On the occasion of World Book Day, LUISS Guido Carli University promoted an initiative that went beyond symbolic celebration, becoming a moment of concrete reflection on the role of writing in contemporary society. The workshop “The Responsibility of Words,” organized together with Premio Campiello and Pineider, placed at its center a crucial question: today, writing is not merely a functional act, but an exercise in civic awareness.
Because in an age where content production is constant and accelerated, the real risk is not a lack of words, but their loss of meaning. We write continuously—messages, emails, notes, prompts—but increasingly without truly engaging with the thought that generates them. It is precisely within this fracture that the contribution of Nicola Andreatta, CEO of Pineider, took shape. During his masterclass, he offered a clear and deeply contemporary reflection on the value of writing.
“Let me ask you a very simple question,” he began. “When was the last time you wrote something by hand—not out of obligation, but to think?”
A question that only appears simple, yet introduces a central theme: writing as a tool for understanding, not mere recording. Andreatta shared a personal experience from his university years: his conscious decision not to rely on transcriptions. “When I wrote notes by hand, I understood more—and above all, I remembered more. I wasn’t copying what the professor said; I was filtering, choosing, constructing. Writing wasn’t recording information; it was transforming it into something of my own.”
This intuition, now supported by numerous scientific studies, highlights a truth that is often overlooked: access to information does not equal understanding. Speed—the dominant value of our time—does not guarantee depth. “We have built perfect tools to access information, but less effective ones to transform it into knowledge,” he noted.
At this point, the focus shifts to the act of handwriting, understood not as nostalgia, but as a cognitive practice. “Writing by hand is a physical gesture. It has rhythm, resistance, time. And it is precisely within this constraint that something important happens: thought takes shape.” The slowness imposed by pen and paper is not an obstacle, but a necessary condition for activating deeper mental processes, capable of integrating memory, perception, and reflection.
But there is a further step—perhaps the most relevant for our time: today, writing by hand is a choice. “A choice to slow down when everything accelerates. A choice to be present when everything distracts. A choice to think when everything produces.”
Within this framework, the reflection inevitably expands to our relationship with emerging technologies, particularly artificial intelligence. Andreatta does not take an oppositional stance, but instead invites a clear distinction: “We need to distinguish between two things: writing to produce and writing to think. For producing, AI is perfect. For thinking, it is not.”
The issue, then, is not technology itself, but the risk of passive use. “If we delegate the writing process, we are not just delegating the gesture—we are delegating thought. We move from being authors to becoming editors of thought.” A subtle yet radical transformation, with implications not only at the individual level, but also collectively. “A society that does not think deeply is a more fragile, more influenceable, more superficial society.”
It is here that the theme of responsibility in language takes on its full civic meaning. Writing means taking a stance, constructing meaning, exercising doubt. “Critical thinking does not arise from speed. It arises from the ability to pause, to question, to reformulate. If we remove time, we remove doubt. And without doubt, there is no critical thinking.”
Within this reflection, Pineider’s role becomes clear—not simply as a producer of tools, but as a custodian of a culture of writing. “We do not sell objects. We preserve a way of thinking. A pen or a sheet of paper is not meant to help you write more—it is meant to help you write better.”
In a world saturated with notifications and distractions, paper thus becomes a space of autonomy—a space where thought can return to being personal, not delegated, not automated. A simple gesture, yet profoundly countercultural.
The masterclass concluded with a concrete, almost daily invitation: “Every day, take a sheet of paper and write by hand. Not to share. Not to publish. But to understand.”
Perhaps this is where the most relevant meaning of World Book Day lies today: not in celebrating the object, but in rediscovering the process. Because, as Andreatta reminded the audience, “in a world where everything can write for us, the real difference will not be who writes more—but who continues to truly think.”
And in this perspective, the true contemporary luxury takes on a new definition: not free time, but time to think.