Junk journaling
CostLow
Includes: Notebook, glue, scissors, tape, stamps, ephemera, vintage scraps, paper bits Example: You can start completely free with what you already have. Add-on kits and tools (like washi, stamps, ink pads) are optional but fun.
What it is
A blank artisan notebook with deckle edges and a leather cover runs €25 to €40. A junk journal costs roughly nothing, because the entire point is that you build it from things you would otherwise bin. Ticket stubs, torn envelopes, old book pages, packaging, receipts, scraps of fabric. Junk journaling is the practice of stitching that detritus into a handmade book, then writing, gluing, and collaging across the pages until the rubbish becomes a record.
The aesthetic leans vintage and layered. Pages overlap, things tuck into pockets, envelopes hold loose notes, and folded inserts pull out to reveal more. People often start with a base of brown kraft paper or old book pages, then build up texture with whatever they have hoarded. There is a thriving second-hand market for ephemera, but the purist approach uses genuinely free material, which keeps it honest.
The pleasant surprise is how the constraint frees you. A pristine €40 notebook intimidates. A book made of bus tickets and cereal boxes does not, so people actually use it. Most who try junk journaling once find the blank-page fear simply disappears, because there was never a blank page to begin with.
How it works
A bone folder is the one tool that changes everything here, and it costs under €5. It creases paper crisply, flattens glued pages, and burnishes folds so they lie flat instead of springing open. Junk journaling is built from creased and folded scraps, and a sharp, even fold is the difference between a book that closes properly and a lumpy wad that will not shut. Everything else you genuinely can scavenge.
Start by gathering a base and your ephemera. The base is usually old book pages, brown kraft paper, or a thrifted hardback you gut and rebuild. The ephemera is the rubbish: ticket stubs, envelopes, packaging, receipts, sheet music, tea-stained paper for that aged look. Sort it loosely before building, because hunting through a pile mid-glue breaks the flow. Then assemble pages with pockets, folded inserts, and tip-ins, gluing with a gel medium or a glue stick for lighter pieces and PVA for anything bulky.
The binding holds it together, and Coptic stitch is the workhorse because it lets the book lie completely flat when open, which matters when pages are thick with glued-on layers. You sew the folded sections, called signatures, together through their spines with a needle and waxed thread. There are simpler bindings if stitching feels daunting. A ring binder or even a stack clipped together gets you started without any sewing at all.
Benefits
What you need
Here's what to gather before you start. The essentials are marked.
Some links below are affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate, trylii.com earns from qualifying purchases, at no extra cost to you.
FAQs
Filling a journal with ephemera, the bits of paper that pass through your life. Ticket stubs, receipts, packaging, tea bag tags, fabric scraps, pressed flowers. You glue them in, write around them, build pages from things that would otherwise hit the bin. It is part scrapbook, part diary, part magpie nest.
Actual rubbish is the entire point. The aesthetic is built from what you already have. People do buy decorative paper and washi tape, and that is fine, but a junk journal made purely from a month of saved receipts and packaging has more character than anything bought. Start a small box and just collect for a fortnight before you glue anything.
Any sturdy notebook works, but the thin pages of a standard journal struggle under wet glue and bulky inclusions. A book with thicker pages handles it better, and some people repurpose an old hardback book as the base, glueing pages together in pairs for strength. A glue stick handles paper. Use PVA or a tape runner for heavier bits.
The point is memory and texture. A photo flattens an experience. A torn ticket, a coffee-stained napkin, and three scrawled words pull you back into a day far more vividly. It also rescues the small stuff that diaries skip, the ordinary debris that turns out to be what you actually remember.