Let us begin with what this is, because the honesty matters. The Volkl stencil is a flat, cut plastic template carrying the brand's chevron, and it does not improve your tennis by any measurable amount. It adds no spin. It saves no arm.
Laid against the outer face of the string bed and worked over with stencil ink, it leaves a mark, and the mark stays until the strings have moved around each other enough to break it up. That is the entire specification, and I find it a far more interesting object for that.
The template is thin enough to sit flat across the mains without bowing them, and it is reusable — wipe it before the ink sets and it will outlast several string jobs. A stencil is a template and nothing else; the ink is its own separate matter.
The practical business is simple and worth getting right.
Load the dauber lightly, because a heavy one bleeds under the edge and you get a chevron with a shadow. That is not a flaw in it. That is the point of it.
And accept that the mark is temporary.
So why mark a racquet at all? Nobody in the third set is reading your string bed. And yet everyone does it, which suggests the mark is not addressed to anyone in particular but to the general idea of being seen — and Chelmsford, of all places, is the town that turns that into a question with an answer.
Go and stand on Hall Street, at the Marconi works: the world's first purpose-built radio factory, a building whose entire business was making a mark and flinging it out to be received by someone who could not be seen. Everything I have just said about a stencil, that factory said about the human race, and it said it at industrial scale.
"A mark is only a mark until somebody reads it."
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