There comes a moment in every fountain pen enthusiast’s life when they utter the fateful phrase:

“This is the last one. Just one more pen.”

It’s spoken in many dialects of denial — whispered with conviction, shouted with bravado, or muttered sheepishly while clicking checkout. And yet, like a nib dipped in shimmering ink, the promise gleams with false hope. Because we all know—deep down—that “one more pen” is never truly one more.

It’s the opening act of a sequel nobody asked for but everybody secretly enjoys.

The Myth of the Final Pen

Collectors are philosophers of denial. We convince ourselves that the next acquisition will complete the collection, fill the missing gap, or finally satisfy the itch that has haunted us since the last unboxing.

“This pen has the perfect nib size,” we declare. “This ink color finally matches my soul.”

But pens are tricksters. They whisper from glass display cases and Instagram reels. They wink at us with polished clips and seductive resin swirls. They promise eternal satisfaction… and then leave us craving another fix before the ink has even dried.

It’s not addiction—it’s art appreciation.
At least, that’s what we tell our spouses, roommates, and bank accounts.

The Rationalizations

Every collector maintains an arsenal of bulletproof excuses. Here are the classics, translated for accuracy:

• “This one is an investment.”
  Translation: I will never sell it, but pretending I could makes me feel fiscally responsible.

• “It’s for everyday use.”
  Translation: I’ll use it once, then store it in a velvet case labeled ‘precious.’

• “It’s limited edition.”
  Translation: I panicked when I saw the words ‘limited edition’ and forgot rent was due.

• “I don’t have this color yet.”
  Translation: I have 47 shades of blue, but this one is slightly bluer.

• “It was on sale.”
  Translation: I saved $20 by spending $200. Victory is mine.

These rationalizations are the collector’s battle hymns, sung proudly as we march into yet another purchase, credit card trembling with patriotic zeal.

The Domino Effect

The problem with “one more pen” is that it rarely travels alone. Pens are social creatures. They demand companions.

You buy a pen, and suddenly you need ink that complements it. Then you need paper that shows off that ink’s sheen. Then you need a case to protect the pen, a desk mat to stage dramatic Instagram photos, and—obviously—a matching pen stand because “presentation matters.”

Before long, your “one more pen” has spawned an ecosystem of accessories orbiting your wallet like a tiny solar system of temptation.

It’s not just a pen—it’s a lifestyle. A glamorous, wallet-draining lifestyle filled with gleaming nibs and shimmering regret.

The Collector’s Cycle

Let’s be honest. We all know how it goes:

1. The Spark: You see a pen online. It glows like Excalibur. You hear faint harp music.

2. The Rationalization: “I deserve this. I’ve been good. I only bought three pens this month.”

3. The Purchase: Click. Swipe. Done. You feel powerful, sophisticated, unstoppable.

4. The Arrival: The package arrives. You cradle it like a newborn. You sniff the box. (Don’t deny it.)

5. The Honeymoon: You ink it up, write a grocery list in cursive, and declare it “the smoothest nib in human history.”

6. The Fade: A week later, you’re browsing pen forums again. The cycle restarts.

It’s not a hobby. It’s a perpetual motion machine powered by shimmering ink and broken promises.

The Spousal (or Roommate) Negotiations

Living with a fountain pen collector requires diplomacy and plausible deniability. Partners develop keen radar for new acquisitions.

“Is that a new pen?” they ask, narrowing their eyes.

“No,” we reply, clutching the box behind our back. “It’s… an old pen. From… last year. You just didn’t notice.”

Sometimes we attempt stealth operations: sneaking packages into the house, disguising pen boxes as Amazon deliveries of “toothpaste” or “printer paper.”

But our partners are wise. They know toothpaste doesn’t come in a velvet clamshell with gold embossing.

Soon, they stop asking and just sigh when they see another mysterious package marked fragile. Love, after all, is about acceptance. And hiding receipts.

The Pen Show Trap

Pen shows are the ultimate test of willpower. You walk in promising restraint.
“I’ll just browse,” you say. “Maybe pick up some ink.”

Three hours later, you’re staggering out with a tote bag full of pens, inks, notebooks, a nib smoother, and a faint memory of trading your watch for a rare demonstrator.

Pen shows are casinos for stationery nerds. The lights are bright, the tables endless, and the odds are stacked against you. The house always wins—and by “house,” I mean the guy selling limited-edition celluloid pens out of a velvet-lined briefcase.

Nobody leaves with “just one more pen.” They leave with a small armory and a suspiciously cheerful expression.

The Collector’s Confessions

Let’s be honest with ourselves:

We have pens we’ve never inked.
We have inks we’ve never opened.
We have notebooks so pristine we’re afraid to write in them, as if the first line might summon a demon of imperfection.

And yet—we keep buying. Because collecting isn’t about need. It’s about joy. It’s about craftsmanship, discovery, and the quiet thrill of unboxing something made with care.

It’s about finding a community of people who nod knowingly when we say, “Just one more pen,” and reply, “Same here.”

There’s comfort in that shared madness.

The Punchline

Here’s the truth: “Just one more pen” is a lie we tell ourselves—but it’s also a celebration.

It’s the rallying cry of people who find delight in tiny details: the way a nib flexes under pressure, how an ink shades from sapphire to violet, how a pen cap clicks closed with the precision of a Swiss watch.

We know we’ll never stop at one more. And that’s okay. Because every pen adds a story, a spark of creativity, a doodle in a meeting that might turn into a masterpiece someday.

So go ahead. Buy that pen. Call it your last. Pretend you’re done.

We’ll all smile knowingly when you show up next week with another “final” purchase—because we’ve been there, too.

After all, the only thing more fun than collecting pens…
is collecting excuses.

And if you happen to be in the market for your “last” pen, I happen to know a bespoke pen maker who understands completely. 😉