The past has always fascinated me. Whether I’m reading history books, visiting old churches, or hunting for antiques at weekend markets, I find myself drawn to the richness of bygone eras. To me, the past isn’t just history—it’s a vibrant, living world filled with stories waiting to be rediscovered. Old but reliable: my typewriters are perhaps the most tangible link to that world, their clacking keys and worn ribbons whispering tales of letters written, drafts composed, and thoughts once urgently typed onto paper.
That fascination has found its sharpest focus in one particular passion: vintage typewriters. Over the years, this love for the past has grown into a collection of vintage treasures. Among them: mechanical pocket watches (my oldest dates to 1896 and still ticks beautifully), mismatched glassware, old books with yellowing pages, hand-drawn navigational charts, and faded oil paintings. These objects are more than curiosities; they are a tangible way to interact with history, to hold time in my hands. But of all my collections, nothing captivates me quite like the reliable typewriters that are old yet hold stories.
My Growing Collection of Vintage Typewriters
At present, I own four. Each typewriter tells its own story through its design, clack, and quirks. My Underwood No. 3, manufactured in October 1916, is the oldest and most stately. Then there’s the 1938 Royal De Luxe portable, a sleek machine that hums with elegance. The Smith-Corona Silent-Super from 1956 feels sturdy and reassuring, while the lightweight Smith-Corona Corsair from the 1970s is perfect for travel, exemplifying old but reliable craftsmanship.
Underwood No. 3 (1916) — Bold, weighty, and built to last. This classic workhorse helped define the golden age of typewriting, offering a sturdy, no-nonsense feel that still commands respect more than a century later, proving that old but reliable methods continue to endure.
How I Fell in Love with Typewriter Writing
I didn’t grow up with typewriters, so my fascination came unexpectedly. It began in mid-2023, after watching California Typewriter—a documentary that’s more love letter than film. I was captivated by the way people described their connection to these machines, especially Tom Hanks, who’s an avid typewriter collector himself. By the time the credits rolled, I knew I had to experience the magic firsthand, a step toward embracing old but reliable writing methods.
The Creative Power of Writing on a Vintage Typewriter
At first, I thought it would be just another short-lived interest. But the moment I loaded paper into my first machine and struck the keys, something clicked. The rhythmic clacking of the typebars, the satisfying ding of the line bell, the solid feel of each keystroke—it all felt real, grounded, and oddly exhilarating. It was unlike anything I’d felt on a laptop keyboard. My vintage typewriter wasn’t just a tool; it became a creative partner, old but reliable.
Since then, typewriter writing has become an integral part of my process. Nearly all my drafts now begin on one of these machines. There’s something incredibly freeing about typing without distractions—no notifications, no blinking cursor, no autocorrect. Just me, the page, and the music of the keys. Writing on a vintage typewriter encourages me to think more intentionally. Mistakes happen, sure, but that’s part of the charm. I don’t obsess over errors because I know this is just a first draft. And because I can’t edit as I go, I write with more momentum and less self-judgment, reinforcing the old but reliable nature of these typewriters.
Why Vintage Typewriters Still Matter Today
For me, the typewriter is not about nostalgia alone—it’s about clarity, presence, and focus. Each page I complete is a physical record of my thoughts, a map of my mind at work. After drafting, I revise by hand, using the printed pages to tighten structure or rework ideas. This tactile approach keeps me engaged in a way no screen ever could.
Some might find this eccentric. Others prefer fountain pens or digital tools, and that’s perfectly fine. But I’ve found that writing with vintage typewriters grounds me. It strips writing down to its essence. It’s not the fastest or easiest method, but it’s the one that helps me connect most deeply with my ideas, with my old but reliable typewriters.
So the next time you read one of my pieces, know this: it probably began as a string of clacks and dings on a vintage typewriter, in a quiet room where old reliable stories meet on the page.
