My pens!

I suspect that some people find this blog too dull, or weirdly obsessed with mundane topics, so I’m here to prove those assumptions wrong by talking about my too-rapidly-growing fountain pen collection.

I’ve already rocked the internet with an account of my abandoning the quest for the perfect digital notebook and going all-in on Field Notes. What’s remarkable about that is that it’s actually worked for me. I’ve already filled up two and a half notebooks just writing down everything that happens in a day, and I genuinely think it’s helped a lot, although not for the reasons I’d expected.

In that post, I said that I decided to “dip my toe” into fountain pens, and that I believed I got it all out of my system. It should surprise no one that I absolutely didn’t have it all out of my system, and it turned into a hyper-fixation that’s preoccupied the last several weeks. At this point, I’m estimating that it’s about 25% neurodivergence, and 75% retail therapy.

Whatever the case, I went from knowing nothing about them — I’d always conflated them with calligraphy dip pens I’d used and hated when I was in high school — to having way too many.

So I figure if anything, I can give a quick run-down of all the stuff I wish I’d known before I started down this rabbit hole. In case anyone else is curious what the whole fascination is, and may want to try one out without it turning into A Whole Thing like it did with me.

Daily Writing Practice

The image above sums it all up for me, albeit inadvertently.

While I’ve been using Field Notes as a daily tracker, I pretty quickly realized that I don’t value it much for the permanent record of what I do everyday (maybe I will later?), but absolutely value it for the ritual. Slowing down to purposely do something the least inefficient way possible.

I don’t think it helps with retention. Or at least, I couldn’t tell you what I did yesterday, even though I wrote it all down. It actually has a minor benefit in doing the exact opposite: instead of a big jumbled mess of things rattling around in my head, I can just trap them in a notebook and get them out of my brain. Especially on extremely stressful days, it was a huge benefit to “trap” everything that happened inside a notebook and spend a little less time thinking about it.

But even on the mundane days, where I don’t even do enough to fill up a page, and the most interesting thing is “Had a ham sandwich,” I still enjoy it. It’s the indulgence of carving out a small chunk of time to do something that I absolutely don’t need to do.

When I got my first fountain pen, I realized that I simply enjoyed writing with it. I’d intended it to be completely utilitarian — this is for the fancy notes! — but I started looking for excuses to use it when I didn’t have anything worth writing. Test sentences gradually became pangrams and then song lyrics and so on.

I bought a separate notebook, with fountain pen-friendly paper, and devoted it to a daily handwriting practice. Just about the act of writing itself, instead of trying to come up with interesting things to write.

It reminded me of how much I used to enjoy it back in school. Often when I got an assignment I wasn’t interested in, I’d write it as neatly and carefully as I could, just so that I’d at least get something out of it. It always felt satisfying afterwards to look at the page, the mildest sense of “I made that” accomplishment. Then later, when I started getting into computers that had a ton of fonts available and laser printers that could make anything look published, I forgot all about that.

Recently I was making title art for a Playdate game, and Neven Mrgan recommended that instead of the font I’d chosen, I hand-draw the title, to match the style of Edward Gorey, who was a primary inspiration for it. And he was exactly right. Even though I’d been tracing a computer font, the end result still had just the right amount of hand-drawn jank that made it feel so much better.

So for yesterday’s writing practice, I did the page shown above. It’s uneven and sloppy, and I’d never be hired to make signs at Trader Joe’s on the merit of that. Plus I could do a much, much better job with a computer in about 1/4 the time. But it was fun. And there’s something about the jankiness that makes it worth the effort.

Plus, eagle-eyed viewers will notice an important aspect of using fountain pens: you’ve got to wait for the ink to dry. After drawing that whole thing, I did a little touch-up on one of the letters, and then absent-mindedly brushed away a bit of eraser detritus. It smeared the ink, making me say bad words and think I’d ruined the whole thing.

But when I’m trying to make a case for doing things by hand, it’s kind of perfect. Not having an “undo” button is what makes it worth doing at all.

The Appeal of Fountain Pens, As I See It

I mentioned I’m a Field Notes guy now, and fountain pens are just plain not good for those, no matter what anybody tells you.1 For that, I still use the ubiquitous and dependable Pilot G2 that I’ve used for decades now.

I’m still not positive that there is a tangible advantage to writing with a fountain pen over the reliable gel pens and rollerballs. It could just be like reading on an e-ink display instead of an LCD, something that people swear is less fatiguing and more enjoyable, even though I’ve never really noticed.2

But whether it’s a placebo effect or not, I have noticed some advantages (and a few disadvantages or caveats) to the experience of writing with a fountain pen.3

Less fatigue when writing. I’ve been typing for so long, letting my handwriting atrophy, that my hand would start to cramp up after filling a page in a pocket notebook. Because the whole idea of a fountain pen is water-based ink flowing onto the page, you don’t have to — in fact, you usually shouldn’t — put down any pressure on the nib of the pen and still be able to put down a solid line.

With a well-designed fountain pen, you can hold it a lot more loosely. I’ve been noticing that I can fill up pages of a larger notebook with a fountain pen and not have any hint of fatigue afterwards.

Improved handwriting? This one is entirely subjective, but I’d swear that the second I started using my first fountain pen, my long-atrophied handwriting got an immediate upgrade. I’m sure that it was that initial novelty, and I’ve seen that I’m capable of writing too quickly and sloppily no matter what I’m using. But I do believe that there’s an almost-subconscious effect where using a “nicer” pen automatically makes you want to be more careful and take it a little more slowly.

Tons of choices for ink. If you want. I always associated fountain pens with big, messy bottles of ink, so I was a little surprised to find that the first pen I bought — like many if not most fountain pens — comes packaged with a plastic ink cartridge. You can just pop it in, give it a few seconds, and then start writing as easily as you would a ballpoint or gel pen.

If you want to use the bottled ink, though, most have some form of converter available. Some are included with the pen, others are built into the pen. With that, you can go nuts experimenting with colors and developing an appreciation of the subtle differences between almost identical shades of blue. The blog Mountain of Ink is super-useful for comparing different brands and colors.

Line weights and nib sizes. This was another area where I thought fountain pens would work like calligraphy pens, and you could have all these weird and fancy nibs. That’s not the case, and most of the affordable fountain pens don’t even let you change the nibs easily.

I also assumed that they’d naturally have variable line weights, but that’s not usually the case either. You’re most often limited to round tips with sizes that range from “extra fine” to “medium” or occasionally “broad.” But it does mean that you’ve got options, and once you choose the size you like best, it’ll probably deliver a consistent line weight no matter what.

Beginner tip I wish I’d known earlier: Japanese-made nibs tend to be at least a size smaller than others. For example, a “medium” on a Pilot corresponds to a “fine” on most non-Japanese brands.

And there are options for variable line weights. I have one pen that’s a “1.1 mm stub,” which delivers a thick (1.1 mm, to be precise) line on the downstroke and a thinner one horizontally, which kind of imitates dedicated calligraphy pens. “Architect” nibs have the opposite effect. And they’re too expensive for me to afford, but “flex” nibs — often made of softer gold — let you change the weight of the line by applying more or less pressure.

Fountain Pen YouTube. I often have trouble getting to sleep, and watching videos on YouTube of people talking about fountain pens and inks almost always has me sound asleep within two minutes. It’s even more reliable than my previous standby, watching people playing city builder video games!

More expensive paper. There’s no getting around the fact that the utility of fountain pens is inherently limited by the fact that they use water-based ink. That means that on a lot of the paper you likely already have, the ink is going to bleed and feather, and likely show through on the opposite side. This makes them poor for Field Notes as well as most of the notebooks and other paper I had lying around unused.

Getting stuff with better-quality paper has a price premium attached. Brands I hear mentioned frequently are Rhodia, Clairefontaine, Leuchtturm1917, MD, and Tomoe River. For the record, all the images in this post are in a Rhodia notebook, and I had heavier ink sections bleed through to the page underneath (and you can see the page underneath in most of these images). I’ve gotten Dingbats and Lochby notebooks, and I recommend them both if the price is right.

By the way, it’s a common enough complaint about Field Notes that they’ve addressed it on their website, with lots of pictures of a user testing it with various inks and pens. He had a better experience than I did, so maybe it depends a lot on the ink and the pen and how much you write. I still wouldn’t recommend them.

The danger of the “affordable” starter pen. Just to see what all the fuss was about, I got a pen that was reasonably priced by fountain pen standards, even though it was more expensive than any pen I’d ever bought. And I was surprised by how much I liked it. About as easy to use as a “normal” pen, but undeniably felt like an upgrade.

I’ve even looked at the more expensive ones — in the $75 to $150 range, although of course they go much higher — and just don’t see the appeal. Even knowing that it’s about “the joy of writing” more than simple utility, I still can’t see it as anything more than paying a lot of money for rapidly-diminishing returns. There’s really no temptation there for me.

The problem — which in retrospect should’ve been obvious — is that that made it easier to think, “If I like this one so much, how is that one any better or even different?” And when they’re all priced in the “starter pen” range, what’s the harm in trying out different styles, manufacturers, nib types, converter types, and the like?

The harm is that they can pile up fast unless you have a normal adult’s level of self-control, and you can find yourself with too many in too short a time. I’m lucky that I haven’t gotten any that I downright dislike. But I did end up with a bunch that all serve roughly the same purpose and are barely distinguishable from each other.

A Surfeit of Starter Pens to Consider

So in the interest of maybe helping anyone else avoid getting in the same situation — going from “what’s the big deal about fountain pens?” to “holy crap why do I have this many fountain pens?” in about a month — here’s what I’ve tried and what I think about them.

None of these are deep cuts, but the familiar and most-often recommended brands as of late.

Pilot Metropolitan. The first one I got, and it’s still probably my favorite. In a lot of ways, it feels like it’s punching above its weight or price: it feels to me like an expensive “upgrade” pen, and it’s the first one I’d reach for when I’m wanting to feel fancy and important.

Downsides are that its included converter isn’t great, and the piston converter that fits it (called the CON-40) is heavily criticized. But if you plan to use it mostly with cartridges, that’s not an issue.

Lamy AL-Star. This is the exact same design as the Lamy Safari, except with an aluminum body. The Safari is the other pen I saw most often recommended as a starter pen, along with the Metropolitan.

I got this because I tried out my husband’s Safari pens and found them a little bit lighter than the Metropolitan, and I liked the molded grip section. I also got it because it’s my favorite color of green.

My impression is that these pens are made in Germany and they feel like it. All the focus is on the design and all the fun is in the colors; I don’t get a strong sense of “the joy of writing” with it. It’s more like “You want a pen to write with, here is a pen to write with. What’s the problem?” There’s more friction between the nib and the paper than any other fountain pen I’ve used — which is exactly why so many people prefer the Lamy pens — that ends up making it feel the most like a rollerball or gel pen to me. It’s “dependable but utilitarian.”

TWSBI ECO. TWSBI is a manufacturer based in Taiwan, and the ECO was intended to be the “economical” alternative to their flagship pen. It’s made of plastic, and there’s no option for cartridges or converters. The body of the pen is a piston converter — you stick the nib into a bottle of ink, twist the end, and it sucks the ink up into the body of the pen. The body is also clear, so you can always see what color ink you’re using.

These are a little more expensive than the Safari/AL-Star or the Metropolitan, so they seem best suited for people who are pretty sure they’re going to commit to the fountain pen thing. Or at least that they’re interested in experimenting with different types of ink as the main draw of having a fountain pen.

TWSBI ECO. So what happened was I went to a local store that specializes in stationery and fountain pens, intending to get exactly this pen. This is exactly the color I wanted, and I knew I wanted to try a stub nib, because it makes lettering more calligraphy-like with no effort.

The problem is that the store lets you try out the pens before you buy them, and the feel of writing with these was so good that I wanted a “normal” version as well. That’s why I went in wanting exactly one pen, and ended up leaving with this and the purple one above. After all, why not? Why shouldn’t I get two?

TWSBI ECO. As a matter of fact, why not have three?

The purple TWSBI pen was so nice to write with that it was threatening to edge out the Pilot Metropolitan as Chuck’s Favorite Pen. But either because they tend to run “wet” and put a lot of ink on the page, or just because of the nature of the nib, the line weight of a “medium” was noticeably heavier than any of the others. So I decided to get another one targeted mostly at writing.

The TWSBI Eco is a pretty great pen, and it clearly became a favorite. One thing to be aware of is that the twist-cap mechanism you use to fill the pen can be temperamental, and I’ve already had issues with two of them. Fortunately, it’s relatively easy to take the pen apart (the case includes a wrench and some grease), and even I was able to do it with the help of a YouTube video.

Pilot kaküno. This is designed to be an inexpensive starter fountain pen for children, and I ordered one because it was basically the cost of an impulse purchase. It’s got the same nib as the Pilot Metropolitan — except these add a smiley face to show you you’re holding the pen correctly — but for less than half the cost.

The appeal for me was having what was essentially a spare Metropolitan that I could goof around with using different inks, while leaving the Metro on standby as my “main” pen. Its body is big enough that it can hold the larger converter (the CON-70), which not only holds more ink, but is easier to use.

My Recommendations

I mentioned it in each picture, but I don’t have a clear recommendation of the best starter pen if you’re a normal adult who can limit it to just one. But my favorites, in order:

Pilot Metropolitan: my favorite, all around good pen that feels like treating yourself to an upgrade over gel pens. I’ve read people say they don’t like the relatively small size, or the feel of the grip.

TWSBI ECO: I really love writing with these and have even tried a little drawing with them. Tough to recommend as a first pen because they’re a little bit more expensive than the other starters, and they only work with bottled ink.

Pilot kaküno: No brainer recommendation for anyone who just wants to see what all the fuss is about but doesn’t want to pay more than 15 bucks USD.4 The presentation is childish, but it’s just a good fountain pen. An alternative from a different brand that I’ve heard good things about: the Platinum Preppy.

Lamy Safari or AL-Star: My least favorite, but only because it’s the one that feels to me most like using a gel pen or a ballpoint pen. If you want something that’s light and writes well, and wants the most complicated thing to be what color you choose, it’s a solid choice. They’re hugely popular for a reason.5

There are definitely cheaper options, including disposable ones, but I have a very hard time seeing the appeal of choosing a cheap fountain pen over a regular pen.

Also, I’ve seen a lot of recommendations for Chinese brands, often sold through Amazon, that people claim are good pens for a much more affordable price, or even favorite hidden gems. I’m not inclined to get one, for a combination of practical and ideological (or maybe snobbery) reasons. I’ve heard that quality control is spotty and inconsistent, which could give an unnecessarily bad first impression when you know that something like the kaküno is well-made. (And it has a face!) More than that, though, many of them are clearly knock-offs of established brands, which just rubs me the wrong way, even if they are well-made.

In Conclusion, a Cautionary Tale

I guess the main takeaway is “don’t get even a little bit into stationery if you suspect you might be at least a little bit neurodivergent.”

But the more generally useful idea is that there really is some appeal to setting all of the To-Do and Notes and Organizer apps aside and just writing stuff down. I was as skeptical as anyone, convinced that it was a case of content creators needing something to make YouTube videos about, and companies manufacturing notebooks and paper needing to promote their products. But there really is something special in the process of writing that can be as valuable as what’s being written.

I’m still skeptical that I’ll ever find the process of drawing on paper to be as enjoyable as using something like Procreate on an iPad.6 But I do like having the analog version available, for when I want to enjoy the act of drawing or writing more than the results.

1
If you’re looking for a pocket-sized notebook that works with fountain pens, the ones from Lochby are kind of pricey but work great.

2
For the record, I still prefer an e-reader, but because they’re lighter and have much, much longer battery life. Not because they “feel like paper” any more than a phone or tablet.

3
Yet another reason to hate gen-AI: this would be the perfect place for a bulleted list of reasons to like fountain pens, but that’s become such a standard format of AI-regurgitated online articles that it’s repulsive to even think about.

4
I got mine for $12.

5
Also they have some great colors. My husband got one in a color that’s called “Rollerskate,” and I would covet it if I liked how they write.

6
And when I was drawing that “My pen!” thing above, I kept finding myself double-tapping on the page, trying to undo errant lines.

1 If you’re looking for a pocket-sized notebook that works with fountain pens, the ones from Lochby are kind of pricey but work great.

2 For the record, I still prefer an e-reader, but because they’re lighter and have much, much longer battery life. Not because they “feel like paper” any more than a phone or tablet.

3 Yet another reason to hate gen-AI: this would be the perfect place for a bulleted list of reasons to like fountain pens, but that’s become such a standard format of AI-regurgitated online articles that it’s repulsive to even think about.

4 I got mine for $12.

5 Also they have some great colors. My husband got one in a color that’s called “Rollerskate,” and I would covet it if I liked how they write.

6 And when I was drawing that “My pen!” thing above, I kept finding myself double-tapping on the page, trying to undo errant lines.