Kyoei’s Kiwami Writing Mat

Written By Kurashi no Bungu - くらしの文具

Kyoei's Kiwami Writing Mat Shitajiki (Kiwami ライティングマット下敷) has been on the market for a while.

Kiwami’s shitajiki

Until recently, I never thought of it as a subject that can stand on its own. When I purchased it, I had been using a cutting mat, A4 memo pad, or anything flat and relatively large to line the uneven wood grain of my desk so that I have a flat writing surface. The shitajiki was cheap enough that I bought it impulsively, started using it daily, and didn't think much about it.

The shitajiki is made out of recycled Polyvinyl Chloride (PVC). It is 2mm thick, and it comes in B6, A5, B5, and A4. For these sizes, Kiwami designed it so that it is slightly larger than its stated dimensions so a sheet of paper never hangs off the edge. There are also desk-mat-sized versions called the KAI and the PRO.

The A4 shitajiki compared. to an A5 sheet (on top) and an A4 pad (to the right).

I've used it for an extended period. To put it shortly, it enhances my writing experience to the point where I would notice its absence. I attribute it to its material and thickness.

The shitajiki's relationship to your writing can be compared to the role of a dampener to a good car. When I write with a fountain pen that has audible feedback—Sailor, Platinum—the scratch of the nib against paper drops in pitch. I find this pleasant, though that's a matter of taste.

With firmer nibs, its cushioning simulates the pleasant spring of a bouncier nib without going soft. The harder I press, the more pronounced this becomes. For someone with a light hand, like me, that effect alone might be minor. But it's dramatic with a ballpoint, a rollerball, a wooden pencil, and especially a mechanical pencil—instruments that, unlike a fountain pen, conventionally demand more pressure to begin with.

The cushioning also lets the tip sink very slightly into the surface, which, counterintuitively, improves control and grip without changing how the instrument itself feels. On the shitajiki, my pen stops exactly when I want it to stop. No overshoot. Every stroke feels more precise, and I feel no extra resistance or feedback from the nib doing it.

The shitajiki will never take center stage in your everyday writing. But it is one of those things you take for granted until it's gone: a wallet you've carried for a decade, the corner store that stocks the one brand of canned fish you like.

Take it away, and only then will you notice how much you've grown accustomed to it.

—Nakaya Ryogiri, Sailor Jentle Chu-Shu

Kurashi no Bungu - くらしの文具
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