My Completely Unnecessary (and Absolutely Necessary) Pen Collection

Everyone has that one thing they collect without really meaning to. Some people collect sneakers. Some collect vinyl records or coffee mugs from places they’ve visited.

I collect pens.

Not because I’m particularly sophisticated. Not because I write with fountain pens worth hundreds of dollars. I just…keep finding pens that make me happy.

It started innocently enough. I bought one because it wrote incredibly smoothly. Then another because it came in a pretty color. Then one with a satisfying click. Somewhere along the way, I looked in my desk drawer and realized I had enough pens to supply a small office.

Do I need this many? Absolutely not.

Will I stop buying them? Also absolutely not.

There is something oddly personal about a pen. It’s one of the few everyday objects that you actually hold while creating something. Whether I’m scribbling grocery lists I’ll forget at home, journaling after a long day, crossing things off a to-do list, or absentmindedly doodling during a phone call, the right pen somehow makes the whole experience better.

And yes, I have favorites.

I have the pen I use only for journaling because the ink somehow makes my handwriting look nicer. I have the reliable black one that always ends up in my bag. I have colorful gel pens that make taking notes feel far less like work. Then there are the pens I refuse to lend out — not because I don’t trust people, but because history has taught me that “I’ll give it back” is usually the last thing anyone says before my favorite pen disappears forever.

People who don’t collect pens probably think they all do the same thing.

They’re wrong.

Some glide across paper like they’re ice skating. Others have just the right amount of resistance that makes writing feel intentional. Some are perfectly weighted, while others are so light they almost disappear in your hand. Even the click of a retractable pen can be strangely satisfying. If you’re a pen person, you know exactly what I mean.

I’ve also discovered that buying a new pen is one of life’s smallest, cheapest forms of excitement. It’s hard to have a bad day when you’re testing out fresh ink on the back of a receipt just to see how it writes. There’s a tiny bit of optimism in opening a new pen, like maybe this is the one that’s finally going to inspire me to keep my journal updated or make my handwriting magically improve.

Spoiler alert: it never does.

But I keep believing anyway.

My collection isn’t organized. There isn’t a display case or a spreadsheet tracking every pen I own. They’re scattered across notebooks, desk drawers, backpacks, jacket pockets, and the mysterious place where all pens seem to gather until you suddenly have twenty of them sitting in one cup.

Every so often I’ll rediscover one I forgot I had, and it’s like running into an old friend.

Maybe collecting pens is a little strange. Maybe it isn’t the most practical hobby. But there are certainly worse things to be excited about than finding a pen that writes so smoothly you immediately start looking for excuses to write things down.

So yes, I own far more pens than any reasonable person should.

And if I happen to see another one with a nice grip, a beautiful ink color, or a click that’s just a little more satisfying than the rest…

Well, there’s always room for one more.