I wonder if it suffers the same stigma follows a big red pen, as it does a big red convertible. That is, when I whip it out of my pocket in public, do onlookers catch a glimpse of me filling in a crossword, overconfident of my answers written with permanent ink, clutching my giant red phallus, and say, "Do you think he's making up for something?"I ran out of the store, cherishing my new pen. I realized I had nothing to write on, so I ran back into the store and spent another hour looking at notebooks. Now here is where shit got crazy.
I went to grab the usual Moleskine. It sits there, black, sexy and untouched. I know when I open it, it will contain the same small letter as always that chronicles the legacy of the Moleskine Empire. I will shed a tear as I read of Hemingway, new to a broken post-war Paris, as he sits and (now I quote:)
reflects on the quintessential moments ordering a cafe au lait and pulling out his notebook and pencil from his pocket to start writing. It is this simple ritual that he describes so well.I am puzzled. I think, I just need a book to draw boobs in, and maybe write down a good poop joke. But Hemingway I'm sure, drew boobs and, knowing Ernest probably wrote down a good racist joke or two. So I read on, until I find:
Capturing reality in movement, glimpsing and recording details, inscribing the unique nature of experience on paper: the Moleskine notebook becomes a battery that stores ideas and feelings, releasing its energy over time.Now I'm kind of mad. It seems that since some assholes bought the name 'Moleskine' in 1997, they've been branding Moleskine as synonymous with the actual act of recording creativity. If you write, draw or record anything of value in a notebook: boom! you just got moleskined. It's like the Greeks and their idea of the muse. The mind of the artist doesn't produce art; rather the muse bestows the artist with the gift to channel the art. Artists don't make art; moleskines do.
So then I started to look next to the
Moleskines, and I found these bad-boys:Right off, I was like "Oh snap! Is that font Futura!?"
It is.
Then I was like, "Damn, is it really half the price of a Moleskine?"
It is.
Then I was like, "Shoot, is the colour of this notebook really called tobacco?" Keep in mind that Moleskines only come in one true colour: Fascist Black.
It really, really is called tobacco. Other colours include Caramel, and Cornflower.
The moral of the story: hell yes I'll pay less and choose a colour with a silly name over an artificial dynasty that has claimed more evocative adjectives than a car ad. Leuchtturm as a company started in the midst of the First World War, and kept pumping out notebooks during the Second. I'm sure the Free France were super pissed when they had to spend 30€ on their moleskines and they sipped their cafe au laits and enjoyed the quintessential moments in life.
And in the end, I'm not even sure how to pronounce Moleskine.
