I wanted to collect the thoughts that have been swirling in my brain about AI. Not to add another think piece to the pile, but to record them so I can understand where my head was at on the topic. Kind of a future letter to myself.
I’ve been pretty allergic to the wave of AI and all of the services popping up around them. Admittedly, part of it is fear. I’ve tried out many AI offerings. I can see how they are handy, they work quickly and seemingly make a lot of tedious things easier. They’ll likely help cure diseases or unlock breakthroughs in many fields. And that’s awesome. But I can’t shake the anger I feel about these models being trained on work taken without consent — including from artists, writers, and sites that explicitly opted out.
As someone who has spent their entire career and most of their life participating and creating online, this sucks. It feels like someone just harvested lumber from a forest I helped grow, and now wants to sell me the furniture they made with it.
The part that stings most is they didn’t even ask. They just assumed they could take everything like it was theirs. The power imbalance is so great, they’ll probably get away with it. There are countless lawsuits out against the AI companies. They say they can’t make these models without sucking up everyone’s copyrighted work. That should set off alarms. And still, do they acknowledge the imposition made on the sources of their training models? Nah, they are asking the government for absolution.
They’ve broken so many of the spoken and unspoken contracts of the web. And they want us to welcome them as a friend, like they didn’t just kick down the front door and invite themselves to dinner.
It’s worth saying it out loud as an affirmation: making things is not about the destination, but about the journey. The journey is what you put into creation: the thought, the mistakes, the sweat, the time, the lived experiences, the refinement in technique. What you get back is knowledge. The output is an artifact of that knowledge. When you get that artifact without the journey, you make nothing, you learn nothing.
Do most people make that distinction? Does it matter? Of course I care, but talking about it seems to backfire, making you look like a curmudgeon resistant to technological progress. As people accept AIs and become more reliant on them, their origin will probably just be a footnote in history, something only pedants care about.
Lately I’ve been thinking about how certain skills erode, how we lose touch with things we once worked hard to learn. Early on, driving a car for me meant memorizing directions. I got good at it because I had to, but it also felt nice to develop a sense for direction. The weekend before the iPhone came out, a friend and I pulled over to the side of the road and unfolded a big paper map on the hood of my car to figure out our route. They laughed and said, “I wonder if we’ll ever need to do this again after next week.”
They were right. Since then, I’ve become reliant on map applications when driving somewhere unfamiliar. My ability (and maybe patience) to follow ambling directions has completely atrophied. And I think about that sometimes when I sit down to write, or design, or solve a problem. When you aren’t made to use a muscle, that muscle stops working. How long can you still be a good writer if you aren’t writing? Painting? Coding? Reasoning?
These tools have already injected themselves into so many of the ways we learn and work. Regardless of your like or dislike of AI, I don’t think there is an unwinding that can happen here. Will there come a point when it’s no longer possible to work in our industry without opting in?
And still that anger. It’s not just that they didn’t ask. If these tools have so much promise, could this have been a communal effort rather than a heist? I don’t even know what that would’ve looked like, but I can say I would feel much differently about AI if I could use a model built on communal contributions and opt-ins, made for the advancement of everyone, not just those who can pay the monthly subscription.
Behind that anger is sadness. How do we nurture curiosity and the desire for self growth? Not just because your brain and body are great things that need tending to, or because it’s fun, or because it’s part of being alive. But because you simply must? Or maybe you must because of all those things.
I honestly don’t know.
I imagine there will be a time when using these tools or not creates a rift, and maybe it will be difficult to sustain a career in our field without using them. Maybe something will change, and I’ll come around to using these services regularly. I don’t think I’ll ever not be angry about it.
For now, I’m planning on continuing to roll up my sleeves. I want to make things because I’m human and alive. I want to go on journeys and grow. I’m not always looking for an easy path, I want the friction. Because if I give up the journey, what am I really making? What do I actually learn?
A new type family from Underware in partnership with Microsoft geared towards helping kids learn to read. It strikes a smart balance of legibility, playfulness, and variability. They even created a variable “writable” version of Kermit that can interpolate its shapes to mimic the motion of the letterforms being written!
I have a love/hate relationship with handwritten style fonts. They usually feel limited or contrived, like too much of the typography is pre-baked. I sour on them as soon as I see an identical repeating letterform, the veil drops and the illusion is ruined. But Underware are probably the best in the biz on these kinds of fonts: Scribo, Bello, Liza, and more. Kermit contains tons of alternates and variability, the illusion is clean and whole. And bringing it to Office? Let’s put Comic Sans to bed forever. Don’t skip the in-depth notes around Kermit’s design and how it might be able to help those with dyslexia learning to read too.
Following up on the last BTW’s mention of Emigre, Stephen Coles got to interview Zuzana Licko and Rudy VanderLans. Loads of great tidbits like Zuzana’s original proofing markups and details on how much they spent on those mailings in the ’90s. Wild that they recouped the costs and more! Different times:
Licko: By the mid-nineties, our mailing list was reaching upward of 40,000 to 50,000 potential customers. So we would mail out these promotional materials, be it a specimen booklet, a poster, or an issue of Emigre, to the entire list, free of charge. This would run upward of $30,000 to $40,000 per mailing. Each time we did this, it seemed like a lot of money, but we would usually recoup those costs and then some.
Apparently AI generated text is rife with em dashes. Sorry, I use em dashes a lot and will not cede this to the bots. I probably overuse them, but will now think of it as a badge of my own human imperfection. A cheatsheet: option
+ hyphen
for an en dash, option
+ shift
+ hyphen
for an em dash.
A new typeface from TypeTogether by Patrycja Walczak, the 2023 Gerard Unger Scholarship winner. Poltik was inspired by the numerals on a 1970s clock design Patrycja found in her grandfather’s drawer. Its text styles are warm and a little quirky in Light and Regular, but get really expressive as it gets bolder. Then the Display styles just hit you with retro goodness.
A big update to Dan Cederholm’s Cartridge type family, now with 5 weights across both Regular and Soft styles. Plus new alternate letterforms, revised kerning, and lots of under-the-hood improvements.
A new in-progress family by Kyle Letendre (Soft Type) at Future Fonts. I love the gentle contrast here, it’s a beautifully laid-back design. And $35 as an introductory price is a steal. More styles and weights on the way!
Earlier this year I started taking on contract work again, something I haven’t done steadily for about 10 years. The spark was getting laid off, which turned out to be a great moment to step back and reflect on things.
After some soul searching, I started to see a pattern I’ve been repeating: I’d start a new job with a company and team I felt good about, and a few years later I’d have some reason to move on. Sometimes it was a mismatch with leadership or my manager, other times it was burnout on that specific work. All valid reasons to leave! But when I think back on those companies, I remember most of them fondly—good teams, supportive managers, and companies making things I believed in. So why did I leave?
Reader, it was me.
I don’t think I actually mesh well with the structure of in-house design. I loved working among designers, mentoring, and shaping the direction of things; but at the same time, I was drowning in the reporting, OKRs, and earnings metrics of it all. I was often too far from the actual design happening, stuck hovering at some low altitude over the work. And that often left me feeling depleted.
Basically, I’ve always felt best when I was making things, and I miss being more hands-on. But I really miss the flexibility to try different things, work with different people, and learn while I’m doing it.
So I decided not to look for a new full-time position and instead go solo and hang out my own shingle again. I started a new LLC to work under and wrestled a domain name away from a domain squatter (boo! hiss!) last week.
Is this a good time to start a business? I dunno. But for my own health, I want to break the pattern of chasing fulfillment in the next shiny new role. It feels like an extra bad time to count on big companies to look out for their employees. That’s always been true, but it’s even clearer in economic downturns.
I’m excited about the chance to steer what I’m doing and who I work for again. I want to carve out something small and sustainable for me and collaborators. Something that doesn’t need to scale just to stick around. Something that takes on useful work, things I believe in, that works locally—in geography or community—and builds relationships. I want to will some optimism and fun back into my workday.
I want to work alongside people again, maybe in a shared studio space a couple times a week. Even better if we’re collaborating on projects together. I want to mentor designers. I want to keep learning. I want space to experiment and take on side quests just for the joy of it.
I’ve been having a blast designing typefaces and love making artifacts around design—books, shirts, games, who knows. I’ve always admired the polymathic studios like Coudal Partners, Young Jerks, Panic, and others. Places that found a niche doing things that nourished them creatively.
I’m taking it slow and trying to be intentional right now about what fills me up. I’ve booked a couple of gigs already, which is reassuring, and I hope I can grow that into something fun-sized and steady.
If you or anyone you know is looking for contract design help, please drop me a line.
I’m kicking off a new feature here: a roundup of things I’m reading, viewing, or generally into right now — loosely grouped around a theme. Since I’m getting back into writing here, I want to be a good web citizen and add to the link party I’ve been enjoying from folks like Naz Hamid, Dan Cederholm, and Scott Boms.
I remember being in design school in the late ’90s when an instructor showed me an issue of Emigre Magazine. It was full of idiosyncratic, postmodern typography. Flavors of photocopier grit, collage, deconstruction, asymmetrical layouts — like punk rock beamed through QuarkXPress. As a new convert to graphic design, it felt like a secret transmission from another world. Messy, radical, opinionated, and totally electrifying.
Back then you could snail mail Emigre a letter asking to be added to their mailing list, and they would send you issues for free. I can’t remember if it was a student-only thing, but I certainly mentioned that I was a student in the hopes they wouldn’t get wise to who was getting the better end of that deal. Granted, over the years I’ve licensed a lot of Emigre fonts, and that was surely one of the magazine's goal: to showcase fonts and get people to purchase them.
Incredible inspiration, blasted straight to my mailbox, for free?! I pored over every page. Emigre was so formative in my early designer days. They were making fonts, designing wild magazines, and publishing essays that questioned what design was even for.
About 15 years ago for issue 70, they compiled every issue from 1984–2009 into a doorstop of a book. The physical edition is out of print, but you can pick up a PDF edition for only $5. It feels like I’m paying back a little of that free inspiration and postage they spent on me all those years ago.
Also worth a look: Letterform Archive’s recent release, Emigre Fonts: Type Specimens, 1986–2024. Smaller in stature, but thicker in pages and years.
TMBG was one of the first bands I got into as I started discovering music, and they’ve stuck with me ever since. Their songs are stitched into the fabric of my life, and can instantly take me back to specific times and places.
I’ve even been lucky enough to cross paths with the Johns a couple of times: first, interviewing them for an entertainment magazine where I interned during college, and years later, designing a website for them when I lived in Brooklyn.
The AV Club did a two-part retrospective interview with them for their Set List series, using specific songs as entry points to talk through their whole career.
Elizabeth Goodspeed is back with another great article — this time digging into the dread hanging over the design industry, and the ways we try to cope. It’s full of healthy straight talk and introspection. On career growth:
And the longer you stick around, the more disorienting the gap becomes – especially as you rise in seniority. You start doing less actual design and more yapping: pitching to stakeholders, writing brand strategy decks, performing taste. Less craft, more optics; less idealism, more cynicism.
And on trying to exist as a designer without losing yourself:
The line between optimism and pessimism is increasingly blurred; designers are ironic about being sincere, sincere about being ironic, suspicious of optimism, but also wary of coming off as too cynical (or, sad). What’s being performed, more than anything, is ambivalence: the most protective emotional position in a profession that demands passion but punishes vulnerability. When the stakes are this personal, forced indifference can feel like the only safe response.
I see myself in a lot of this and I don’t like it! But later, some good advice:
If the industry no longer offers security, prestige, or even clout, then who is all this self-styling for? Why not do the thing that feels worthwhile, and be honest about how much it matters to us? As Mira Joyce puts it, “Caring deeply and openly about your craft shouldn’t feel embarrassing. It feels necessary to me.”
Trying to care more, not less.
Sketchbooks continue to be one of the best inventions ever. Libbie Bischoff asked a bunch of her type design friends to share pages from their sketchbooks, and the results are incredible. Take a peek inside the brains of folks like Joanna Malinis, Lynne Yun (Space Type Co), James Edmondson (OH no Type Co), and more.
Libbie is the designer behind Type du Nord, a fantastic independent type foundry making awesome faces like the recently released Yolker. She also teaches at Type Electives where I’ve had the pleasure of taking a couple of her workshops, including one last fall that helped me push Citywide across the finish line. Her work and newsletter are well worth your time!
Hello! It’s been a while — nearly eight years since I posted on my blog. A lot has changed for me in that time. I’m back in Philly, have two kids, and have bounced around in my career a bit. Now I find myself wanting to try something new again, or maybe return to things I used to do. Namely, blogging and contract gigs paired with side quests.
Somewhere along the way, I found myself receding from the web a bit. I still loved making websites and staying current on how the web as a medium was evolving. But I grew disinterested in socializing and hanging out in any of the social spaces. The reasons are probably obvious: pandemic, kakistocracy, and the overwhelming daily drumbeat of current events. Parenting also takes up a lot of time, and that’s been a welcome reprieve, giving me more reason to focus on family and friends.
But I love the web and miss feeling like a part of it! I never stopped reading friends’ sites or stumbling upon little hidden creative gems—there’s so much goodness here. More than the social side of things, I miss having my own little home on the web, a space to write and reflect. It keeps me learning and helps me better understand what I think.
Sometimes, I don’t know what to make of the world or how to make it make sense. Ethan, ever the smarty, tells us websites can be worry stones. That’s exactly how I want to think of it right now, something to comfort me and guide me. Making things helps ground me, gives me a job to do, and fills me up.
So, here we are again. Somehow, my site turns 25(!) years old this year. I want to rekindle things and get back to writing again. And I want to do it in my own space, apart from the tides of platforms and networks. Just some internet webpages and RSS. I’m excited to write more and share silly, interesting, and inspiring things. I don’t know how regularly I’ll post, but I’m thinking a couple times a month should be possible.
The best time to (re)start a blog was yesterday, and the next best is today. Blogs are awesome — they’ve always been awesome. If you’ve made it this far, I hope you’ll stick around. The RSS is flowing!
P.S. Thanks to Luke and Colly for their generous advice and guidance as I got myself up and running on Kirby. They are fine folks and Kirby is charming as hell to use.