The first knife I ever lusted after was a monstrosity. Jet black with a faux-tactical aesthetic, it stared at me from under the glass at the Camp Tuscarora Trading Post in upstate New York.

Like all good scouts, we already had Totin' Chips and little red Swiss Army blades, more than enough for turning sticks into makeshift spears—the only thing any of us could reliably carve. These tools were certainly better than that cheap folder under the glass, probably a knockoff made of mystery metal. But that knife was big. It was angular. If you loosened up the screws, the rumors went, you could open it with a flick of the wrist. It was impractical and awesome. I never got it.

I hadn't thought about that knife until last year, when the course of normal Popular Mechanics business took me to far-flung corners of the internet I had never seen before, deep into Very Cool Knife country. Suddenly and without really realizing it I had become a regular visitor not only to Reddit's virtual knife emporium r/knives, but also its spinoff r/knifeclub. It started with pictures, but soon I was onto YouTube reviews and "The Best EDC Knives" videos over lunch.

I was gawking like a 12-year-old Boy Scout again. But adult Eric has disposable income, a mailing address, and Amazon dot com. The floodgates opened. One knife became two, became four, became more. I had to find some way to put a stop to it. Little did I know the solution would be the simplest, cheapest knife I've ever bought.

Let's Get Geeky

Let me be clear: I do not confuse myself, a soft-handed city-slicker wordsmith, with hardened handymen who hack through wood and plastic and wire on the regular. I am a knife geek, and we, more often than not, are lovers of design and materials, engineering and ergonomics, and form over function. And boy is there plenty to geek out about in the world of folding pocket knives.

I am a knife geek.

Do I want a one-inch blade? Four-inch? Let's talk pros and cons. Should it end in a spear point? Sheep's foot? None of the above? Should it be made of carbon steel or expensive stainless "super steel" or ZDP-189, 8Cr13MoV or VG-10? There are full-auto button-press blades that are lightning-fast and illegal in 15 states. There are flipper blades with a lever to flick and a blade that swings out on bearings. There are knives with thumbstuds, knives with thumbholes, knives that open by catching on your pocket when you pull them out.

That's to say nothing of locking mechanism, or overall design, or ergonomics, or pocket clip position, or depth of pocket carry, or blade thickness, or blade grind, or handle material, or state laws, or city ordinances!

I got off to a running start, taking great pains to pace myself. I failed. To name but a few of my ill-advised purchases: for its tacticool charm and needless-but-awesome spring-assisted open. A Spyderco Dragonfly 2 (with G-10 scales) for its small size and unthreatening shape so I don't scare officemates from other publications. , bought on the flimsy pretext that I needed dress-knife to go with my suit. It's a little too thick though. I'll have to buy something else.

ZDP-189, 8Cr13MoV, VG-10? There's no shortage of jargon to learn, pros and cons to pore over.

This does not include the more expensive knives I couldn't find an excuse to buy (yet), like the chunky but charming titanium Spyderco Techno (slightly too rich for my blood) or the rock-solid Benchmade Griptillian (far too rugged and capable for a sheltered life my pocket.) Of course, it's only ever a matter of time.

Keep It Simple, Stupid

But the knife that saved me from this madness (I think) has no machined titanium. No textured G-10 grips. My doesn't bother with any of that, and really, it's the only knife I need.

Left to right: Kershaw Cryo, Spyderco Dragonfly, Boker Urban Trapper, Opinel No. 8 Eric Limer

Designed in 1890 in Savoie, France, the Opinel stands unflinchingly in the face of modern faux-tactical fare. The simple "peasant's knife" has a modest five-part construction with what you need and nothing else: a carbon steel blade, a wooden handle, a metal collar and pin to hold the two together, and a metal locking ring to hold the blade open for use. It's a minimal, slightly flawed, but eminently functional design. A century-old embodiment of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." A more elegant knife for a more civilized age.

At first blush, an Opinel is most notable for what it lacks. It does not flick open. It cannot clip to your pocket. Its handle is not some lightweight alloy, but wood that swells in humidity and can make the blade almost unusably stiff until you oil it, or dry it out a bit on the radiator or in the oven. I didn't really get the appeal even when I ordered mine online, drawn in by its most surface appeal: It is almost criminally cheap.

To drift into the depths of knife nerdom is to discover what they call the "grail" knife—the one that, should you someday own it, would finally be enough. Some collectors are drawn to meticulously designed and machined triumphs of engineering. Others to bespoke works of art made by smiths who never try the same thing twice. Either one could cost you hundreds of dollars. An Opinel—universally lauded and less than twenty bucks—is a sensible, even obligatory, pitstop on the long road to something pricier. It's like you're losing money by not buying one.

It wasn't until I held that first Opinel I ordered from Amazon on whim—the tried and true No. 8 with a 8cm blade—that I started to appreciate what it can do. It can cut the tape on cardboard boxes I get in the mail, or slice through a plastic zip tie. It can hack off a piece of cheese for lunch, or effortlessly halve the grapefruits I've taken to eating for want of something to cut. It is pleasant to hold and simple to sharpen. It is easy to love and hard to baby.

Every knife I've bought up until now has whispered "yes, more." My Opinel screams "enough already!"

Over time, carbon steel blades will acquire a patina, a layer of stable rust that actually protects the blade from more dangerous kinds. The oil from my hand got the process started the very first time I opened my new knife. Eric Limer

A century-old design can never be dated. A knife so simple is easy to fix and maintain. A little woodworking on the handle, or some tweaks to the blade if I ever feel the need. For now we're still establishing our friendship. Its logo is wearing off where my fingers grip and its blade sports a patina from everything we've cut together so far. The upkeep is more privilege than chore, and the shortcomings? No sweat between pals.

While the Opinel that's most famous is the No. 8 with carbon steel blade and wooden handle, there are dozens more in the extended family. There are Opinels , Opinels . There are that run a slightly smaller gamut. They come with carbon steel blades, or stainless steel ones in a variety of shapes. Handles made of wood of all kinds, or something synthetic if you're a freak who'd prefer it. A seemingly endless variety. Still, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the single Opinel I have truly is the only knife I need.

I can't wait to buy a dozen more.

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