Sometimes I can be a real snob… a design snob that is. There is no product I love more than that which is as beautiful as it is functional. Please excuse me while I lovingly stroke my Lamy 2000.
If you want to know how to live up to the always elusive New Years Resolution to journal more, here’s my secret: buy a nice pen. It should preferably be a fountain pen (but that’s opening a can of worms that shouldn’t always be opened). A nice pen doesn’t simply make for a Pinterest worthy desk space but also transforms writing into a complete, sensory experience. A nice pen makes writing enjoyable.
For the uninitiated, fountain pens seem overly-traditional, excessive, and maybe even a little corporate. They are relics of a bygone era; after all, with the advent of credit cards and smart phone wallets, the grandeur flourish of a signature is rarely needed. Chicken scratch is replacing elementary school teachers’ beloved cursive.
Allow me to introduce the Lamy 2000, one of the most iconic and well-recognized fountain pens out there. It’s hefty — a full 25 grams — but incredibly well-balanced. The pen is made with Makrolon, which is a fancy name for thermoplastic polymer, which is a fancy way of saying that the pen’s barrel warms to your touch (perfect for keeping my fingers warm in the dead of winter). The Lamy 2000 writes consistently and smoothly every time, and my only complaint is that the “extra fine” nib I own results in a pretty dry ink line, meaning that my paper quality better be buttery smooth to avoid scratchiness. Nevertheless, it’s a pen I admire almost daily. Like a fine timepiece, the Lamy 2000 is a piece of art and a future heirloom.
I developed an interest in fountain pens during my senior year of high school. Mind you, I’ve enjoyed handwriting for as long as I remember — practicing my many elaborate childhood signatures stands among my many memories of swinging on monkey bars and stuffing tanbark in my pockets. It was senior year of high school, however, that heralded a year of several firsts: becoming an adult, drinking butter beer at Harry Potter World, and perhaps just as notably, owning my first fountain pen, the Parker Sonnet. What started simply as a fascination for fountain pens’ smooth lacquer bodies and shiny hardware soon became an admiration for the way that each brand and model handles inks, papers, and writing styles differently just as a BMW accelerates and hugs curves differently than a Honda. Naturally, one thing led to another, and now I am a sheepishly proud owner of not one, not two, but five fountain pens, the creme de la creme of fountain pen inks, and a stock of paper that could likely feed a small pet — even a baby perhaps — with its retail value. At least I have collateral if a nuclear disaster leaves us in a second Stone Age.