Raised by the Canon
Sometimes a thirteen-minute performance can teach us more about authenticity, positioning, and market strategy than books or trend reports ever could. Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show did exactly that. A masterclass in storytelling, celebrating Latin American pride and Puerto Rico on one of the world’s most-watched stages. He didn’t adapt to the audience, or soften his identity. He brought them to him. In Spanish.
It seems we are finally shifting the axis from Europe and the US towards the periphery. Across music, fashion, publishing, reference is no longer moving in a single direction. The Global South is increasingly operating as a site of authorship rather than extraction—just look at the explosion of K-pop, funk, and reggaeton (all growing over 30% in streaming last year). Yet Brazilian type designers are still committed to redrawing as many cuts of Futura as necessary to process colonization trauma before turning their attention inwards.
Why do we keep defaulting to someone else’s experience? Bauhaus rationalism. Swiss neutrality. I’ve been asking some variation of this same question since 2021, and the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that this isn’t a lack of originality or talent. It’s about inheritance. Our type came by ship. Literally. Wood and metal alphabets imported from Germany and France set the standard long before Brazil had the infrastructure to define its own. And when design education finally became institutionalized in the 1960s, with the creation of ESDI (Escola Superior de Desenho Industrial), its model was heavily shaped by Ulm, bringing the canon pre-assembled. We simply learned to work inside it.
Typography enters academia in the 1970s, whereas specialized type design programs only much later, in 2013 (for context, the MA in Reading launched in 1999, and TypeMedia in 2002). That means early practitioners were mainly self-taught, rising from experimentation under restricted access to tools and technical documentation. The field was basically taking its baby steps in the 1980s, and my closest contact with it came when Billy Bacon returned to Rio (after studying in Colorado, 1992–95), founded Subvertaipe (1997)—one of the first independent foundry-like structures in the country—and began teaching at PUC, where I did undergrad (1999–2004). His work was the epitome of what was cool. Think David Carson meets Tropicália. Together with Tony de Marco, Claudio Rocha, Priscila Farias, that generation helped establish the conditions for what came next.
But when everything you know for five centuries is imported, it’s natural to either want to replicate what’s familiar or go in the opposite direction. And in the 1990s and 2000s the output doubled down on inventive type, DIY energy, and vernacular investigations. Fuelled by the grunge fever, the transition from analog to digital, and a newfound appreciation for popular culture. An approach that casts a lasting shadow since much of the Brazilian production remains focused on display and expressive fonts rather than workhorses and text families. Until very recently, large editorial systems continued to depend on foreign expertise. I saw that during my time at Editorial Abril, 50+ magazines powered by Adobe FontFolio.
After being back, it’s surreal to realize how little of this history circulates, both in the international and local communities. That our first corporate proprietary project was commissioned by Folha de São Paulo in 1994; executed by Erik Spiekermann and Lucas de Groot. That Brazilians were striking deals to distribute with US foundries (such as ITC and T-26) as early as 1997–98. That hundreds of digital typefaces had already been produced by the mid-2000s when a new wave of designers increasingly sought formal training abroad (similar to myself, a decade later): Yomar Augusto, Gustavo Soares, Crystian Cruz. Without a shared sense of when important turns happened, who the pioneers were, or how the retail and custom markets started, it’s hard to develop the critical muscle to question why certain references persist. The internalized outside gaze.
Graphic language is one of the most sophisticated ways of reading reality. Type, in particular, does what few fields can: suspend time, carry memory. It’s never just about form. It reflects the circumstances of its making. And once those circumstances become visible, so do the choices they produced. What once looked universal reveals its origin. What felt inevitable gets situated. These nuances make us more sensitive, and more capable of gaining influence without cultural surrender. Not by rejecting external sources, but by recognizing what’s our specific texture. I’ve mixed the work of European masters into most of my typefaces, but the perspective is, if not always explicit, deeply Brazilian.
Here creativity doesn’t wait for permission. It emerges from necessity, joy, plurality… In 2015, when São Paulo hosted ATypI, the industry got a glimpse of how our ginga and vast visual landscape can expand its imagination. How our type scene has matured immensely—even if documentation hasn’t kept pace. So I want to use this channel (and my current geographic proximity) as an excuse to study, dig into archives, talk to people. Consider this Episode 0 of a series that may rehearse a book (there’s a lot to cover, and I’d love your input), because we have spent long enough looking outward, while constantly needing to explain context before content. Time to build from what’s ours.
Marginalia
🔤 Font:
Fritas by Gabriel Figueiredo (Typeóca): “Menos Futura, mais fritura.” A geometric sans that mixes the best parts of an archetypal skeleton, calligraphic cues, and friendly quirks, fried with dendê. But beyond its high-quality shapes, Typeóca’s voice is unmatched—take notes.
💬 Quote:
“The past is not something finished.” — Lina Bo Bardi
🔖 Bookmarked:
Revista tipoGráfica: Founded by Rubén Fontana in Buenos Aires (1987), tpG ran for twenty years as Latin America’s most rigorous typography publication—weaving craft, culture, and regional politics. Filling a bibliographic gap, fostering community, and legitimizing regional movements. Now, all 74 issues are available online, with English translations.
🧑🎨 From the Field:
Tipos Latinos: In its 10th edition, the biennial continues to raise the bar. 768 entries, with only 75 selected across 9 countries (Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, México, Uruguay, Venezuela, Ecuador, and Puerto Rico). Happy to see Corax (and so many friends) on the list!
📡 Elsewhere:
Uncredited: The Story of Passinho: Anitta has made it to SNL, yet Passinho stays unknown. A street dance born in the funk carioca scene, fusing quick footwork, intense swaying, spins, and influences from samba, frevo, and capoeira. I grew up on it and can guarantee you will finish this documentary wanting to try.