You are an aspiring type designer slashing your way into the Papa New Guinean jungle...
In your rucksack are two prints of the Roman alphabet. One is what we’d call normal, the other's letter widths have been altered. Back in civilisation, everyone had a clear preference for the original, unaltered version. You suspect they showed this preference not because the original glyphs were perfectly symmetrical, or based on some golden ratio, but because they had preexisting expectations of what the alphabet should look like.
In your rucksack are two prints of the Roman alphabet. One is what we’d call normal, the other's letter widths have been altered. Back in civilisation, everyone had a clear preference for the original, unaltered version. You suspect they showed this preference not because the original glyphs were perfectly symmetrical, or based on some golden ratio, but because they had preexisting expectations of what the alphabet should look like.
Upon finding a tribe of the indigenous population you thrust the two prints in front of them. They’ve never seen the Roman alphabet before, and that’s why you’re here. You ask each wild-eyed inhabitant in turn which they prefer. Miraculously you're not speared in the abdomen, and find there is no clear preference for one over the other.
You are jubilant, but disheartened. You’ve proven that people’s expectations of what a good typeface should be is built on their intuitive familiarity with the alphabet, but you’re disheartened because reproducing that familiarity is elusive. There’s no mathematical formula that defines it. No textbook is going to spell it out.
The tribe kindly asks you to stay for dinner, and you’re never seen nor heard from again.
I’m a graphic designer who’s worked with type on a daily basis for 25 years. I instinctively know how to select and set type well, but as I’ve found out this year, that’s not enough to create a successful typeface.
Initially I approached learning type design like I did web development, raising a child, or making pancakes – by googling it. But unfortunately, for type design I don't think that’s not enough. There’s no textbook definition of how wide an S should be in proportion to an O, yet there does seem to be a right and wrong answer; why the ear on a double-storey g looks offensive on one side but not the other; why a glyph’s stem and bar weights only look balanced when they’re actually not.
Just like graphic design, I've found there’s an intangible element to knowing what works that can only be learnt through immersion and experience.
I’d hoped the intuition I’ve honed in graphic design could be applied to designing a typeface, but my feeling so far is that’s not the case. I need to go on a journey – not through the jungles of Papa New Guinea – but by learning how the Roman alphabet came to be what it i, and through lots of trial and error.
For me this answers why so much importance is seemly put on having a formal education in the field of type design. Not because of snobbery, but because good typography is about building on what's come before.
For the accomplished type designers, I’d love to hear your experience – was it hard? Did it come easily? Were there "Aha!" moments? Would you agree a strong foundation in the history of type is essential to creating good fonts?