh, from children to grandparents, from art-house cinephiles to kids who just wanted to shout “I know you are, but what am I?” At heart, this auction is about allowing as many people as possible to participate in the ritual of remembrance. Whether you bid on a $10,000 suit or a $100 bow tie, the act of claiming a small piece of Pee-Wee is an act of love. The auction house has made a point of offering lots that are fun, strange, and deeply personal rather than merely priceless, and that makes all the difference in turning a sale into a shared experience.
The physical experience of the auction will be almost as magical as the objects themselves. The Groundlings Theatre is not merely a location; it is a sanctuary of American comedy. Walking through its doors, one can almost hear the ghosts of countless performances, including the moment when a young Paul Reubens first opened his mouth and let a strange, self-assured, childlike voice escape. Holding the auction there gives every item a spiritual backdrop, and it turns what could have been a sterile online transaction into a pilgrimage. But the events do not begin on auction day. From October 14 through October 28, The Groundlings will host an exhibition of selected items for ticketed guests of Groundlings shows. That means fans can spend an evening with live comedy, then wander through an intimate display of Reubens’ treasures, standing inches away from the very costume pieces and props that once existed only on a glowing television screen. Even more special, on October 14, The Groundlings will screen several episodes of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse followed by a panel discussion. It is a beautiful, generous gesture, one that gives the whole event a sense of context and closure. This is exactly the kind of occasion that would have made Reubens smile—an excuse for people to gather, laugh, and talk about something they loved. The screening and panel transform the auction into a celebration, a communal communion with the weird, wonderful universe of Pee-Wee. It is also a reminder that Reubens was never alone in his work. The Playhouse was full of collaborators, characters, and uncredited voices, and the panel will likely bring together some of the people who helped shape that world. For those who cannot attend in person, the online bidding option ensures that distance does not have to diminish participation. You can sit in your living room, wearing your own ridiculous bow tie, and click your way into history. The internet may be vast, but for a few hours, the center of the Pee-Wee universe will be a theater on Melrose Avenue. The whole thing feels less like a liquidation and more like a wake that evolved into a block party.
Ultimately, Pee-Wee’s Big Auction is a celebration of Paul Reubens’ strange, generous, and endlessly creative mind. He was a performer who understood that the most vulnerable thing a person can do is be completely, unashamedly themselves. Pee-Wee was not a mask for Reubens; he was an amplification of qualities that already existed in his heart—curiosity, defiance, tenderness, and a need to make contact with other people through laughter. He gave us permission to laugh at the absurd, to treasure the handmade, and to treat our own imaginations with respect. The objects on the auction block are artifacts of that contact. A grey suit, a pair of shoes, a stack of handwritten notes, a silly little doll—they are all reminders that art is made by human hands and worn on human bodies, and that the stories we love become part of us. Three years after his passing, Reubens is still speaking to us. Every bid placed is a response, a way of saying: “I remember you. I remember the playhouse, the secret word, the bike, the laugh, the line between kid and adult that you erased so beautifully.” The auction allows us to hold on to Pee-Wee in a physical way, but the character was never confined to objects anyway. Pee-Wee lives in the way we tell stories to children, in the impulse to turn an ordinary day into an adventure, in the absurd courage it takes to wear a too-tight suit and believe in magic. What Paul Reubens gave the world cannot fit inside any auction catalog, no matter how lovingly prepared. But his belongings serve as a bridge—tangible, touchable, covered in the fingerprints of a lifetime of comedy. As the gavel falls on October 28th, one era will officially close, but another will continue in the homes of the fans who carry these pieces forward. As long as somebody remembers the secret word, Pee-Wee is not gone. Goodbye, Paul. Thank you for the laughter. And maybe the best goodbye is Pee-Wee’s own playful retort: “I know you are, but what am I?”
