Have you ever stopped to consider how much of our visual world is still governed by design principles from a century ago? It’s a question that lingers in the background of every digital interface, every printed page, and every street sign we encounter. Personally, I think this is where the work of Matter Of, a German design studio, becomes not just interesting but essential. Their book, New New Typography, isn’t just a design manual—it’s a provocation. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it challenges us to rethink typography not as a static discipline but as a living, evolving conversation.
From my perspective, the book’s minimalist aesthetic is more than just a stylistic choice; it’s a statement. The stark black-and-white pages punctuated by bursts of cerulean blue feel like a rebellion against the polished, predictable design we’re accustomed to. It’s as if the book itself is saying, ‘Why should design be safe?’ One thing that immediately stands out is the use of six different sans-serif typefaces across chapters, which raises a deeper question: What does it mean for a typeface to be ‘new’ in an era where Helvetica has been retooled into Helvetica Now? If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just about fonts—it’s about the tension between innovation and tradition, between the familiar and the disruptive.
What many people don’t realize is that typography has always been political. The book’s nearly 100 collaborators, from Adel Faure to Workbyworks, aren’t just showcasing their work—they’re participating in a dialogue that spans centuries. A detail that I find especially interesting is the inclusion of Renaissance-era design ideals alongside modern experiments like body-scanned typefaces. This juxtaposition suggests that typography isn’t just about legibility or aesthetics; it’s about power, culture, and identity. What this really suggests is that the typographer of today isn’t just a designer but a mediator of societal values.
The book’s self-proclaimed status as an ‘anti-manual’ is both its strength and its challenge. It’s messy, unstable, and deliberately incomplete—a reflection of the chaotic nature of creativity itself. In my opinion, this is where its brilliance lies. Instead of offering answers, it invites questions. What if typography could challenge political systems? What if the future of design isn’t about perfection but about possibility? This raises a deeper question: In a world obsessed with solutions, is there value in simply imagining what could be?
If you’re like me, you’ll find yourself lingering on the book’s 243 figures and six theoretical proposals, not for their conclusions but for the way they push boundaries. The irony, the cheekiness, the blending of high theory with playful experimentation—it all feels like a breath of fresh air in a design landscape that often takes itself too seriously. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it mirrors the very evolution it’s documenting. Typography isn’t stuck in the 20th century; it’s leaping into the unknown, one disruptive squiggle at a time.
In the end, New New Typography isn’t just a book about design—it’s a manifesto for curiosity. It reminds us that the future isn’t something to be predicted but something to be created. Personally, I think that’s a lesson we could all take to heart, whether we’re designers, writers, or just people navigating a world that’s constantly redefining itself. So, are we stuck in the typographic principles of the 20th century? Maybe. But thanks to works like this, we don’t have to stay there.
