I’m a bit of a pen coinnesseur.
Do I believe that coinnesseur is the right word for me? No. Can I even spell it? No. Will I even bother to go back, click on it, and have the computer spell it for me? No. It’s French. If there’s one thing I know about French, it’s two things:
- Every time you see an X in a word, that’s just for decoration.
- Oo puh-tee prahnz. That makes the ladies swoon.
Today, part one in a series that examines some of the pens I’ve loved, lost, washed in my pants pocket, ruined my pants with, and had to explain how I ruined my pants with.
Today’s pen, Le Pen.
Sticking with the French theme, Le Pen translates roughly to Lepen, which is German for something. Probably.
Le Pen is a pretty rad pen. It’s really small, which is cool, it writes nicely, which is cool, and it writes really fucking small, which is how I roll.
There are some criteria by which I judge a pen that might be a little unusual. Let’s run through the test here.
Criteria The First: How’s it write?
Good, man. Real good. It does have that problem, like a lot of pens, where it has trouble writing on paper covered in human oils, which my hands seem to exude. I don’t know what that’s about. Do other people not drag their hands along the paper like some kind of intelligent orangutan, who is smart enough to write but not self-aware enough to correct all of his orangutan habits, much to his embarrassment?
Criteria The Second: How pissed are you when you lose it?
I can’t have nice things. That’s a known truth. I’m physically incapable of holding onto an object for an extended period. The most worthless things I could own are expensive watches, expensive sunglasses, expensive flash drives, and expensive pens. And a dog. I don’t know what to do with a dog, and those things are ACTIVELY escaping, so that seems like it could only end in disaster.
Le Pen isn’t too pricey. They’re less than $2 apiece. Which might sound expensive to some, but I’d be willing to bet that most people who find that overpriced would not be able to produce a pen from a pants pocket right now. So go fuck yourself. Politely go fuck yourself.
Criteria The Third: How Fuckupable Is It?
Ugh, this is a problem.
I have a job where, frequently, someone will borrow a pen I’m using. The fine, felt-y tip types of pens are not good in this job. Not at all. For some reason, people seem to feel that the proper use of this type of pen is to grind down the tip, as though using a piece of charcoal or possibly a mechanical pencil, or possibly a log of shit with which cave walls are being decorated. They use these pens like animals, and once that tip is jammed inside the pen, the party’s over.
Criteria The Fourth: Fatal Flaws
The black, shiny body becomes pretty tarnished and worn out. Le Pen starts to look like a black Megadeth concert tee that’s been washed about 800 times and turns from black to lighter black to black with what appears to be a white fuzz all over it. This seems minor, but mostly serves to remind me that everything I touch turns to crap.
Criteria The Fifth: What happens when you wash them?
Not a concern for most, but I have a habit of washing pens in my pants pocket. Call it a hobby. An accidental, enraging hobby.
You do not want to wash one of these in your pocket. It’s easy to do because they’re so small, but when you do, it’s stainsville.
Overall Judgment:
A good pen. A solid entry into the market of felt pens, and the thin tip is a nice touch. It’s also the perfect pen if you want something to put in your pocket and you have girl pants that have shitty, tiny pockets. If you’re looking for something a little more elegant than a Bic, and if you don’t write with a pen like a fucking ogre on PCP, then you might give this guy a shot.