Losing the Art of Handwriting

In a world where screens and keyboards dominate, the pencil is losing its power. 

By the mid 2010s, almost all 50 states stopped requiring schools to teach cursive, marking the beginning of its steady disappearance. While some states have reintegrated cursive into their mandated curricula, cursive still remains largely absent in the classroom. What was a rite of passage for my parents and their parents—learning to loop your l’s and perfect the swoop in your signature with a little bit of flourish at the end—is becoming an ancient relic.

When I got my first phone in seventh grade, my dad made me a deal: I could have the phone, but only if I completed an entire cursive workbook and wrote a letter in cursive to a family member. At the time, it seemed like an odd hurdle; the only thing standing between me and a much-wanted phone was learning a skill I viewed as an obsolete formality. Now though, I understand why he insisted. He was trying to preserve a skill that is rapidly disappearing. 

This crisis transcends cursive. Handwriting is more than just a technical ability. Its decline represents a larger cognitive and cultural loss—a disconnect from how we express ourselves, process our thoughts, and preserve human identity. In an age where digital expression dominates, reemphasizing physicality and the importance of writing by hand is essential to maximizing intellectuality and maintaining our connection to the past. 

At school, I’ve noticed that many of my peers struggle to not only write legibly but also to even decipher their own writing. This issue is not just a quirk of Stuyvesant but a national trend; younger generations grow complacent due to the conveniences of technology. A striking 45 percent of Americans struggle to read their own handwriting, revealing the consequences of an education system that has seemingly abandoned the value of penmanship. Although a shift towards typing everything may seem efficient, it has cost us the ability to slow down and truly connect with our own ideas. 

Beyond convenience, handwriting has neurological and educational benefits. Studies have found that those who write information by hand are more likely to retain it as well as understand concepts on a deeper level. Writing by hand activates areas of the brain associated with creativity and memory in ways that typing simply does not. These benefits are especially key in a classroom setting, where learning thrives on the intention and presence of the student. 

In addition to the cognitive advantages of writing by hand, the practice has long been regarded as a sign of refinement and status. Cursive originated in Ancient Rome, where patricians were trained in an elegant cursive script to boost writing efficiency. Beautiful penmanship was associated with deep intellect, worthy of championing the ideals of civic responsibility in a democratic state. In more modern Western culture, good penmanship was something that one took pride in, and although this pride has not disappeared—I still pride myself on my neat penmanship—it has become a rarity among younger Americans. This connection between penmanship and status reinforces the value of handwriting, and neglecting to teach it in schools diminishes its contribution to one’s intellectual identity. 

Furthermore, handwriting has been an essential form of art. In Asia, calligraphy has long been viewed as one of the highest forms of self expression. Chinese calligraphy is not just a method of writing and conveying ideas but also a meditative practice where each stroke is deliberate—its thickness, shape, and flow all carefully thought out with the delicate flick of a brush. The way one writes is just as important as what one writes, and how a character is written has the potential to reveal the writer’s emotional state, creating a deeply intimate connection between the artist and a viewer. However, a new phenomenon called “character amnesia” has found footing in recent years—people forget how to write common characters due to an increased reliance on typing. This issue raises a vital question: as smartphones can predict our words for us and auto-correct spelling and grammar, what do we lose by outsourcing something so essential? 

The Middle East also has a long legacy of writing as a visual art. For over a millennium, Arabic calligraphy has been used to transcribe sacred texts such as the Qur’an in ornate designs. Because depicting human figures was discouraged in Islamic art, calligraphy became a vessel to depict spiritual beauty. From the dome of a mosque to the gate of a palace, Islamic architecture is adorned in stylized script, transforming language into intricate ornamentation. 

Handwriting has served as a cultural fingerprint since the dawn of time—a way in which generations have conveyed emotion and identity beyond time, and the fading of this tradition represents a larger erasure of a deeply-human form of self-expression. 

So many handwritten historical documents—journal entries, letters, and essays—would not carry the same weight and power had they been simply typed up, and that is the magical thing about handwriting. It is uniquely human. Each person has their own style of writing through which they express individuality, reflecting a part of themselves. When typed out, all ideas are standardized through font, removing a large sense of originality from an idea and stripping away a layer of authenticity. Of course, this uniformity can be helpful—even necessary—in academic and professional environments, where handwriting could be a distraction from the content of one’s writing. However, in regard to personal expression and creativity, this conformity comes at a cost. Even with the advent of new fonts, there are still limitations to what can be accomplished on an electronic device—no matter how many fonts exist, they are confined to preset designs. Fonts cannot substitute the individuality present in handwriting. There is something beautiful about the smudges of lead on paper as they trace the movements of thought in real time, capturing the hesitations and imperfections that make an idea feel truly alive. 

I am not saying that we pretend the world has not changed. Today’s world, whether we like it or not, is a digital one, and typing is a necessary and valuable skill. However, this is not a question of handwriting or typing; rather, it is about making space for both. Perhaps handwriting’s place can be found in drafting poems or in writing personal letters. Maybe more artists and academics will begin to seek solace in handwriting as a means to slow down and bask in their deliberation. 

By neglecting to emphasize the importance of handwriting in schools, we limit the abilities of children to communicate in a full range of ways and engage with their thoughts on a deeper level, not to mention strengthen their cognitive functioning. For students to think clearly and fluidly, we need to teach them how to write clearly starting from a young age and emphasize the importance of penmanship throughout their education. Reintroducing a mandated structured handwriting curriculum into schools across the country could be a step towards reclaiming a fundamental mode of self-expression, helping students connect with language in a grounded way. There needs to be some sort of balance, however; too harsh an approach may take away from the personal connection to handwriting or may shift the importance of an assignment to completion itself rather than developing mechanical and cognitive skills. A thoughtfully implemented curriculum that incorporates short, regular handwriting exercises early on in one’s education can preserve both structure and individuality.  

If we want students to think clearly and fluidly, we need to teach them how to write—not just on keyboards but on paper with pens and pencils, curating their own voices. The pencil may be losing its power, but there is still time to sharpen it and pick it back up again.