Confessions of a serial collector

They’re never cheaper by the dozen

My collection of Blackwing pencils

Every quarter, I impatiently wait for the new limited edition Blackwing pencils to come out. And every quarter, I fight against the overwhelming urge to acquire these beautifully designed drawing tools.

Blackwing pencils, priced in the upper echelon of writing tools, hold the reputation of being a great and expensive tool. A box of twelve costs $30. They look distinctive: the pencils’ longer-than-usual lengths house a metallic ferrule with a replaceable eraser on the back end. When sharpened, these pencils retain a longer point than its counterparts that don’t break off easily. Its eraser, flat and rectangular, means that pencils will never roll off the page.

Illustrators I admire use Blackwing pencils in their YouTube tutorials. Characters on TV shows like Mad Men scribble with them. Household names like Looney Tunes animator Chuck Jones and composer Stephen Sondheim proudly collect and use them. Production of the pencils was discontinued in 1994, making them scarce, and word-of-mouth amplified its reputation even more. But an unrelated company reintroduced Blackwing pencils in 2010, bringing them back into circulation among stationery enthusiasts. The new pencils reportedly incorporate Japanese graphite cores and California incense cedar wood. (What does ‘California incense’ even mean?)

But the true selling point for me is not its make nor build. It’s embarrassingly more cosmetic than that. My fascination for Blackwings is with the limited edition designs that they drop once every three months.

The special designs, known as Blackwing Volumes, are wrapped around wooden pencils and are sold by the dozen. They come with an accompanying story, and a really good one at that. The latest release is Basquiat-themed, with bold, expressionist colors and the iconic crown motif stamped on the gold ferrules. The previous edition is a Dungeons & Dragons-inspired design, with faint geometric lines surrounding the pencil and a six-sided pencil cap (with dots to correspond to a six-sided dice) to go along with it. And the edition before that commemorated John Lennon and Paul McCartney, printing iconic lyrics from twelve different songs - one for each pencil in the box.

Approaching the end of every quarter, I find myself refreshing Blackwing’s Instagram page, hoping to see a teaser post for the upcoming edition. Though I don’t always click Purchase, I contemplate buying them every single time.

But here’s the kicker: I don’t even use pencils all that much. I bought a few Blackwing pencils when I first learned how to draw three years ago, putting one in each bag alongside a sketchbook so I could draw my surroundings whenever I have a moment. But even as I sharpen them every now and then, they seem to stubbornly maintain their long lengths, giving me no reason to purchase a replacement.

How, then, did I end up with a gross of Blackwing pencils? And why do I still want more of these pretty-looking pencils that I will never use up?

FOMO is one reason. Scarcity marketing works effortlessly on fans (me included) that would not like to miss a design that can be sold out within 24 hours after launch.

The stories behind the Volumes always give me a (far-fetched) reason to purchase, too. I grew up listening to songs from The Beatles, therefore I will appreciate pencils with Blackbird lyrics on them. I engage in casual tabletop sessions, and showing up with a D&D-themed pencil will make me feel extra cool. I devote my free time to art, so owning a Basquiat-themed drafting tool will make my drawings better.

Except that’s not the case. A tool at the end of the day, is just a tool. No superficial characteristic (and an enwrapping design is purely cosmetic) of a tool will impact my skills. Plus, the pencil lines don’t even show up in the scans of my paintings anyway.

The last and most puzzling reason is a desire to collect. The satisfaction of having a complete collection is often what eats at me, a trait that resurrects with every new obsession that I have (*cough* fountain pens *cough* leather-bound journals *cough*). I’ve moved past the urge to buy every single Blackwing edition I could get my hands on, but I still want to have every edition that I have an affinity for.

This odd urge goes strongly against my wishes to be a minimalist. Ever since discovering the Minimalists’ documentary and Matt D’Avella’s YouTube channel, I’ve been trying to be more intentional with my purchases and what I let occupy my space, mental or physical. The minimalist movement seems to be an answer to an increasingly fast-moving and overly consumeristic world.

Following an online shopping phase during three years of COVID (guilty as my credit card’s charges), I woke up one day feeling extremely overwhelmed by the new items that cluttered my 300-square foot flat. I took out a large garbage bag and mercilessly tossed clothes I never wore: t-shirts with my university name, bags gifted by family, and anything with ruffles. I cleared out kitchen cabinets, taking out juicers and blenders that never saw the light of day. I let out a relieved sigh once I dropped them off at a donation center.

The goal is to declutter and be intentional with what I acquire.

But unlike the extreme approach where I’m to pare down everything I own to a backpack (like the author of Goodbye, Things), the minimalist ethos allows me to buy items that I enjoy but trim down on things I don't. So I’ve set aside a category that I won’t destash (stationery) and cut down on everything else. During this decluttering phase, I trade out ten items for one new item.

Back to my original conundrum: will I get rid of my Blackwing pencils? Probably not. Will I thoroughly think through the choice of buying a box? Yes.

Based on learnings from The Minimalists, I haven’t bought any new pencils this year. Resisting the urge to Add to Cart and then clicking Purchase was hard, but it does get easier with every new edition that comes out.

In some way, the limited edition Blackwing pencils still know how to make their way to me. During my visit to New York this April, I reached out to an artist who inspired me to start a sketch journal: illustrator

Samantha Dion Baker

. She kindly opened her studio doors to me and at the end of the visit, gifted me with the latest Blackwing Volumes edition.

Packing it back to Hong Kong, this pencil not only has a beautiful design, but carries with it a memory of an even more beautiful interaction that makes this particular pencil all the more special.

The Blackwing pencil souvenir alongside a Brooklyn bridge sticker pasted onto my current sketchbook

Thanks to folks who decluttered this essay to its best form:

Latham Turner

and Aurelian Basa.