Knife to See You!

Knives. Knives and flashlights. Knives, flashlights and pry bars.

What's actually wrong with us? Why do we lug this stuff around and then dress it up afterwards with a fancy excuse called „Everyday Carry“, or EDC.

I can still remember it clearly – that smell, as a kid, when my father pulled his worn leather wallet out of his back pocket, a wallet that had long since molded itself to the shape of his right back pocket from years of sitting on it. When that wallet was made, it was probably a cognac to medium brown leather. By the time I knew it, it had taken on the patina of the back corner of an engine room on an oil tanker. But that's exactly what made it interesting to me. The leather felt more organic than it must have on day one, and the little brass clip on the coin pocket shone disproportionately bright compared to the rest of the wallet, because my father had unknowingly polished it with his fingers over all those years. I'm 53 years old now, but these images are burned into my memory.

My father's EDC also included, of course, a pocketknife. You can't make out the manufacturer anymore. And yes, you read that right – I still have it. My father was born in 1907 and lived through both World Wars, which is completely unimaginable by today's standards. This knife accompanied him from his earliest youth onward.

A classic folding knife with one large and one small blade, and of course a corkscrew – which back then wasn't just for show, unlike on our Swiss Army knives today. Who still opens a bottle of wine in the woods these days? Well, maybe it's a bit odd that I'm the one asking, because if anyone still does, it's probably me. But back then, that was part of your survival gear.

So this knife was, as I said, a classic pocketknife with two blades and that corkscrew. Plus a small awl, all wrapped up in a more or less handsome stag-horn handle. After nearly 100 years, it's got a small chipped corner, but I can live with that, and I don't think my father minds anymore either.

Beyond that, my father's everyday gear wasn't much – maybe a pack of unfiltered Revals and the matching cigarette holder made of black bakelite with a silver sleeve. I notice, as I'm writing this, that I sound like one of those old guys you'd meet at the bar who'd tell you stories that couldn't possibly be less interesting or further removed from your own life. Today, I'm that guy. But somehow it feels good and right.

Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked – this was supposed to be about my father's daily gear. For him, it was completely self-evident to always have these things nearby, or on his person. Comparing himself to others, critically questioning the point or purpose of these objects – back then, that was simply unthinkable.

Today we've turned it into a whole science. My fellow sufferers meet up at shows and swap meets and show off their steel trophies to each other like teenage tuner kids comparing horsepower at the gas station at night. We carry whole bags of the stuff around in color-coordinated pouches. We cover those pouches in patches that sort us into self-chosen categories and shout out to the world:

„All Knives are beautiful!“ or „Achievement unlocked – Knife Addict“

You could think we've all lost our minds, or at least have too much time and money on our hands. Fair enough, you could see it that way. But you don't have to. You could also see it the way my father and his generation did: simply as a matter of course.

Dressed up and adapted to the times, sure, but that's normal – things change how they present themselves. Our EDC is louder, brighter, more open and more personalized than that of our parents and grandparents. But what's stayed the same might best be described with the word „soul“.

We might all be a little unconventional, and here and there a bit eccentric, but I firmly believe we all share something when it comes to this hobby. It's more than just carrying a knife around and being written off as crazy for it. We see our EDC as a tool, a helper, a companion, a fashion accessory, and part of our personality.

Knife guys defy their social image – they're voluntary outsiders in a scene that's viewed negatively and, frankly, completely misunderstood. We're not criminals, we're nerds. Hunters and gatherers of the most likeable kind, and torchbearers for a tradition many thought was lost. Handkerchief, coin, comb, knife, lucky charm, and all their supporting cast aren't useless or excessive – they're tradition.

So I'm glad to be one of those wonderfully crazy people who collect and hunt and have held onto that childlike enthusiasm for the unusual.

But what was I even getting at? Ah right – I was going to order the new PM2 in Maxamet tomorrow, what do you guys think? ;-)