For better or worse, I customize almost everything I use.
Sometimes it’s superficial—a strip of tape you could peel off.
Sometimes it’s semi-permanent—Sharpie or correction fluid in places they were never meant to go. Like graffiti, but sanctioned. Domestic. Functional.
And sometimes, it’s permanent. Engraved. Screwed together. Burned. Cut. Torn.
Sometimes it’s for fun. But mostly? It’s for function.
Take my left jacket pocket. Inside: a small collection of everyday tools—each marked with a strip of fluorescent pink ProGaff tape.
Most have dates. One has a serial number: 230326.04.01. That’s my Olfa 9mm knife.
These aren’t just tools I carry. They’ve become part of me. So much so that, in emergencies, my partner will sometimes reach over and grab a pen from my pocket without saying a word. Sometimes I stop her—because the thing she’s about to write on needs ballpoint ink, not gel.
If one of those pens went missing, I’d know. (This hasn’t actually happened... But it could.)
Because one of the four tools would be gone. And the pen someone else is holding? It has pink tape. Dated: 2024.02.11. Customized. One of a kind. The one that belongs in my left jacket pocket.
Stamps
I also have two stamps. Both Trodat. Both customized.
One is a Trodat Printy 4810, with a top label showing month, day, and year—because I always accidentally used it upside down. (Like the USB-A plugging phenomenon: wrong until it’s right.) It also has a rebranded label—“Trudat”—covering the original. Affectionate. Functional. Fully mine.
The other is a custom stamp with a simplified caricature of my face. A little logo I designed in 2022.
I use both regularly.
The date stamp is straightforward—I date things when they need dates.
The face stamp is more playful. It’s my literal stamp of approval. Used sparingly, but always with a quiet “approved” in my head as it hits the page.
Template
My latest customization is etched straight onto my desk.
I drew a layout—a 3×5 template—directly on an IKEA SALJAN countertop (Laminate/Oak effect).
Real Sharpie on fake wood.
The lines help me set up my daily work index cards. Calendar section. Task section. Consistently split. And it works.
When I look over, it makes me smile. It kind of looks like an aerial view of a tennis court—or maybe a floor plan of one—drawn in Sharpie on a wood-like surface.
Marked
To some people, I’ve ruined my desk.
Maybe.
Sharpie can come off with isopropyl alcohol.
Mostly.
Some of it will stay—deep in the grain, too stubborn to scrub.
I could’ve used clear tape instead. I thought about it. But I knew the raised edge would bother me every time my hand passed over it. I didn’t want friction. I wanted feel. So I marked it directly.
And you know what? This "level" of customization can feel wrong. Like watching a kid draw on the living room wall with a permanent marker.
I’ve felt that hesitation too. But every time I do this—every time I mark something, scratch something, write directly on something—I remind myself:
It’s just a thing. It’s just a tool. It still works. A bit of Sharpie doesn’t destroy a desk. I can still put stuff things on it. I can still write on it. I can still use it. It works just fine. It just looks more "mine" now.
Yours
I know this level of customization isn’t for everyone. That’s okay!
I’m not suggesting you Sharpie your furniture! I’m just sharing what I do. How I use my tools. How I shape them into the way I live. How customization and patina doesn't degrade value, but increases it (for me anyway).
And what I’ve found is this: The more you do this, the more your stuff starts to carry a signature. Your preferences. Your patterns. Your presence. Function shapes form. And over time, form becomes yours.
It’s what happens when you live so closely with your objects that they stop being objects. And start being "evidence". Of how you think. How you move. What you need. What you’ll tolerate. What makes you flinch. What makes you feel ready.
Because that’s what customization really is. Not making something better. Just making it yours.