Adventures with my favourite label maker
17.6.2026
Translation: Elicia Payne
Pictures: Michael Restin
No charging cable is safe from my Brother and me. Nor are the humans around me, unfortunately. To me, this device is a retro toy, an organisational tool and a messenger all in one – but my urge to communicate definitely needs working on.
«Bzzzzt» – when it starts, it purrs like a content little cat. Then, accompanying the sound, a printed tongue gradually starts poking out of the device. The tongue is a freshly laminated strip of paper with only the bare essentials written on it in black: «Screws», «Vacuum cleaner» or «Basement key». Messages so short and simple like those you used to see on pagers. Except, these ones will last. Print a label, cut it out and stick it on to make sense of the world. That was the idea. With my Brother.
That’s how it all began.
Obviously, this isn’t exactly the height of sophistication when it comes to labelling. Professionals who work with electrical or IT cables use such a device in a systematic manner. A fatal electric shock looms here; a potential server failure there; one pull and thousands of screens go black over there. It’s better to take a systematic approach to things if you’re dealing with more serious matters.
People like that, who can see the big picture, have saved my butt more than once. And maybe one of the reasons I bought the device was that I wanted to be a little more like them: organised down to the smallest detail. Things didn’t unfold that way because my brain works differently. I got sidetracked and lost my way, but first I fell in love.
Phase 1: «Oooh! 😍» – It’s called «touch» and I can feel it
The device itself will be practical until the end of time. Good things don’t need to be reinvented. They stay the same and only minor details change, even while the world around them undergoes a complete transformation. When Brother introduced the P-touch series in the 1980s, no one thought about popping a display on it.
Even today, my model still looks like my school calculator had caught mumps: a little thicker and bulkier, but with a wonderful rubberised finish and real buttons that have a solid click and no weak spots. I’m not the only one who longs for those original buttons by the way. And in other ways, too, my Brother is still state-of-the-art. I even think the design team for the iPhone 17 Pro drew inspiration from it when choosing the colourways.
Every time I use this device, it gives me a nostalgic satisfaction. I want to see pixelated letters on the display and admire the icons in the twelfth submenu. But I don’t need any of it. I’m just going to print in bold black font and wonder why the margins aren’t turning out the way I expected. That doesn’t matter, as long as I can glue it down.
Phase 2: That «Ta da! 😊» feeling is addictive
It was a gentle and purposeful entry into the label scene. I thought the device might help me tidy up my tool corner a bit. I could label my small drawers and become one of those people who knows exactly where to find the 18-mm nails and where to find the 20-mm nails, instead of having to rummage through old jam jars.
«Bzzzzt». My enthusiasm grew with every label. Once I had labelled the tools, I was hooked. My perspective on things changed; I left the basement behind and wandered around the apartment. All of a sudden, I could see all the places that needed optimising.
«Well, these won’t get lost anymore,» I thought to myself after I’d labelled the kids’ water bottles. «Bzzzzt». Cut. Stick. Next, please. What’s the white flour doing in that unlabelled jar? «Bzzzzt». Cut. Stick. «There we are! 😊» you think, resting your hands contentedly on your hips. Great. After all, the labels are dishwasher-safe, so why should I hold back in the kitchen? Take that, lunchbox.
From what I’ve heard, this is a totally normal response. Anyone who buys a label maker does so with an initial idea in mind – and finds, just two weeks later, that even the third spare travel toothbrush needs a name on it. Just in case. And I came up with some good ideas that make my life easier. For example, when I open my spare parts drawer, I no longer need to play «guess the manufacturer of the charger».
Then things took a turn and I started having bad ideas. There was too much room for interpretation all around me. Where do I stop? The logical answer would’ve been: at the very latest when my opinions start creeping into those little messages and restrict others’ freedom. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop – the «Ta da!» feeling was too enticing.
Phase 3: «There we are! 😤» – Now the parking tickets are being handed out
If you’ve ever worked in a big open-plan office, you’ll be familiar with passive aggressive messages printed on labels that aren’t anywhere near large enough. «Always close the window when leaving the conference room», «Turn off the lights!», or «Unload the dishwasher» – preferably in colour, underlined and with exclamation points. «There we are! 😤» – messages that subtly convey a little snort of anger toward unknown perpetrators. Knowing full well that the dirty cups will just pile up next to the sink again.
I crossed that line when – yet again – my nice charging cable, which had my name written on it, went missing. Reaching behind the back of the sofa and fishing around in vain, only to find a lone power adapter, annoyed me. What was even more annoying was when I pulled the cable labelled «Michael» out of my son’s mess. Just you wait. «Bzzzzt». Cut. Stick.
«Hands off :-)» is now written just above the plug as a reminder to people. I did think about using three red exclamation points, but held back; instead, a friendly boomer smiley should keep watch over my cable. I felt a little weird even as I was putting it on, but at first it had a therapeutic effect: «There we are!»
Since then I’ve been asking myself «who’s taken my hands-off cable» and print another label like its a parking ticket. For example, when the contents of the bathroom cabinet gradually end up on top of the washing machine. It’s not like I can use physical boundaries to protect open spaces that are meant to stay open. So I used words instead. To be more precise: too many words. «Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt».
Phase 4: «There we are! Mwahaha 🤪» – I’m sure I’m still allowed to label that
The labelling machine does have a warning symbol for high voltage somewhere, but it doesn’t have one for sarcasm. Since I wasn’t getting anywhere with friendly reminders, veiled threats and silly smiley faces, my messages got longer and longer, and I turned into a rambling nutcase. The sentences just poured out of my Brother. «There we are! Mwahaha 🤪» – it was a never-ending string of nonsense. Until one day the washing machine politely asked for some space so it could go about its work undisturbed.
Fact is, I was and am right. Leaving things lying around and having others clean them up isn’t right. However, it wasn’t exactly appropriate to satisfy my heightened urge to express myself by using laminated tapeworm stickers either. I was like that confused man in the pedestrian zone, standing on a bench and ranting at passersby, who go about their daily lives unmoved and, at best, look right through him.
It took a bit of time until I looked at myself. An overdose isn’t a solution – it’s a problem.
Phase 5: «Sorry! 😔» – Admitting to label fever
Labels help people when they need and are looking for guidance. They don’t change the people who interact with them, nor are they an analogue substitute for Twitter X for broadcasting opinions to the world.
My «label phase» had already begun with a nice little bit of self-deception. It’s one thing to neatly label a drawer. And another to actually stick by it. After all, if it says «screws» on the label and there are a few nails inside, everything still looks perfectly fine from the outside. I’m no more organised than I was when I first started labelling things.
Yes, I can tell my power cables apart. But I still have to untangle them because I often don’t wind them up properly. My «Hands off» cable broke a long time ago, and the water bottles still keep disappearing every few weeks. Karma’s a b*tch. From now on, I’ll think twice before reaching for the Brother, and I’ll keep this in mind:
label and let live.
Am I the only label sheriff around here, or are you thinking, «I feel you, brother»?
Michael Restin
Senior Editor
Michael.Restin@digitecgalaxus.chSimple writer and dad of two who likes to be on the move, wading through everyday family life. Juggling several balls, I'll occasionally drop one. It could be a ball, or a remark. Or both.
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