Last October, feeling particularly dead inside, I stumbled out of my apartment with the sole purpose of spending money on something I did not need. (I buy little things to make me feel alive. It’s my toxic trait.) I spent $7 on a bad latte before finding myself at my local stationary store, Yours Truly. After picking up a navy Campus notebook, fumbling through a pile of stickers, and grabbing a greeting card covered in illustrations of tits (on the off chance I’d forgotten a lesbian’s birthday), I made my way over to a narrow wall of assorted pens, which is where I saw it.
I admittedly like to judge books by their cover. Often, I am correct. This pen had a light brown body covered in different descriptors — among them, “archival ink,” “waterproof and fadeproof lines,” and “Japan!” It was smooth, svelte, and sexy. Basically: This pen was grown folks’ business. It said: I am a capital-W Writer. When I picked it up, I noticed it fit neatly in my hand and was light to hold. And when I started writing with it, I found it was just inky enough, quick to dry, and kept my cursive consistent and connected, with an ultraprecise tip. The words on the page were no longer those of Peyton Dix — this thing turned me into Lady Whistledown. It was better than the Pilot G2 Gel I’d used in high school (too inky), the .38 Muji pen I’d used in college (too ubiquitous), and the Le Pen that had carried me through the period before I came out as queer. (The Le Pen to pansexual pipeline needs to be studied.)
I tried a range of colors but ultimately landed on brown. Black was too everyday, too accessible. Blue felt like homework. Purple was childish. Red was too harsh, judgmental. Brown, I thought, was the color of an adult. An artist! Brown was special without showing off, different but still demure.
I went all in on this pen, because there’s nothing I love more than building a life around an inanimate object. Last year, it was my Merrell Hydro mocs. In 2021, it was the now-sold-out Praying Twilight bag. So I didn’t just buy this pen in bulk. I phoned friends about it. I tweeted about it. I posted photos of it relentlessly on my Instagram. I practically sent carrier pigeons to anyone who even pretended to care. But I never mentioned the pen’s exact brand because I occasionally like to gate-keep.
To this day, I still get DMs asking me to reveal the brand of “thee” pen, so now I am here to give the people what they want. It’s the Sakura of America Pigma Pen. In brown. If you care about having sexy handwriting, this one is for you.
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