"Now this is where things get out of hand.
A few days ago, I learn of this website, moleskinerie: legends and other stories.
I go there, of course. It’s a weird amalgam of images of other people’s
moleskine notebooks and huckstering for crap like a clock implanted in
the belly of a Buddha. I detect the spoor of an online cult of the
moleskine. I learn that pronouncing it as I always had, as if it were
the skin of a mole (perhaps taken after baby moles are clubbed to death
by burly Canadians, but probably not) is wrong. Mo-luh-skeen-uh. I learn of MoleskineArt.com,
created by Patrick Ng, who should buy a vowel and turns out to be a
stationery buyer for a retail company in Hong Kong. The site’s
dedicated to disseminating sketches and doodles contained in moleskine
notebooks from all over the world. And to marketing the notebook, which
contributes to my gnawing sense that I’ve now encountered some sort of
merchandising event horizon. There’s even a forum. I learn there’s a moleskine lifestyle. Will it conflict with my Passat lifestyle? My iPod lifestyle? Can I trademark “lyfestile"? (Shit. Someone’s there ahead of me. Figures.)
I’m depressed. I’ve bought into faux cool, and not for the first time.
I’ve probably helped some graduate of Wharton buy his next Lexus, or
some jerk at Modo and Modo his next Ferrari. In the air, whispers from
the briefcase beside my desk (the briefcase is black and made by
Oakley, but I didn’t buy it to look cool or creative or anything): It’s not a notebook—it’s a lifestyle. I feel so…used."
Scribble, scribble, scribble