It works. It is everywhere. It carries the message, clearly, simply, directly and deliberately. It is the glass we use everyday. It’s Helvetica. Helvetica is not the crystal goblet (that would be Zapfino) and it’s not a stein (that would be Blackoak). We can fill the glass with our beverage of choice. Our message will be obvious – unlike being packaged in a styrofoam “to-go” cup, topped with a plastic lid, pearced with a colorful straw.
Type choices are endless. Good type choices are finite. Depending the purpose, type can carry the message. The beauty of Helvetica is that we don’t notice the font. The unnoticeableness of Helvetica is its perfections. When I try to read poorly chosen typefaces and I stare at the words, letter by letter, wishing I could rearrange the descenders, slenderize the circles (only on the “b,” though). I’ve missed the message completely. It’s blurred somewhere behind the font that has stepped in front of it. The font that is a little too proud of itself, and has the stain on its shirt.
The design of Helvetica is brilliant. Helvetica, the font, illustrates brilliance in the mundane. Helvetica is the air we breathe; Times is ground we walk on. We take both for granted, daily.