You’re looking at these words right now. Have you actually thought about the shape of the "a" or why the "g" has that weird little loop at the bottom? Simon Garfield did. In fact, he wrote an entire book about it. Most people think typography is just a drop-down menu in Microsoft Word or Google Docs, but the Just My Type book proves it’s more like a secret language of personality, history, and occasionally, pure unadulterated rage.
It’s weird.
Type is everywhere. It’s on your toothpaste tube, your local stop sign, and that expensive candle you bought because the label looked "classy." Garfield’s book isn't some dry, academic textbook meant for people who wear turtlenecks and argue about "kerning" over espresso. Well, okay, those people love it too. But for the rest of us, it’s a collection of stories about how lines and curves influence our brains without us even noticing.
Honestly, after reading it, you’ll never look at a Tube map or a cereal box the same way again.
The Comic Sans Hatred Explained
We have to talk about it. The orange-juice-stained elephant in the room.
Vincent Connare created Comic Sans in 1994. He didn't mean to start a global aesthetic war. He just wanted a font for a cartoon dog in a Microsoft program called Bob. Garfield spends a decent chunk of the Just My Type book digging into why this specific arrangement of pixels triggers such a visceral "kill it with fire" reaction in grown adults.
It’s about context.
If you see a notice about a serious medical condition written in Comic Sans, your brain short-circuits. It feels like a doctor giving you bad news while wearing a clown nose. Garfield explains that fonts have "voices." When the voice doesn't match the message, we get annoyed. It's the typographic equivalent of someone talking in "baby voice" during a board meeting.
The Ban Comic Sans Movement
Did you know there was an actual campaign to ban it? Dave and Holly Combs started it. They weren't just being snobs; they were highlighting how type affects the "authority" of information. Garfield treats this not as a joke, but as a fascinating case study in how a typeface can become a pariah.
But here’s the kicker: Connare doesn't care. He’s quoted in the book basically saying that if you love it, you don't know much about typography, and if you hate it, you don't know much about typography either. It’s a tool. Nothing more.
Why Gotham Won an Election
Switch gears for a second. Think back to 2008. The "HOPE" poster. The clean, sans-serif lines of the Obama campaign.
That was Gotham.
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Before Gotham, political fonts were often spindly serifs or blocky, aggressive slabs. Gotham—designed by Tobias Frere-Jones—felt different. It felt like a skyscraper. It felt like a city. It felt, as the Just My Type book notes, like "change." Garfield dives into how the Hoefler & Co. foundry created this font based on the lettering found on the Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York.
It wasn't fancy. It was sturdy.
When you see Gotham, you feel like the person using it has a plan. It’s the font of duty and modernity. Contrast that with something like Trajan, which is used on roughly 90% of movie posters (especially the ones where someone is standing with their back to the camera). Trajan feels like "The End of the World" or "Epic Roman History." Gotham feels like "We’re going to fix the economy."
The Man Who Went Mad Over a Serif
Typography is a dangerous game. At least, it was for T.J. Cobden-Sanderson.
This is one of the best stories in the book. Cobden-Sanderson co-founded the Doves Press. He created the Doves Type, which was widely considered one of the most beautiful typefaces ever made. But he got into a massive, years-long feud with his business partner, Emery Walker.
He didn't want anyone else to use his "perfect" letters.
So, what did he do? He started throwing the metal type into the River Thames.
One. Piece. At. A. Time.
He made hundreds of trips to the Hammersmith Bridge under the cover of night, tossing his life’s work into the dark water so his partner couldn't touch it. It’s a level of pettiness that is honestly kind of inspiring. Garfield writes about this with a sense of tragic irony—all that beauty, sitting at the bottom of a river because of a grudge. (Side note: A designer named Robert Green actually went into the Thames years later to recover some of it. Talk about dedication.)
Why We Trust Some Fonts and Not Others
Have you ever wondered why every law firm looks the same? Or why tech companies all moved to that "bubbly" look?
The Just My Type book breaks down the psychology of the "Serif vs. Sans-Serif" debate.
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- Serifs (the little feet on letters like Times New Roman) suggest tradition, reliability, and "I’ve been doing this since 1850."
- Sans-Serifs (clean edges like Helvetica or Arial) suggest "I am an iPad" or "I am very efficient and don't have time for feet."
There was an experiment by Errol Morris in The New York Times where he showed readers a passage of text in different fonts. He wanted to see if the typeface changed how much people believed the statement.
The winner? Baskerville.
Something about the balance of Baskerville makes our brains think, "Yeah, that seems factually correct." Meanwhile, if you write the same thing in Helvetica, people are slightly more skeptical. It’s subtle. It’s a "nudge." But in a world of misinformation, knowing that a font can make you more gullible is kinda terrifying.
The IKEA Kerning Scandal
People get weirdly emotional about their catalogs.
For years, IKEA used Futura. It’s a geometric masterpiece. It’s the font on the plaque left on the Moon. It’s clean, it’s Swedish (basically), and it worked. Then, in 2009, they switched to Verdana.
The internet lost its mind.
Why? Because Verdana was designed by Microsoft for computer screens. It’s "wide" so it’s easy to read at low resolutions. When you put it on a giant billboard or a glossy catalog page, it looks... cheap. It looks like a website from 1998.
Garfield points out that this was probably a business move. Using one font for both web and print saves a massive amount of money in licensing and design time. But to the "type-geeks," it was a betrayal of the IKEA brand's aesthetic soul. It’s a great example of how we don't notice type until it changes. It’s like a friend getting a really bad haircut; you can't stop staring at it, but you're not sure if you should say anything.
The Gill Sans Dark Side
It’s not all pretty stories about rivers and Moon plaques. Garfield doesn't shy away from the darker history of some famous designers.
Eric Gill, the creator of Gill Sans (the font of the BBC and Penguin Books), was a deeply problematic figure. To put it lightly, his personal diaries revealed behavior that would lead to immediate cancellation today—and likely prison time.
This creates a massive ethical dilemma for designers. Can you separate the font from the man? Gill Sans is undeniably beautiful. It’s a "humanist" sans-serif, meaning it has the soul of handwriting but the cleanliness of a machine. It’s everywhere. When you see a classic Penguin paperback, you’re seeing Gill’s work.
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The Just My Type book forces you to grapple with that. Typography isn't just shapes in a vacuum; it’s tied to the people who carved them.
Breaking the Rules: When Bad Type is Good
Sometimes, "perfect" is boring.
Garfield looks at the "grunge" typography of the 1990s, led by people like David Carson and Ray Gun magazine. They broke every rule. They overlapped text. They made things unreadable. They used fonts that looked like they had been through a paper shredder.
And it was cool.
It was a reaction to the "perfect" Swiss style (Helvetica) that had dominated for decades. It reminds us that typography is an art form, and art needs to be messy sometimes. If every book was set in perfect 12pt Garamond, we’d all fall asleep.
How to Use This Knowledge
If you’ve made it this far, you’re probably looking at your keyboard differently. Good. That’s the point. The Just My Type book isn't just a history lesson; it’s a manual for seeing the world.
Here is how you actually use what Garfield teaches:
- Audit your own brand. If you're a freelancer or a small business owner, what does your font say? If you're using Helvetica, you're saying "I am safe and standard." If you're using a weird, spindly script, you're saying "I am artisanal and probably expensive."
- Stop using "Default." Calibri and Arial are fine, but they’re the "beige paint" of the digital world. Try something with a story. Try a Georgia for readability or a Montserrat for a modern feel.
- Watch for the "voice." Next time you see an ad, ignore the words. Look at the letters. Is the font shouting? Is it whispering? Is it trying to trick you into thinking it's "organic" by using rounded edges?
- Respect the "Kerning." Kerning is the space between letters. Bad kerning can turn "flick" into something very NSFW. Once you see bad spacing, you can never un-see it. You’re welcome/I’m sorry.
Actionable Steps for Your Next Project
Don't just read about fonts—apply the logic found in Garfield’s work.
- Match the Era: If you’re writing about history, use a typeface designed in that era (or a revival of it). Using a 2020 tech font for a 1920s-themed invite feels "off" to the viewer.
- Check the "X-Height": This is the height of the lowercase letters. Higher x-heights (like in Verdana or Helvetica) are generally easier to read on screens. Lower x-heights look more elegant and "bookish."
- Limit Your Palate: Don't use five fonts. Use two. One for headings, one for body text. Give them space to breathe.
- Test for Accessibility: Some fonts are significantly easier for people with dyslexia to read. OpenDyslexic is a famous one, but even just choosing a "cleaner" sans-serif can make a huge difference in how inclusive your content is.
The Just My Type book is essentially a field guide to the urban landscape. It turns a boring walk down the street into a museum tour. Whether you’re a designer or just someone who likes books that make you feel smarter at parties, it’s a must-read. It’s funny, it’s slightly cynical, and it’s deeply human.
Go pick up a physical copy if you can. The Kindle version is fine, but there’s something poetic about reading a book about type on actual, ink-pressed paper. Check the colophon at the back—that little note that tells you what font the book itself is set in. Usually, it's something classic like Sabon. Now you’ll actually know why that matters.