Status has long been associated with certain fountain pen brands. Montblanc is the obvious example. In more recent years, newer and smaller brands have followed the same logic, often with greater subtlety. Traveler’s Company, a division of Midori, has built a remarkably loyal following around a single product: the Traveler’s Notebook.

At its core, the system is simple. A leather cover with interchangeable inserts. These range from plain notebooks and watercolor paper to weekly planners. One practical reason for the brand’s success is size. The covers are produced in two proprietary formats: the “regular” size (slightly smaller than A4) and the “passport” size (slightly smaller than A6). Midori produces the inserts, and very few third parties match the dimensions accurately. As a result, the ecosystem remains largely captive. Of course, proprietary sizing alone does not create a cult following.

The more important element is the lifestyle the brand suggests. Traveler’s Notebook is presented not merely as stationery, but as a companion; something meant to accumulate evidence of one’s life. The user is encouraged to decorate and archive the trivial objects that would otherwise disappear; a receipt from a ramen shop in Hakodate, a quick sketch made at a table in Odawara, a sticker from a convention abroad. Over time, the notebook becomes a container for memory, and—if the habit continues—an evolving narrative object. So long as we keep purchasing the proprietary refills, that is.

I am not ashamed to admit that I like the product. I am fully aware of the consumerist machinery behind it, and I still participate. Design Phil has done its work well, and the result is effective.

Among the accessories is a small brass pocket fountain pen. It is fitted with a Schmidt #5 nib, and “TRAVELER’S COMPANY MADE IN JAPAN” is discreetly engraved on the cap. Brass, of course, is chosen for what it does with time—it takes patina, like leather. It “ages,” and therefore fits the brand’s narrative of use, travel, and accumulation.

The pen is only offered with a fine nib. That would normally be a disadvantage for me, as I have gradually preferred wetter and broader nibs. Yet it remains in my rotation despite the presence of objectively better writers. There is a quiet charm to the small bullet-shaped brass body. The material provides a sense of durability; it is one of the few pens I can post without thinking about scratches, and as a pocket pen it ends up balanced in a way that some larger instruments are not. In practice, it is the pen I still choose for travel, even though I own others with higher ink capacity, softer nibs, and more refined writing feel.

It is certainly not due to my affinity for what Traveler’s Company represents. My thanks to Atsuhiko Iijima, for making it so easy to pretend otherwise.

—Traveler’s Brass, Kaweco Caramel Brown

Lifestyle

The True Heir