October 2007. I open my computer to find that my beloved default font, Times New Roman, has been replaced by Calibri. I curse Microsoft Office 2007 but am intrigued by the usability of the default file formats of Word, Office and XML. I decry the loss of the Times serif, “mon petit queue de porcelet,” as I would refer to it in the privacy of my rooms. I want to reach out and stroke Calibri’s rounded corners, but of course, I cannot because it is constrained by the four sides of my monitor. I seethe with ambivalence; how can you love something and hate something so much.
December 31, 2007. Calibri has taken root in my brain. What is this thing “Calibri,” with its subtle roundedness and clean precision? It rattles me. I cannot stand it. I create endless Word documents, they all default to Calibri. I calculate the time spent changing the font back to Times New Roman has cost me half a year’s sleep. Something must be done. I vow never to rest until Calibri is relegated to the font-picker drop-down and I have replaced it with a new font. This is a New Year’s resolution worth keeping.
January 1, 2008. Last night was the first true sleep I’ve had in months. I awaken, energized, and grab a sheet of paper and Derwent pencil in BlueGrey 68 and start to sketch the letters of the alphabet, upper and lowercase. I spill coffee across the page and discover Derwent BlueGrey 68 is a watercolor pencil. The lines run and pool into one giant blob. The world is out to destroy me. I soak up the coffee with a despairing shirtsleeve and start again with a Staedtler Mars Lumograph 100 in 2B.
May 2010. I realize all my sketches are nothing more than variations on Baskerville, a font created three hundred years ago. Known for dignity and modernism, what does that make me but an undignified, antiquated hack. I am filled with self-loathing. I travel to the Canadian Rockies for three years of silent meditation and realize that Canada’s watermark is, what else, but Baskerville. Is there nothing new under the sun?
July 2013. I return from my retreat. For the first time in three years, I see myself in the mirror. I am more rugged and gaunt; my hair is scraggly. I grab my drafting materials, invigorated by a new vision. I deploy little swashes to the tail of the “a,” and an exaggerated entry stroke to the “d.”
Brilliant, brilliant.
November 2015. I am entering the dark night of the soul. Calibri endures. I have sold my home and all my possessions. All I can think of is my new font. I have been drafting endlessly. My hands are calloused, and I’ve developed a peculiar tendonitis in my knee which my orthopedist, Dr. H.M. Charles Payne (he does hips too) has connected to the repeated hand-motion of my non-hierarchical “g.” I will need to rethink my entire approach or risk ending up unable to walk and bound to a wheelchair, with only my pet mouse, Lorem, to aid me in my daily activities.
September 2018. In a desperate effort to forestall knee surgery, I make the ultimate sacrifice and forgo drafting on paper. I have downloaded an app to aid my font creation. I feel cheap and dirty. But the interface is user-friendly and intuitive. My mind wanders to Microsoft, what is it doing at this very moment? What quiet havoc is it about to unleash on the world? I read about something called AI. I fantasize my new font will be AI’s font of choice. My wealth, nay, my very survival on this planet will be guaranteed. I carry on.
December 2018. I start listening to podcasts obsessively to get my mind off the stagnating font. I have discovered “Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend.” I have no idea who this person is but think he’s quite funny and will likely have a long career in comedy. His extraordinary hair sparks the realization that I need to pivot on my font. The “R” needs a looser, more modern, upbeat tone, with perhaps a nod to Victor Borge. (I reference his take on phonetic punctuation.) Inspiration is a strange beast indeed.
September 2023. I am on fire. I am nearing completion for both lowercase, uppercase, Latin and Cyrillic. My new font embodies discoverability, generosity, and diplomacy. The “I” demonstrates a strong work-from-home ethic. My font speaks to the disenfranchised. It will be remembered for its humanist attributes. I am giddy with possibilities and will test the font on inputs from Chat GPT. I am certain that AI will choose to be embodied by it. It is the penultimate representation. If I could only think of a name. Note to self—explore whether “Conan” is trademarked.
March 2024. Last Entry. Microsoft has done it again. Calibri has been replaced by a new default font Aptos. I despise you, Aptos. My heart is rendered. Life is meaningless. What does a default font signify anyway but an absence, a giant nothingness? It is a font for those who cannot make a choice for themselves. I am undone. I will never type another document again.
Off—12:00 Midnight.
On—9:00 am. Work.
Did anyone else experience a subtle shift when Aptos came out? (In case you couldn’t tell) I spend a lot of time thinking about what’s in a font, and what font will best tell a story. But that is a discussion for another day.
And for anyone looking for an extraordinary alphabet book to share with a little one, a dear friend recommended “The Z Was Zapped,” by Chris Van Allsburg. It’s a play in 26 Acts and one of the most clever renderings of the alphabet I’ve ever seen. It will keep you and your child guessing and laughing and make reading so much fun. Which is what it should be anyway.
I have spent a disproportionate amount of time thinking about fonts compared to the average person. But alas I am chained to the Apple ecosystem. Aptos is nothing to me 😆