Japanese lined notebooks are a sensualist’s dream
I know this makes me sound like a relic from another distant era, but I quite like to write things down, by using a pen on paper. Like everybody else, of course, I have a smartphone I can make little notes to self on, but there’s still nothing as bracing and clarifying as the feel of a pen in my hand, and a freshly opened notebook on my desk.
Call me hopelessly retro, but not only do I have an entire desk drawer crammed with notecards and creamy stationery, I prefer to flip (back to front) through real, print magazines; read books with real pages that I can turn with my fingers; and get actual newspapers delivered to me at home every single morning so that I can enjoy the crinkle of them with my coffee.
I guess it’s a bit of a sensory thrill because in order to visualize what lies ahead I also like to keep a paper diary as well as a digital calendar (although this can get confusing). Plus, I am an avid drafter of to-do lists, which are even more delightful once you have completed said itemized tasks and can check them off. And then there’s the constant enticement of interesting pens and exquisitely designed paper products — some of them from cult brands, such as these Noble notebooks of finely laid, archival-quality, closely lined Japanese paper.
It’s a bit of a sensualist’s position, I suppose, this desire to feel a pen and paper in my hands rather than click away at buttons. Which doesn’t make it any less radical. Frankly, I feel approximately the same level of enthusiasm for the paperless office as I do about the possibility of a self-driving car. Why would anyone ever want to give up the feeling of being behind a steering wheel?
Happily, there is a mounting pile of recent research to support my little pen and paper predilection. Apparently (as we Luddites had always rather suspected), the physical act of writing things down helps us retain that information significantly better than merely entering it into a digital device. Perhaps the very process of learning anything has a real, physical component, in the way that as children, we had to pick up and feel everything around us to learn about life.
Which leads me to why I find these particular notebooks so very brilliant. Not only do they look like props from a Wes Anderson movie, the grand old-world font of their front cover labels suggests a certain self-awareness of their recherché appeal. What’s more, naming anything that is yet to be filled in “Life” offers a witty reminder that it’s perhaps life itself that is always the very real subject of our daily endeavours. Karen von Hahn is a Toronto-based writer, trend observer and style commentator. Her new book, What Remains: Object Lessons in Love and Loss is published by the House of Anansi Press. Contact her at kvh@karenvonhahn.com.