Mesoki didn’t start as a stationery brand. Initially, I imagined it as a line of magnetic iPhone accessories with playful colors and subtle geometry. But over time, the direction shifted. The accessories were promising, but something about the tactility of paper—its quietness—kept pulling me in.

I began noticing how cluttered most notebooks felt. Logos screaming. Layouts over-designed. I wanted to build something that wouldn’t interrupt thought but instead gently hold it. Something silent, but intentional. So I paused the tech path and redirected the brand toward notebooks.

To understand what made a notebook feel “right,” I collected dozens—Japanese, European, academic, creative. I documented their structure, materials, page balance, weight, binding types. It wasn’t research in the formal sense, but more like observation with purpose. I looked for moments when form supported clarity.

I set a constraint early: the front cover should have only one word. MESOKI. No taglines, no subtext. I also decided each notebook would live in a color—flat, vibrant, self-contained. The identity had to speak in simplicity, and color became the language.

The white square on the back cover was a late addition. I resisted it at first. But I needed a place for metadata—a discreet barcode, maybe a note. I made it feel like part of the layout, not an afterthought. That small block helped the product feel finished.

At the same time, I started working on the website. I wanted the digital side of Mesoki to feel as focused as the physical one. I kept interactions minimal. Filters replaced categories. The page doesn’t reload—only updates. This subtle behavior felt closer to turning a page than switching a tab.

Some details were more work than they look. For example, matching the physical spine with a digital shadow on the product page. Or choosing paper shades that photographed well but still looked accurate. These things don’t make headlines, but they shape how honest the product feels.

If I were to start now, I’d bring in collaborators earlier. Printing tests, paper feedback, maybe even community input. I spent a long time making silent decisions in isolation. It helped define the tone, but it also slowed things down.

Mesoki taught me how to listen—to color, to weight, to white space. It made me more patient. Less obsessed with cleverness. More focused on rhythm, balance, and staying out of the way when it’s not your turn to speak.