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[80]Business

Moleskine Mania: How a Notebook Conquered the Digital Era

“Do you know there’s a section of our customer base that buys a fresh Moleskine
every time they come into a store? We have no idea what they do with them”

[81]August 30, 2024August 31, 2024 - by [82]Roland Allen[83]Roland Allen
Updated 16:06, Aug. 31, 2024 | Published 11:22, Aug. 30, 2024
[84]A stack of filled moleskin notebooks on their sideBarry Silver / Flickr

In the summer of 1995, Maria Sebregondi was mulling over a knotty question,
sailing with friends off the Tunisian coast. At thirty-six, she had already
enjoyed a fruitful career, translating Marguerite Duras, Samuel Taylor
Coleridge, and Vladimir Nabokov into Italian. She was particularly intrigued by
the French pair of Georges Perec and Raymond Queneau, who wrote novels and
poetry using formal constraints as a spur to creativity. Perec had written an
entire novel, La disparition, without using the letter “e”; in Exercices de
style, Queneau told the same simple story in ninety-nine versions, using a
different prose form for each one. They called their playful genre Oulipo, an
acronym derived from the French for “workshop of potential literature.” So
Sebregondi was accustomed to the generation of ideas within set parameters, and
on this particular sultry evening, she was presented with just such a
challenge.

Her holidaying shipmates included Francesco Franceschi, a friend whose company
Modo & Modo sold designer gifts, and that night, he shared a problem. His
business depended on other people conceiving and manufacturing products for him
to sell, which kept profit margins low. What, asked Franceschi, could Modo &
Modo manufacture themselves and thus sell more profitably? The group exchanged
ideas long into the night, discussing emerging trends like cellphones, email,
and cheap flights. They decided that the consumer they wanted to target with a
hypothetical new product belonged to this new era: creative, free spirited, and
mobile. Sebregondi labelled their design-conscious customer the “contemporary
nomad.” But before any of the party could work out what to manufacture for
them, the holiday was over and she had returned home with her children to Rome.

  • [85]Indigo May Have Lost the Plot
  • [86]The Case for Never Reading the Book Jacket
  • [87]How Do You Even Sell a Book Anymore?

The question nagged at her for weeks, and she toyed with ideas, including a
traveller’s toolkit containing exquisitely designed pens, bags, T-shirts,
penknives, and so on. Nothing met the requirements of Franceschi’s brief, which
demanded a product that would be easy to produce yet offer wide commercial
potential. Then she came across two passages in the book she was reading for
pleasure: The Songlines by Bruce Chatwin, a global bestseller since its
publication eight years before. In the novel, a lightly fictionalized version
of Chatwin explores the Australian outback, coming to understand that its
aboriginal culture offers an insight into the origins of human culture—and
perhaps into the restlessness of human nature itself. Conspicuously “creative,
free spirited, and mobile,” Chatwin himself seemed a perfect fit for the
“contemporary nomad,” and two passages in his novel triggered Sebregondi’s
memory:

    “Do you mind if I use my notebook?” I asked.

    “Go ahead.”

    I pulled from my pocket a black, oilcloth-covered notebook, its pages held
    in place with an elastic band.

    “Nice notebook,” he said.

    “I used to get them in Paris,” I said. But now they don’t make them any
    more.”

    “Paris?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as if he’d never heard anything so
    pretentious.

    Then he winked and went on talking.

Later in the book, Chatwin expands on the story.

    Some months before I left for Australia, the owner of the papeterie said
    that the vrai moleskine was getting harder and harder to get. There was one
    supplier: a small family business in Tours. They were very slow in
    answering letters.

    “I’d like to order a hundred,” I said to Madame. “A hundred will last me a
    lifetime.”

    She promised to telephone Tours at once, that afternoon.

    At lunchtime, I had a sobering experience. The headwaiter of Brasserie Lipp
    no longer recognised me. “Non, Monsieur, il n’y a pas de place.” At five, I
    kept my appointment with Madame. The manufacturer had died. His heirs had
    sold the business. She removed her spectacles and, almost with an air of
    mourning, said, “Le vrai moleskine n’est plus.”

This passage had struck many of Chatwin’s readers; its intimations of mortality
seemed to foreshadow the author’s premature death only a year and a half after
the publication of The Songlines. But to Sebregondi, it meant something more
personal, because she recognized, from her time as a student in Paris, the
notebooks Chatwin described. Indeed, she still had several. Digging them out of
old boxes, she looked at them for the first time in years—and with new eyes.
Why had Chatwin become so attached to this particular model that he would order
a hundred rather than risk running out? How could such a utilitarian object
assume such importance? Then it struck her that she might have hit upon a
solution to Franceschi’s challenge—a simple product, easy to manufacture,
appealing to creatives and imparting promises of travel, of glamour, of
discovery.

Phone calls to France confirmed Chatwin’s account (a sensible move: Chatwin
always preferred a good story to the literal truth), and Sebregondi’s hunch was
confirmed by serendipitous sightings of le vrai moleskine in other contexts:
exhibitions of Matisse’s and Picasso’s sketchbooks, a photo of Hemingway at
work. This product, she realized, already had a pedigree. More to the point, it
had commercial promise, for millions around the world had already read
Chatwin’s endorsement. It even accorded with the classic principles of Italian
design: like an espresso, a pair of Persol sunglasses, or a Prada dress, le
moleskine was minimal, functional, and assertively black.

And yet, miraculously, no one made it anymore.

Sebregondi took the idea to Milan, where Franceschi realized that she was on to
something. With Chatwin having already solved the thorniest problem faced by
anyone marketing a new product (what to call the damn thing), the pair entered
what became a two-year process of product design, which resulted in the classic
Moleskine notebook.

You don’t need me to tell you what a Moleskine looks like, but you may not have
considered how insistently its design sends messages to the contemporary nomad.
The minimal black cover looks, at first glance, like it might be leather:
robust but also luxurious. The non-standard dimensions, a couple of centimetres
narrower than the familiar A5, let you slip the notebook into a jacket pocket,
and the rounded corners—which add considerably to the production cost—help with
this. They also stop your pages from getting dog-eared and, together with the
elastic strap and unusually heavy cover boards, confirm that the notebook is
ready for travel. The edges of the board sit flush with the page block,
ensuring that your Moleskine can never be mistaken for a printed book. In use,
it lies obediently open and flat, and the pocket glued into the back cover
board invites you to hide souvenirs—photos, tickets stubs, the phone numbers of
beautiful strangers. Two hundred pages suggest that you have plenty to write
about; the paper itself, tinted to a classy ivory shade and unusually smooth to
the touch, implies that your ideas deserve nothing but the best, and the ribbon
marker helps you navigate your musings. Discreetly minimal it may seem, but the
whole package is as shot through with brand messaging as anything labelled
Nike, Mercedes, or Apple—and, like the best cues, the messaging works on a
subconscious level.

But in case those cues alone were not enough, Moleskine spelled out its brand
values in the small folded leaflet which the notebook’s new owner would
“discover”—as Sebregondi tellingly puts it—tucked in the pocket. The leaflet’s
copy has evolved over time, and more and more languages have been added to it,
but the central message has changed little from the early, Italian-only,
version:

    The Moleskine is an exact reproduction of the legendary notebook of
    Chatwin, Hemingway, Matisse. Anonymous custodian of an extraordinary
    tradition, the Moleskine is a distillation of function and an accumulator
    of emotions that releases its charge over time. From the original notebook
    a family of essential and trusted pocket books was born. Hard cover covered
    in moleskine, elastic closure, thread binding. Internal bellowed pocket in
    cardboard and canvas. Removable leaflet with the history of Moleskine.
    Format 9 x 14 cm.

The leaflet opened with a lie (the new Moleskines were not “exact reproductions
of the old”) then immediately veered toward gibberish, but that didn’t matter.
Pound for pound, those seventy-five words proved themselves among the most
effective pieces of commercial copywriting of all time, briskly connecting the
product’s intangible qualities—usefulness and emotion—to its material
specification, thereby selling both the sizzle and the steak. Sebregondi and
Franceschi picked an astutely international selection of names to drop: an
Englishman, an American, and a Frenchman encouraged cosmopolitan aspirations.
“Made in China,” on the other hand, did not, so they left that bit out.

Modo & Modo ordered the initial production run of 3,000 notebooks in 1997, and
the new Moleskine first went on sale in Milan, in a small bookshop on the Corso
Buenos Aires. It sold through its consignment in days. Avoiding traditional
stationers, the company targeted design retailers and bookstores: the strategy
worked, and in 1998, they sold 30,000 notebooks. From 1999, they used their
existing networks to distribute around Europe and then across the Atlantic.
Within ten years, the American chain bookseller Barnes & Noble had become the
brand’s largest retail partner. Just as Franceschi had hoped, the high profit
margins transformed Modo & Modo’s fortunes. In 2006, a private equity firm
bought him out, and sales continued to grow.

In 2013, the Moleskine SpA launched on the Italian stock exchange, and in 2016,
a Belgian car distributor bought the company outright, for half a billion
euros. Small wonder that the story is now taught in business schools as a
textbook example of successful product design and marketing. In 2017, the story
came full circle when Moleskine and Chatwin’s publisher struck a deal to
publish a new edition of The Songlines, bound in the now-familiar black boards,
complete with elastic closure, rounded corners, ribbon markers, and pocket. You
bought it shrink-wrapped to a blank journal, embossed—in a gesture which
Chatwin would surely have recoiled from—with the motivational boost “Enjoy your
travel writing.”

Sebregondi herself stayed relentlessly on message for two decades, giving
scores of interviews whose recurring theme was that the Moleskine was “first of
all, an enabler for creativity.”

Having stayed with the business through its various incarnations, she stepped
back in 2017 and currently gives her time to the charitable Moleskine
Foundation, which aims to drive social change, especially in sub-Saharan Africa
and Eastern Europe, through—naturally—creativity. She also remains involved
with Oplepo, the Italian offshoot of Oulipo. Her most recent translation is of
Queneau’s One Hundred Thousand Billion Poems, in which the reader randomly
generates sonnets from the book’s thousands of rhyming lines, constraints
proving creative.

I bought my first Moleskine during the early years of that boom and, a while
later, found myself working for a book publisher keen to share in the
Moleskine-driven growth of the upscale stationery market. Notebooks, we
reasoned, had no words and no pictures—the tricky, expensive things that make
“real” books so difficult to profit from. How hard could it be to cash in? So
we created a range of notebooks, brightly designed and packed with gimmicks,
and placed a substantial order at the printers. I was charged with visiting
Barnes & Noble’s Fifth Avenue head office to present our wares, and I suggested
that our colourful product could supply healthy turnover if racked alongside
Moleskine in their stores.

The buyer eyed me skeptically. “Along with the Moleskines,” he said. “Do you
know there’s a section of our customer base that buys a fresh Moleskine every
time they come into a store? Once a week, some people. We have no idea what
they do with them.”

I showed off my samples, stressing the cream paper, the ribbon markers, and the
striking cover designs that supposedly set our brand apart. He shook his head
and handed me a familiar black notebook in response. “See this?” he said. “We
make them ourselves, own brand. The same size, the same number of pages. We use
the same paper, the same boards, we make them at the same plants in China.
They’re every bit as good as a Moleskine, and we ask half as much for them.” He
paused for effect. “And Moleskine still outsells us. And you’re asking me to
take shelf space away?”

I was learning a hard lesson about the power of the brand. Others, however,
made a better go of it. From 2005, Leuchtturm, whose specialty had been stamp
collectors’ albums, took on Moleskine, matching them for quality while
offering—the vulgarity!—a range of colours; older companies like
Clairefontaine, Rhodia, and Paperblanks refreshed their offerings. Western
hipsters, always alert to high-end Japanese design, started to import notebooks
from companies like Midori, Hobonichi, and Stalogy, which bested any of the
European brands with their exquisite papers and bindings (Moleskine and
Leuchtturm both use mainly Taiwanese paper). In the US, Field Notes struck a
utilitarian chord with a mid-century aesthetic. All presented a fresh spin on
the basic product, and all benefited from the product building that Moleskine
had done. If you cared for upmarket stationery, the 2010s were a golden age.

At the same time, the Moleskine became a potent status symbol. Tech CEOs toted
them, as did the designers, journalists, and writers whom Sebregondi had
envisaged—and even more people whose aspirations perhaps outran their actual
creativity. Spotted in your local Starbucks, these characters were easily
mocked: the satirical website Stuff White People Like made hay with their
accessorizing, as did the right-wing politician Karl Rove, who once told his
audience at Yale that he knew them to be pretentious by their Moleskines. The
mockery did nothing to hurt sales.

Neither did a growing interest, from psychologists and lifestyle gurus, in the
notebook’s practical effectiveness. Sebregondi herself suggested that the
notebook’s minimal form made it a perfect creative tool, talking of it in the
same terms as Queneau’s deliberately constrained work: “a simple object,”
giving her the “sense of extraordinary possibility born from small things.” The
productivity guru David Allen recommended making lists in notebooks, as did
neuroscientist Daniel Levitin; the journalist David Sax wrote a book, The
Revenge of Analog, which depicted paper notebooks (along with vinyl LPs, board
games, and film cameras) mounting a spirited resistance against digital
replacement. It became commonplace to contrast the old technology with the new.
The original Moleskine had launched at the same time as the Palm Pilot, the
first hand-held digital organizer, and had, from day one, faced competition
from increasingly powerful devices. The laptop, the BlackBerry, the iPhone, and
the iPad all seemed to offer far greater functionality than their paper
antecedent, but a stubborn constituency of users refused to move over into the
digital sphere, and numerous peer-reviewed studies soon showed that their
obduracy made sense. Something about the act of writing by hand, and the
production of a physical object, makes the older technology more effective than
the new. Sebregondi had, unwittingly, prompted serious inquiry into the
workings of the human brain.

My own interest in notebooks had also progressed beyond the commercial. I read
Samuel Pepys, loving the unfettered way in which he documented work, home,
leisure, his urban environment, and his sex life; then I discovered my
grandfather’s eye-opening pre-war diaries, just as wide ranging, although much
briefer. So I started keeping my own journal in 2002, and each year added to a
steadily growing heap of battered notebooks.

Writing a diary made me happier; keeping things-to-do lists made me more
reliable (which, in turn, made those around me happier), and I learned never to
go to a doctor’s appointment, or a meeting of any kind, without taking notes of
what I heard. But there appeared to be creative benefits too. Every artist I
met seemed to have a sketchbook to hand, as did graphic designers—and even web
designers, whose product was entirely digital. Authors all kept notebooks, as
did journalists, critics, and other creative types—and the more assiduously
they used those notebooks, the better their work seemed to be. The same applied
to my colleagues’ work: playful lists, diagrams, and sketches regularly
disgorged surprisingly good ideas.

When notebooks appear on the scene, interesting things happen. To open up to
the blank page and interact with it takes energy and sometimes a little
courage.

But the rewards may surprise.

Excerpted from [88]The Notebook: A History of Thinking on Paper by Roland
Allen. Copyright © Roland Allen 2024. Excerpted with permission from
Biblioasis. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without
permission in writing from the publisher.

[89]Roland Allen
[90]Roland Allen
Roland Allen lives in Brighton, England, and works in book (and notebook)
publishing. He has written books on bicycles and bread, has kept a diary for
decades, and enjoys stationery a little too much.
Tagged[91]audio[92]books[93]excerpt[94]history[95]homepage

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