Eizo Fujii of Eurobox is colourblind.

It got me thinking about ink bottles. What they are, what they're for, and whether those two things are always the same. From what I've observed, manufacturers work from one of three philosophies when designing them.

I imagine that when my parents explained the stationery was for their child, the staff pictured an actual child. Not a grown adult with opinions about optimal gsm and texture. An actual child, small and sticky-fingered, expecting a colouring book. The evidence supports this.

In this series, I’ll go through the stationery I’ve collected along the way: how it feels to write with, how it holds up to fountain pens and ink, and—most importantly—whether it makes me feel like I’m Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love.

It’s hard to tell which part is most implausible: the years-long queue, the nitrocellulose, the true sepia ink, or the fact that one of the world’s largest companies made room for him.

This series will cover the niche within the niche. The donut hole within a donut’s hole. First up: Nakaya

Those of us who had years to accumulate our gold nibs should be careful not to develop the posture of boomer homeowners: mistaking timing for virtue, and confusing “I bought early” with “I earned it.”

As the anecdote goes, the scene takes place inside Pilot’s headquarters in Tokyo. A meeting of executives. A new Capless model being introduced.

Traveler’s Company, a division of Midori, has built a remarkably loyal following around a single product: the Traveler’s Notebook.