At the moment I write this, there is an affront to designkind causing ripples across the planet. The blogs are abuzz; scathing comments multiply and spread through social media outlets; the Associated Press (AP), Time and Slate have all reported on the fracas. At issue: Ikea, the pillar of cheap-chic home living and iconic style, has changed the font it uses in its advertising, catalogs and signage.
Fifty years ago, Ikea customized a version of Futura and has been using it ever since for these purposes. Recently, Ikea made the corporate decision to replace Futura in print and online with – egads! – Verdana, a widely used, generic font designed by Microsoft for ease of reading on a computer screen. The backlash was immediate: What a horrible, horrible mistake! Do they not realize that Verdana represents all that is evil in this world?
Yes, I’m exaggerating (a bit), and while it may sound like I’m mocking the detractors, I’m really not. There are many well-reasoned, interesting points worth considering from a typography standpoint, regarding Verdana’s creative limitations and its ubiquitous use.
Ikea’s defense is pretty straightforward. “Verdana is a simple, cost-effective font which works well in all media and languages,” spokeswoman Camilla Meiby told the AP. Her reasoning has many designers, particularly those schooled in branding, gaping in dismay. The retailer is making a conscious choice to replace its well-crafted, brand-identifying font with a utilitarian workhorse. That’s a bad move in itself, argue the critics, but the sin is compounded by the identity of the sinner.
“Designers have always thought of Ikea as one of their own,” said Iancu Barbarasa, a designer in Bucharest, in Time. “So now, in a way, the design community feels betrayed.” Added designer Marius Ursache (whose online petition to Ikea to ditch Verdana had 4400 signatures at press time), “If a company like Ikea can make this mistake, you have to wonder who is going to lead when it comes to design.”
What I find most intriguing about the whole debate is that what we’re talking about here is not a logo change (which automatically qualifies for rigorous critique). And they’re not touching the blue-and-yellow color scheme of the brand. This is a body font, arguably a secondary element of branding at best. And yet, in this case, it’s turned out to be as much a part of the Ikea identity as the allen wrench or the umlaut. That’s the double-edged sword of branding, I suppose. Do something too well, and you’ve shut the door to ever dialing it back without consequences.