I've spent the evening hoping I'll think of a better topic than pens. No, that's not entirely true. Pens are intrinsic to student life, and they deserve to be mentioned.
I've been thinking about pens all week. Actually, I've been thinking about writing about pens all week.
This idea of analysing a writing tool is oddly and alluringly contrary to the natural order of pen to paper. Such a thesis could be the literary translation of Escher's Drawing Hands: To write a paper on pens.
Who would consider such a topic? I don't want to raise my hand too quickly ... But unfortunately it's a sad but true stationery tale: pens are overlooked.
Recently, I purchased a whiteboard marker under the assumption it was a permanent pen. I have absolutely no need for a whiteboard marker. The pen, however, was not to blame for the misunderstanding. In fact, it's clearly labelled as an "erasable dry wipe marker".
There is, by any normal stretch of the imagination, no situation in which my purchase will be remotely handy. Not only does the ink wipe clean off cardboard, but the nib is far too fat to be practical on paper.
As well as the usual uselessness of a whiteboard marker in absentia of whiteboard, is my smudge-inducing left-handedness, which further lessens this pen's chance of being used.
If only I'd made the effort to take a closer look. If we all paid a little more attention to the details of writing devices, people and pens throughout the world would benefit.
Pens are an ever-present utility in university life. However, unlike cars, bags, keys, clothing, and cellphones, pens are often appreciated only in a strictly functional context.
Perhaps you found that ballpoint in the back of your desk drawer; maybe you selected that ugly roller-ball because the ink won't blot; your fountain pen was likely a gift (or an heirloom).
The average pen's potential awaits its time of discovery as not only a writing device but also as an everyday accessory. A few individuals have already caught on. In class the other day, I saw a lady brandishing a pen of vibrant purple.
The hue of the pen noticeably, and quite perfectly, complemented her violet scarf. Was this intentional accessorising? Probably not. Regardless, it was an impressively subtle outfit addition.
Even if you don't care for co-ordinated outfits, this doesn't mean your writing tool can't work as an accessory for you.
The biro-lend is a classic get-to-know-you situation, and thus the pen constitutes a large part of the borrower's first impression of the lender.
Is it a fair way to judge a person? I think so; you can learn a lot from someone's pen. For example, was it bought, or a freebie?
If it seems like a bought pen, then pay particular attention to the colour, the nib thickness (thick or a fine?), and the on-off system (lid or click?). If the pen was a perk, then perhaps it reveals one's workplace, parent's workplace, shopping destination, or simply a lucky find.
For all its applicable uselessness, my whiteboard marker successfully reminded me to appreciate the details of the average pen. In a postmodern sort of aesthetic, clearly the pen has potential to be an extension of an individual's image, rather than simply an unconsidered writing instrument.
NB: In case you're wondering, no pen was involved in the creation of this article.
- Katie Kenny studies English at the University of Otago.
