So Long, Lamy SF — With Ink-Stained Fingers and a Full Heart

 Well, that’s it. The Lamy flagship store in San Francisco has closed its doors as of June 15, 2025. And while a storefront shuttering isn’t supposed to make you feel like you’ve just lost an old friend… this one does.

I still remember the first time I wandered into that temple of German precision and minimalism. It was during an RSA Conference—one of those frenzied tech-and-terrorism jamborees where everyone’s peddling zero-trust frameworks and quantum-safe buzzwords. My mind was buzzing with firewalls and threat matrices when I found myself, quite accidentally, standing before a glass shrine of pens. Real pens. Fountain pens. Lamy pens.

Inside was peace. Ink. Order.

And just like that, I was a child again.

I’ve had my share of fine writing instruments. I own a Montblanc 149, and yes, it writes like a dream. There’s a Pelikan in my desk drawer that’s practically aristocratic. But my Lamy 2000? That’s my daily driver. It’s not a pen, it’s a companion. I’ve written entire notebooks of ideas, half-cooked thoughts, love notes, and to-do lists with that thing. The click of its cap is a meditation. Its balance is poetry in the palm.

Over the years, that little corner of San Francisco on Geary wasn’t just a place to pick up refills—it became a place to pause, to browse new inks like one might browse fine wines. “Oh, a deep copper brown? Might pair nicely with existential journaling on a foggy day.”

I picked up more than just pens there. Custom leather journals that made Moleskines look like napkins. Nexx backpacks that seemed designed by someone who actually cared about form and function. Every item in the store whispered the same message: you can be both creative and intentional.

But it wasn’t just the products. It was the people. The store staff who remembered my name. The ones who let me test a Safari in Petrol Blue and didn’t rush me. The ones who knew the difference between EF nib anxiety and the bold confidence of an M.

Now, I know Lamy as a brand isn’t going anywhere. I’ll still be able to get my inks and converters and nibs online. But the physical space? That glorious pocket of tactile joy amidst the silicon saturation of SF? That’s gone.

And I’m sad.

We don’t always realize the importance of these little rituals until they’re gone. A pen isn’t just a pen. It’s a tool for thought. A way to slow down in an accelerating world. And Lamy SF was a lighthouse for those of us still trying to write with our hands, not just thumbs.

So goodbye, dear Lamy store. Thanks for the memories, the nibs, the colors, the textures. Thanks for the excuse to not check my phone for ten full minutes.

And if, by chance, Lamy ever opens another flagship store—maybe in Seattle, or Chicago, or some other unsuspecting street corner—I’ll be there. Montblanc in my shirt pocket. Lamy in my hand. Heart full.

— Sanjay, ink lover, memory keeper, occasional romantic.