National or Rational?

writer and designer Stephen Banham published Typographic 74 (2024) for the International Society of Typographic Designers (istd)

The quest to develop a typeface that personifies a ‘national’ character has been a holy grail for many designers. Yet in today’s complex and multicultural world, are such typefaces a myth?  

There’s a fair chance that the casual observer will describe Gill Sans as the ‘national typeface of Britain’. After all, it’s everywhere, right? So, let’s unpack this narrative with some social context. When Gill Sans was created in 1927, Britain was still in the last gasp of empire – its population was overwhelmingly white, over 90 per cent Christian and nearly entirely English speaking – in other words, very culturally unified (or homogenous, depending on your take on these things). Let’s drill down further into why Gill Sans is often perceived in this way. Yes, Gill Sans is ubiquitous in Britain. But Gill Sans was never intended to be a ‘national typeface’. Instead, its widespread usage was catalysed by good fortune – being in the right place at the right time. Part of the rebuilding of Britain after the Second World War involved a rolling nationalisation of much of its infrastructure, particularly transport – bringing all rail, canal, docks and road haulage under the British Transport Commission in 1948 (some eight years after Eric Gill’s death) along with the founding of the National Health Service (nhs), the Central Electricity Authority, the British Transport Docks and the British Road Services. According to Mark Overden, the decision to create a unified identity, including the use of Gill Sans, was “one of the defining moments for this typeface and probably did more to weld it into the national consciousness than anything else up to that point”. This relationship continued not only through its typographic presence at major cultural events such as the London Olympic Games (1948), the Festival of Britain (1951) and the Coronation of the Queen (1953), but also its usage in early Television test cards which may have influenced its ultimate use in the bbc identity in 1997.

For many working in the design trade during this time Gill Sans was simply ‘there’ – readily available in the printer’s type tray. This enabled it to be used widely and consistently over many decades, steadily cultivating a cultural familiarity. You know that a typeface has truly become national in character when it enters the public imagination. The ubiquitous ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’
tea-towel is an example of this almost cryogenic freezing of a former national typographic voice. The poster speaks in a stoic, defiant and courageous British voice under wartime threat. It has been reproduced on millions of merchandise items since, the majority set in Gill Sans. The irony is that the original 1939 ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ posters were not set in Gill Sans. Their mass production over many decades has cemented into the popular imagination the cultural relationship between that typeface and that message. Nevertheless, the mythologised memory is shot through with a nostalgic desire for a simpler time, and for many, a simpler Britain. Typefaces are rather blunt signifiers of nationhood, creating a ‘typographic shorthand’ that only becomes clear when reflecting homogenous populations. Contemporary Britain is now a far more culturally diverse place. The extraordinarily wide range of human experience within Britain is far too broad to be expressed through a single typeface. Yes, even Gill Sans.

national typefaces

Unlike typefaces that reflect a cultural aspect of a nation (think of the delightfully playful Banco or Mistral within a French context for example), a truly national typeface has a more ambitious aim – to speak on behalf of all citizens with a unified and overarching voice. This naturally relies on familiarity and usage over a long period of time, yet many countries have sought to declare a ‘national typeface’ from the moment of its very design.  One of the most explicit examples of a typeface built out of a specific ‘nation-branding’ client brief was developed by Stockholm-based branding agency Söderhavet for The Council for the Promotion of Sweden. The result is Sweden Sans, a geometric sans originally released in 2014 in four weights, now expanded to a Cyrillic. 

When interviewed by The Guardian, the agency described the process. “The brief was to replace the various fonts used by different Swedish government ministries, agencies and corporations with one integrated visual brand identity that would represent the country to the world in a fresh and dynamic way. Aesthetics are very important in Sweden and we have a long tradition of great architecture, furniture and design – so this was the natural next step. It was a big responsibility to be representing our country, but we were really proud to be asked.”  

“We started to think about how [the Swedish flag] would work with different typefaces, then started mood boards with different fonts and pictures – especially of old Swedish signs we’d seen from the 1940s and 50s,” said Jesper Robinell, Söderhavet’s head of design. This highlights one of the conundrums of designing and marketing ‘national’ typefaces. They suffer from a fundamental misalignment – reflecting either what the nation was or what it aspires to be, not what the nation is. These are quite different things, particularly when you consider that a marketer’s brief may vary significantly from the lived daily experiences of its citizens.  The problem does not lie in this specific project, the work of the agency or even the resultant typeface, but in the presumption that a brief of this kind can ever be truly answered. As a proposition for visual communication, ‘capturing a nation’ through a typeface may not be just complex, but impossible. 

With many decades of mass migration, multiculturalism, globalisation and the massive cultural force of the internet, perhaps even the intention of a national typeface (let alone its development) is something that simply needs to be surrendered. With the ever-increasing pace of creative output and redundancy, the era of intending a typeface to become a ‘national typeface’ is well and truly over. Attempts at summarising something as dense and dynamic as a nation’s identity through a typeface could only result in a brutally reductive tool, offering a greater capacity for division rather than unity. The designer of one of the many typefaces purporting to be ‘national’, Norway Sans, Robin Mientjes, reflected on the process: “These things (type) don’t become visuals without borrowing shorthand from everywhere else, at which point it stops being national or specific… the more we simplify, the more countries and cultures it can be. Does Norway Sans avoid that trap? Of course not.”  Nicklas Haslestad, Creative Director at The Scandinavian Design Group, describes the typeface as “…designed for the brand of Norway, inspired by our people. However, it is also used ‘commercially’ by Innovation Norway (a state-owned company and national development bank intended to stimulate entrepreneurship) to blur the lines even more.” Being neither available for sale or public download, the result is a typeface inspired by the people but not to be used by the people.

from the top

Why should people feel a national kinship to a typeface anyway? After all, the power and influence of nationhood itself appears to be in decline. As the British novelist Rana Dasgupta noted, “after so many decades of globalisation, economics and information have successfully grown beyond the authority of national governments.” Within the graphic design community there is a growing scepticism about the concept of national typefaces. Design critic Michael Worthington noted that “National traits in type design were once formed by the typographic history and legacy of the country and culture where type designers were educated or (where they) practiced. … this has diminished somewhat with the rapid global exchange of local design ideas and forms.” 

In his reflections on his 2007 typeface National, type designer Kris Sowersby concluded that “…because we live in a networked world where cultures are embraced and shared, designers use typefaces for their visual subtleties, aesthetic and inherent quality, not purely because of their geographic origin.” His typeface National was itself a response to seeing the New Zealand design publication The National Grid set in Helvetica and Times. “The National Grid was the perfect example of what I thought was wrong with New Zealand design: we were forced to use type from over there instead of here. And, so, with these fevered thoughts I started to draw National. Since I drew National my patriotic zealousness has mellowed. The irony of drawing a typeface for locals with subsequent international popularity is not lost on me. It’s also ironic that New Zealand has no endemic typeface designs to draw upon, unlike the usa and Europe for example. So all of my typefaces — including National — are intrinsically tied to the typography of other nations. Slowly, but surely, my typefaces have been embraced by the local design community.”

Sowersby’s description of this process as “slowly but surely” hints at the way that a typeface could possibly represent a nation’s people. It is achieved not through intent but through a deep and enduring assimilation. The uniqueness of national identity is noted by design writer John O’Reilly in the renowned ‘Brand Madness’ issue of Eye: “When it comes to identity the biggest significant difference between a nation’s identity and a brand identity is time. It’s about longevity.” Perhaps one of the clearest and most enduring mediums for projecting national identity is the flag. During the opening ceremonies of Olympic Games, we see the flags achieving a simultaneous graphic reduction and cultural unity. Equipped with a comprehensive toolkit including image and colour, flags achieve immediate recognition free from the linguistic baggage typefaces bring with them. This highlights the shortcomings of typefaces as a medium for national expression.  

So why does the aspiration of a national typeface persist? Part of that answer may lie in the controlling tendencies within branding – a culture based on planning and strategy rather than acknowledging that some things take time, and need to take their own natural direction. For a mindset more comfortable with novelty and redundancy than with investing over long periods of time, this continues to prove challenging.  Contemporary attempts at developing national typefaces operate within larger national marketing projects. This creates a ‘top-down’ model, which is at best insincere, at worst manipulative. Because any ‘nationally-adhesive’ typeface requires sustained use over time, it can take decades for such branding projects to develop trust, familiarity and clarity.

Branding has long been the natural home for custom typefaces. The development of a unique ‘typographic voice’ is now considered a central part of forming a larger ‘brand persona’. The binding element within this audience is the ‘belief in the brand’, across cultures, languages or locations. A single, cohesive corporate message to this highly unified audience suits the medium of custom type design well. One of the most enduring and distinctive examples of this would be the Emirates brand typeface EK (1990). So effective is it that even when I show just one letter of this typeface to my undergraduate students, it is immediately identified. Why is this? Because it contains that all-important ‘secret spice’ – consistent usage across a long period of time.

Another way that ‘cultural’typefaces are often marketed as ‘national’ typefaces is through referencing local language. The relatively recent strategy of integrating the typeface around (or even basing it on) indigenous languages is a very progressive and inclusive development. An excellent recent example of this is Colophon’s Wales Sans (2015), which, as the name suggests, incorporates the Welsh language. As Colophon’s website explains, “Though rooted in the Latin alphabet, the written Welsh language omits certain Roman stalwarts (j, k, q, v, x, z) and comprises 28 total characters with the inclusion of eight digraphs, or letter-combinations. These digraphs — ultimately treated as true ligatures in the instances of Ch, ch, dd, Ff, ff, Ll, Th, th — would come to set the tone for the proposal put forth: a series of three typefaces, each with Standard and Headline variants, the latter of which would put the provenance of the Welsh language front and centre.”

The world we now live in consists of nations made up of a plethora of co-existing cultures. These cultures derive their identities from a range of factors such as language, ethnicity, faith and politics. Where these local cultures and communities exist, typefaces work very effectively if they use that small-scale cultural unity in the outward projection of a unique typographic voice. The display typeface Hokotohu (2007) was created by klim Type Foundry as part of the Hokotehi Moriori Trust identity under direction from Charlie Ward. As its designer Kris Sowersby explains, “Hokotehi represents Moriori people — the descendants of Rongomaiwhenua and Rongomaitere on the islands of Rēkohu and Rangihaute (Chatham Islands), in New Zealand and elsewhere. Hokotohu’s serifs are modelled on Rākau momori. Rākau momori are unique ancestral Moriori carvings (or bruisings) into living kōpi trees. Many of these carvings, or dendroglyphs, survive today. They have powerful spiritual associations, although their meanings are debated.” This approach to custom typography makes for a distinctive and meaningful representation of a specific place and culture. Its success stems from an awareness of its ‘cultural hinterland’, avoiding that tipping point when ‘place-making’ typefaces fail as a cultural reflection when audiences become too large or diverse. Never intended to be a ‘national’ typeface, Hokotohu is a very successful ‘cultural’ typeface.

place

The communication of place is much easier to achieve when centred upon a town, suburb, city or region rather than an entire nation. Over the past two decades, there have been countless ‘city-destination’ typefaces developed. These include Monotype’s recut of Edward Johnston’s Johnston100 as the voice of London (according to London Underground’s Design and Heritage Manager, “Johnston is not just our typeface. It is the very typeface of London”); Berlin Sans by hvd Fonts (“Only when type is in use it really starts to live”); and Big Shoulders for Chicago by xo Type, amongst many others. All of them use the strategy of re-framing historical references for digital use, and in doing so, ironically translate a sense of place into a place-less medium. 

As Senior Type Designer for Monotype, Malou Verlomme notes: “When designing a typeface for a [place], one should look to its typographical heritage. Each [place] carries a rich vernacular visual background, through [the place’s] role in arts and cultural history, which can be the starting point of a typeface. But one should also focus on the present. The vibe and energy of a city are to be experienced, not researched. It’s about how people live. This is perhaps a more difficult aspect to capture, but it is nonetheless crucial.” Importantly, Verlomme acknowledges the element of time, noting “The relationship between type and a city goes two ways: the type should reflect the city’s heritage and culture, and through the font’s extensive use, the relationship will bind”. Commenting on the multilingual Dubai Font, type designer Nadine Chahine commented, “It’s about having one hand to the past and one hand to the future. You build on what you have, but you’re also looking forward.” Beyond its use in the tourism and government sectors, Dubai Font was released for worldwide public use. Its popularity grew from its immediate government adoption into cultural events and corporate rebrands, Monotype claiming that it “became a symbol of patriotism, of devotion and pride for the city.” Canadian type designer Patrick Giasson notes that city-themed typefaces do tend to highlight a ‘touristic image’ of a city. “It resonates with visitors but, at a deeper level, not with its inhabitants. It represents the aesthetic presence of a city (usually from a past era), but not its social experience. Ultimately, a city is too complex and diverse to be captured by a typeface.” 

The most well-known of all ‘city’ typefaces is Gotham byHoefler & Frere Jones, which offers a wonderful case study of a typeface that emerged from a tightly focussed reference point, the New York Port Authority Bus Terminal Signage, into one of the clearest typographic voices of that metropolis. This was achieved not through any grand place-making marketing (it was originally commissioned for GQ Magazine) but rather by a natural process of adoption, usage and familiarity. Its anchoring to its city of origin was highlighted through its use in the cornerstone inscriptions of the Freedom Tower at the site of the former World Trade Centre. In 2008 it famously also went on to represent the state’s progressive politics when it featured as the campaign typeface for the Democratic Party’s presidential candidate, Barack Obama.

follow the money

Many of the purported ‘national’ typefaces present very lofty social ideals, such as claims to ‘meaning-making’ or ‘language-saving’. Yet the familiar adage ‘follow the money’ soon uncovers that the real intention lies elsewhere – namely, marketing for investment and tourism. Wales Sans was commissioned by the Tourism department of the Welsh Government; Sweden Sans by The Council for the Promotion of Sweden; Norway Sans by ‘Brand Norway’ via the Scandinavian Design Group, Aino by the Estonian Business and Innovation Agency. Despite claiming that Norway Sans is a national typeface, the Brand Norway website is disarmingly honest about its pragmatic intent. “Using shared storytelling and brand elements will not only allow you to strengthen your own brand but will also strengthen the visibility and a positive perception of Norway. You will be part of the national team… It is part of a national branding programme designed to increase exports and the willingness to pay for Norwegian solutions.”

If honestly articulated, there is nothing wrong with this arrangement. It does however re-frame such typefaces. With this awareness they could be more accurately described as ‘corporate’or ‘cultural’ typefaces rather than ‘national’ typefaces – operating within the orderly paradigm of branding, rather than the much messier representation of an entire nation. It may be no accident that the majority of typefaces purporting to be ‘national’ in intent are sans serif  – Wales Sans, Sweden Sans, Norway Sans etc. The popular interpretation of sans as a ‘modern’ voice provides hints at the underlying aspirations of contemporary marketing. So popular are sans serif faces that the world’s largest font vendor MyFonts has sans serif typefaces occupying 19 of the top 20 places. Pragmatism also plays its role here – sans typefaces are considered more legible on screen, making them more popular in digital media, which are a key aspect of international marketing campaigns. Even symbolically, the use of a reductive (sans) brand language (‘national identity without’) does little to suggest that these typefaces are actually speaking for all. 

Identity itself is becoming more complex. We find ourselves in a time when the basic descriptors of typefaces, such as serif and sans or roman and italic, are being critiqued as crudely binary and unrepresentative of the rich spectrum of human identity. This overly anthropomorphising theory goes on to state that unlike families of type, “real-life families are less matchy-matchy and predictable. Living families fall apart, break up, and get repaired – with varying degrees of success.” If we accept that typefaces can’t even express an individual, then it is fair to assume that a single typeface representing the character of an entire nation is an impossible (and unnecessary) ambition.

doing the numbers

The aim of typographically representing a nation may be too ambitious a target, even in terms of population. Current population estimates range from the smallest nation (Vatican City) with 764 people right up to 1.4 billion (China). Given this scale, are typefaces ‘fit for purpose’ in trying to express an entire nation? One way to test this could be to apply a theory commonly known as ‘Dunbar’s Number’. Named after the British anthropologist Robin Dunbar, the theory proposes a relationship between the part of the brain associated with cognition and language, and the size of a cohesive social audience. Dunbar and his colleagues applied this simple principle to humans, examining historical, anthropological and contemporary psychological data about group sizes, including how big groups get before they split off or collapse. They found remarkable consistency around the number 150. 

For typographers ‘Dunbar’s Number’ brings up an interesting question: at what number of people does a typeface no longer carry the intended communication of national identity? 100, 1000, 10,000? No matter what the number, there is always a ‘point of failure’ for typefaces that seek to operate at a national level – where language, place, culture, identity, economics, politics and history combine to present an impossible objective for something so blunt as a typeface.

The nation is not only a large target, but a moving one. Trying to ‘capture’ the ever-changing nature of national identity recalls an image from 1838, claimed to be the very first photograph taken by Louis Daguerre. Becuase of the very long exposure of the image, (up to 15 minutes) the moving crowds on the busy Paris street simply vanished, with the only trace of humanity being a single visible figure in the foreground. This lone figure has been rendered clearly purely by chance – he was standing still, having his shoes shined throughout the light exposure. Only the most still element remains legible. To expect our ever-changing national identities to stay still long enough to have a typographic portrait rendered is not only unreasonable, but also impossible. 

Typography is riddled with myth, presumption and good intention. Type designers prefer to think that the design of their output clearly suggests an intended audience and usage. This can be a delusion. The experience of Slovenian type designer Peter Bilák offers insight into this lack of control. “…the original intention behind Fedra Sans was for it to be the corporate type of the insurance company that commissioned it, and it was designed precisely according to the stipulations of the company’s brief… In the years after that Fedra Sans has been available for licensing it has been used in all kinds of applications from building facades to children books, to Bible typesetting, to the identity of a terrorist organisation, but as far as I know, not a single insurance company.”  Just as the voice of Helvetica has proven not to be as neutral as intended, nor do typefaces purporting to be ‘national’ have the capacity to speak for an entire population. It is time that we abandoned this unrealistic expectation and acknowledge that typefaces have limitations.

So can a typeface proposed as ‘national’ ever truly fulfil such intentions? In a democracy, no. Perhaps the only place where such a typographic dictat may work would be within a totalitarian regime like North Korea. In that political system this national typeface could be implemented by widespread distribution, enforced usage and the banning of alternatives. Although this scenario (let’s call it Kim Jong Un Sans) is ridiculous, it does highlight that, outside of tyranny, a typographic sense of nationhood will never work if it is driven from the ‘top-down’ through branding style-guides or marketing strategies. A national typeface can only emerge through a much more difficult path – a deep and enduring cultural relationship. And for that we must all be patient, even beyond our own lifetimes.

This text is an extended enquiry emerging from the keynote address at the 2024 ATypI Conference.