I’ve written before about liking things that last. Objects that aren’t meant to be used up and thrown away, but lived with. Repaired. Refilled. Carried forward. Today’s post is about one of those objects: my fountain pen of choice, the Pilot Custom 823.
This post was somewhat inspired by 
Fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t have any ballpoints anymore. My kids might have a few thrown around somewhere — not sure. I do have some gel pens, as well as one or two rollerballs. The rollerballs use fountain pen ink, which is why I bought them. And as to why I have fountain pen ink… well, because fountain pens are what I use 99% of the time. And of that 99%, the vast majority is spent with a single fountain pen: the aforementioned Pilot Custom 823.
At a glance, the 823 doesn’t scream for attention. No wild colors. No tactical nonsense. No “limited edition” hype. It’s quiet. Conservative, even. And that’s exactly the point. This is a pen designed to be used every day, not admired from a distance.
The nib is 14k gold, which adds an elegant look to the pen. But more importantly, gold here isn’t about flash or speculation. It’s about flexibility, longevity, and resistance to corrosion. A gold nib doesn’t rust. It doesn’t degrade with ink. If treated halfway decently, it can last longer than its owner. It also adds some bounce to the writing experience that can’t be matched by a steel nib.
That’s where the philosophy comes in.
A cheap disposable pen is designed to fail. It’s meant to dry out, crack, or get lost, so you’ll buy another. No shade on people who collect ballpoints — there are some clever designs and genuinely neat versions. 
A fountain pen flips that relationship around. You don’t throw it away when it runs out. You refill it. You clean it. You learn its quirks. It becomes your pen. Over time, the nib subtly adjusts to your writing angle and pressure. It literally adapts to you.
That refilling adds up. Over time, you not only spare the landfill by not throwing away so many pens, but you also save money. The upfront cost of the pen slowly comes down as you save money on each refill.[1] And ink itself is so cheap as to be almost meaningless. I can pick up a 70-ml bottle of Pilot ink for ¥1000 — less than ten bucks — and even with daily refilling (which is far more than most people will ever do), that ink will last for years.
But more than the ecological and economical savings, the real perk of a fountain pen is the relationship you build with it. That relationship is where the joy comes from.
Writing with the 823 slows me down just enough to make writing feel a pleasure. The weight is balanced. The ink flow is steady. There’s no fighting the tool. Unlike ballpoints, which need downward pressure to create the friction that moves the ball and lays down ink, good fountain pens are designed to be used with no pressure at all. You simply guide the pen — it’s the pen that writes. That lack of pressure spares you the hand cramps that many people who write longhand complaint about and allows for long effortless writing sessions. And the 823 is one of the best at this. It gets out of the way and lets me think. Whether I’m jotting notes, drafting a haiku, or grading student work, the act of writing feels effortless.
And yes, there’s something deeply satisfying about using one object for years instead of cycling through disposable trash. It’s a small rebellion, but a real one. A vote for quality over convenience. For ownership over consumption.
Collectors often chase rarity. I get that. But sometimes the real value isn’t in how many things you own — it’s in how long you stay with one good thing. The Pilot Custom 823 isn’t a display piece for me. It’s a working tool. One I expect to still be using decades from now — and one I’ll eventually pass down to one of my kids.
If that makes it a “collector’s item,” it’s only because I intend to collect time with it.
If you look up the current price of an 823, it’s now over $500. Whew. That’s a bit of change. I bought mine years ago when it was under $200. Inflation is a bitch. But even at today’s price, after a dozen years you’d make up the cost simply by not buying other pens. I carry mine everywhere; if it broke, I wouldn’t hesitate to buy another (but of course another joy of quality things is they are repairable, and I'd try that first). ↩
| David is an American teacher and translator lost in Japan, trying to capture the beauty of this country one photo at a time and searching for the perfect haiku. He blogs here and at laspina.org. Write him on Bluesky. |
