The painter sweeps their brush across the canvas, colors following the contours and bumps of the layers underneath, a thick layer of titanium white covering the geographies of colors that set before it, thick application after thick application, covering the riots of color underneath.

Simplicity as an ethos started as a manufacturing shift coming out of the necessities of the industrial revolution. 

It found its footing on the cusp of World War II by the Bauhaus.

Today it often acts as a philosophical bludgeon for designers: grid systems, simplicity, pixel perfect, less is more. Maybe you’ve heard your designer tell you these things. Maybe you are left with two fonts and three colors, and a few Linkedin memes about how “a logo isn’t branding” and no real clue where to go next.

As brands scale from small affairs keeping the lights on, to leaders and lighthouses guiding the way, the opportunities to understand customers and speak to them grow exponentially. Your personas become real people who may not agree with the trajectories you’ve set for them. The markets start to push on you, co-opt you, copy you, steal from you — and in turn you navigate the twists and turns of being a business in the real world, seeking to be seen and selected.

So where do three colors, two free fonts, and a logo fit?

Is monolithic simplicity fit for purpose in a modern era? With all our fractured media, multiple screens, and liquid timezones? Is it fit for purpose for the next Nikes and Apples, operating in their garages, and aiming towards the horizon?

More importantly, were those brands as “simple” as they ever seemed in our minds' eyes? Are the brands that stand out to us truly as simple as they appear? Or instead, did they aggressively grasp the contemporary, falling in love with their time and place, and use the energy of the moment to reveal a facet of themselves?

 (or, really, understand), or do you need clarity into how you should navigate the atmosphere of the marketplace today and tomorrow without losing your brand’s soul?

When designers bang on about simplicity, what you should demand, instead, is clarity.


Painter intro

Being on the edge means being misunderstood.

In late 2022, the life sciences startup Medable found themselves in a similar conflicting relationship to simplicity. As visionaries in the niche of digital clinical trial platforms, they’d broken through the usual clutter we’d associate with pharma and medical brands. The look was simple: one font, two colors (and a few tints), a grid, and spacious photography of bare shoulders, dapples of freckles, and expressive gesturing fingers, paired with moody shots of microbes from the petri dish.

Part 2 3.5 typo

Though incredibly elegant, their brand system was strangling them. Thin fonts that looked gorgeous in highly controlled situations demanded heaps of negative space to be successful. In reality, Medable's biggest tool for assuring credibility were dense technical materials. As a design system, they had grid systems that worked only in a few specific formats, and photography that had the target audience mistake the brand for a skincare company.

Fundamental misunderstanding is an invitation for meditation inwards and projection into the future; coming equipped with new knowledge from the experiences gained (for better or worse). It’s an invitation to ask where the pursuit of simplicity has led to a loss of fidelity. Where might complications bring out truer versions of oneself?

Misunderstanding means returning to the source (and in Medable’s case, the voice of their founder) to anchor the company in where it needs to go, and how it will do that on its own terms.

pt 2.5

photog

Strategy that is durable is filled with contradictions: to be impressive but not arrogant, to be an authority who is down to earth. To be credible in a deep technical niche, but also at ease in the company of brands like Sonos, Apple, and Rimowa.

The layers of contradiction become pathways to meaning: to find contrasts and juxtapositions, balancing tensions back and forth across a range of emotions.

Contradictions are keys to context. Contradictions embrace the grey areas between separate perspectives and become a wellspring of ideas that can play off each other. They adapt to context, mood, and trend.

Contradictions give a brand EQ — the ability to read a room — to know when to wear work boots and when to wear a white tie. 

Elevated.
A human touch.
Tech forward.
A staid, clinical category.

colorways

A warm, chic camel color, mixed with a digital-only purple.

Combinations that link the sensitivity of a premium fashion brand to the speed and always-on sensibility found on ubiquitous screens.

Everything is more entangled than we usually understand, shifting between the personal, the cultural, the logical, and the institutional.

In embracing emotional contradictions, a brand can continually surprise with its range of expressions.

For Medable, contradiction plays through all of its look, including the subtle world of typography. Here, a robotic DOS-era font signals a sense of precision and technicality that's unconcerned with aesthetics. In counterbalance is a hard working, modern-but-friendly sans serif family, filled with weights and options.

Contemporary yet technical.
Big yet fast.
Elevated yet welcoming.

The elements of type, color, pattern, photography, and animation are layered in turn. Each brush stroke building on another.

What ultimately seems simple is a delicate constellation of meaning, filled with contradictions, moods, and contexts.


Part 3. Entanglement & clarity

contexts

If the world was ever simple, or at least simple enough to merit a monolithic approach to branding — where a few colors, and a regimen of simplicity is enough — it certainly isn’t now.

The economics of venture capital funding have shifted. What was once betting on a return (with 0% interest rates) is now another situation. Brands need clearer reasons to exist in the eyes of customers and their VC backers. And startups need more differentiated, harder to copy branding to keep the market space they want to claim.

It is important to not just point to Pinterest and say, “me too." It's not enough to nod along to the branding memes of simplicity.

Who is that "me", and what does "too" look like? What are you chasing, and why? If you can find it on a Pinterest board, how will you defend your edge in a market swelling with choice?

champions of simplicity of the 1940s and 50s

 who were eager to leave the messy past of the World Wars behind, simplistic approaches in a complicated world often leave us wanting for something more human, and messy.

Pt 4

blanding imgs

The ironically-iconic blanding look of the mid-2010s

 (modernist, minimalist, approachable) was just as character-erasing as the rebrands of the 1950s, if not as idealistic.

Are three colors, two fonts, and one logo enough today?

What do we leave behind of our unique perspectives, our visions, and our opportunities to shine when we embrace simplicity without question?

So, when designers bang on about simplicity — instead turn inwards and seek clarity. It’s far more durable.


A flat-white surface, dappled with textures. A palette knife scrapes the surfaces, revealing a  buildup of color, on texture, on color.
It was never just a white surface, but a delicate agreement of everything that has come before.


pt 5

What do they mean when they tell you, “simplicity”?

An artboard filled with Experimental Jetset, MoMa rebrand concepts, immaculate, smoothed, infinite expanses of white and well-proportioned rectangles, housing negative space and art. I’d wanted a project like this for years. Coveted it, even.

You know this type of project, the one that everyone else seems to be doing but you - the fashion brand, the lighting company, the Scandinavian-Italian faucet startup. Nike, I guess, because who else?

“Design for designers” is what they call it. Design that is meant to be thrown back into the masses of trendsetters, king-makers, blog-writers. To sit beside the ironically self-aware wine, the unabashed paper sample books, the pet project from that student who will SURELY get a D&AD pencil from their AR recreation of famous Paul Rand logos.

For almost a year now, Todd, Patrick and I had been chipping away at revitalizing the Canadian Design Resource: a latent collection of artifacts from Canadian designers.

Renamed to Nor, and christened with a new mandate, I found myself at that golden junction of a conceptual, cultural, and aesthetically-empowered project.

I’m left looking over the edge into what should be my speciality: branding.

What had started as an earnest and ongoing casual collection of designers and their creations had taken on a new life: one that was a little allergic to its previous incarnation. The Resource, dressed in a welcome-and-earnest red and nostalgic 

When this chance to design for the design industry arrived (or I suppose was forcefully willed into existence), the natural response is, of course, pure abject terror.

Yes, I am working on a collection of design objects. And, why yes, it is something of a museum, or cultural thing. And, well, yes. Maybe we do need a logo.

Must be iconic. Must be bold. Must be larger than life, push the boundaries. Must be strong, a force to be reckoned with, tell a story. Must be familiar. And never seen before. Nothing less than brilliant. Must work well in motion. Must use a typeface I haven’t used before. Must work on merch. Must work small sizes. Must establish a legacy. Sit up there with the greats.

Part 1: Must be well kerned

The comments section, courtesy chatgpt.

Panning through a bookmarked list of type foundries, systematically rolling NOR nor Nor through each one, screen-grabbing the interesting ones. Some with more angular cuts on the N, a tapered leg on the R.

Is modernity a cop-out? Why do we always end up here?

The PR releases say bold, but the output is expected. Within tolerance. “In the category”, the strategist might say.

The visual cues are actually easier to swallow at this point: Grid. Sans serif. Black and white. All caps.

Maybe it’s a control freak’s paradise: You get the ambiguity of being mysterious and absolutely in control, and the simultaneous opportunity to pretend that you’re not. The extra negative space means that you’re just the messenger.

Panning through a bookmarked list of type foundries...

Nor sans

Can the project afford to be divisive? Does it need to appease?

The artboard is locked and loaded with Helvetica(s). Having finally arrived at my timeless, modern, institutional NOR, victory is a little hollow.

What’s the stupidest thing I could do with this logo? The most absolute wrong thing?

I collect the trendy oddballs: extreme trapping, inverse stress, mixed case, drop-shadowed, those wibbly things.

Maybe it’s not about the logo at all, but a wild, moving grid system. Do we have budget to pull off some 3D moving something-or-other, bypassing this existential dread entirely by making it scream through a sizzle reel set to music?

But what, really am I saying with these trends? Besides eccentricity? Besides chasing cool?

What does a useless logo look like? What if I just break every single rule about “good logos” ever? Will I go to Designer Jail if I open dafont.com?


part 2: the wrong thing

wrong thing funky type

There’s something oddly beautiful about these letters. The ones that came before (nay without, or in absence of, or predating the concept of…) modernism. They have personality.

Having survived an apocalypse all their own, the swirls and flowers and textures of the Victorian, the Art Nouveau, and the terminally ornamented seem to take on a different aura.

In the era of straight-faced minimalism, these swirly, eccentric typefaces had long been relegated to specific places in the contemporary design repertoire: historical pastiche, the world of delicatessens, novelty, or postmodern irony.

Suddenly dropped into a modular grid, in stark black and white on retina screens, they sit up straight, and change the atmosphere in the room. Their moral dubiousness, the claims of intellectual and cultural rot that had been heaved on them—it all disappears. The arresting thick-thin contrasts, the giddying baubles, the mesmerizing curves remain.

Is it better to be honest about our complexity, or to sand it smooth?

part 2 section 2

funky type zoom in

“So I’m a little terrified.” An excellent opening line to any client presentation.

“I know there are high expectations in the project, since it’s quite visible. Design for designers can always be a bit intense.

The most obvious first step is to look at the minimalist approach, which I started over here. I think we could use some grids and interesting lock-ups to create something interesting…

But after I did that, I started to wonder what doing the exact opposite would be like. What making the most wrong option would be, and what it would look like. and… I'm kind of into it.”

“I like that this stuff is completely wrong. It’s interesting.”

“Yeah, there’s something happening with that in a good way.”

“What we’re not interested in is the Helvetica stuff. Like, whatever.”

On long walks in the evenings, I had been listening to podcasts about the anthropocene.

The anthropocene marinated every conversation at the time, puncturing through public consciousness from academia.

The weight of it, the monolith of systemic futility. The sad monotony of minimalist concrete blocks.

Design and capitalism, linked arm-in-arm together.

Scrollwork painstakingly stitched around the hem of a jacket.

Large flourishing drop caps. illuminated by candlelight.

Flowers growing through the cracks of concrete.

Once again, at 3am, clicking idly through every type foundry Google will supply me. NOR. NOR. NOR. Next. No. NOR.

In one of the unassuming corners of the internet this odd, modular, chiseled-and-shadowed-font shows up: NT Guru.

Strong lines. Almost purely graphic forms. Fatefully equipped with a tertiary layer of optional printer’s flowers.

I spend a lot of time thinking about Certeau, and of private subversions of systems. Of the things that can’t be measured or quantified. Of inner textures.

little terrified

nor nt guru

Patient collaborators. Another zoom call—the third round of rooting about. In truth, I stopped looking after finding NT Guru. Sometimes an option closes the doors to all other rooms.

“I want to jump over to the one that interests me. All of these weirdos have some stuff going on - some of them are more brutalist. Some of them are a bit trendy. but this one has really caught my eye.”

“I put it in some of these really loose layouts and sketches to show how it can come together. But I think this is the one. It feels so intense, so singular.”

“It’s engrossing. It’s wild, yeah. Wow.”

“To me, there’s something compelling about it - the strong lines feel like the built environment, and then these things here, like ornamentation, craft, the natural world. At tension, forced together.”

patient collabs

artboards nor early

“The big theme of this logo is the tension between these raw, brutalist, repeatable forms and their opposition. These forms symbolize the built world, a monolithic interpretation of design. Being fused with its opposite: the unscalable, the fussy, the natural world.

The most radical and subversive thing available to us in a capitalist machine is the refusal to scale. To be purposeless. To ornament and decorate.”

 is a patient collaborator. The wildly talented ones are always patient. Having discovered his work with 

 during my time in Amsterdam, and watching it from afar - I had a feeling he was one of the few designers in the world who could handle this project. With my talents in hand-lettering limited, I was excited to bring in a fresh perspective.

“It’s a conceptual lift. We don’t fully know what we’re going for - it’s going to be some guesswork.

All we know is that it can’t feel mechanical. It also can’t lean on the old world, like printer’s flowers. And it can’t reappropriate or appropriate from the known world, or from other cultures. It can't reference Western symbols, or things like the original printers flowers.

“Alien,” I stress on the briefing call. “Not mechanical. Organic.”

“But,” I admit, “It’s going to be a hard one. I’m going to be a shit client, because it’s an ‘I’ll know it when I see it situation.’”

“Conceptually the logo design to-date aims to be provocative. The clash between the brutish mechanical forms and the delicate, organic lines is deliberate and intends to create tension.

The nonsensical pairing of these forms should feel both alien and slightly jarring.

any questions

julian sketches

We meet for lunch at the Glasfabriek. Julien has made a rare trip from Paris to Rotterdam. But a trip worth making: Julien and his collaborators have secured an entire abandoned glass factory’s warehouse to paint according to their whims.

The ladders and swings and lifts, tennis rackets covered in black paint: A literal typographic playground.

Stories-high walls of the abandoned factory covered with wild, swooshing calligraphy.

bring this

glasfabriek

The final zoom call. Mockups settled, albiet impractical.

“Guys I showed this to some of my designer friends at drinks last night. They don’t know what the fuck to make of it.”

Conversations
to
have

What do they mean when they tell you, “simplicity”?

I think I owe you an explanation about the logo.

What to expect

Conversations to have

What do they mean when they tell you, “simplicity”?

I think I owe you an explanation about the logo.

What to expect

Conversations
to
have