A MUJI pocket notebook is probably one of the most perfect things in the world
I was thinking about MUJI today. And Uniqlo too, maybe—but mostly MUJI—as I fiddled with my almost three-year-old pocket notebook from them.
There’s a quiet kind of perfection to it that seems to accumulate over time.
It doesn’t look as good as it did when I first got it. There are stains now. Scuffs. Wrinkles. Softened corners. But somehow, it still carries the same vibe—almost like leather does when it ages properly.
I still want to write in it more than in my new notebook.
When I first bought it, it was painfully plain. Blank. Basic. But there was something about the spacing, the paper, the tactility— like it came pre-tuned to receive whatever I poured into it.
A sponge for the soul, maybe.
It’s only about halfway filled with scribbles and notes. I might never finish it, honestly. I’m not giving myself a deadline. I’m not forcing entries into it.
And that feels right.
I just… appreciate it.
A lot.
Some objects don’t ask to be completed.