Over the past decades, the superhero genre has emerged as a dominant force in mainstream pop culture, firmly establishing itself across global entertainment networks. For example, the very first public visual piece of information unveiled about any upcoming Marvel Cinematic Universe project is traditionally its logo. Far from being arbitrary designs, these logos serve as the primary symbolic sign of a brand, conventionally derived from historical comic books that served as the foundational source material.
I spent twenty years of my life addicted to painting graffiti on trains. Then I got arrested.At that point I truly thought my life was over, but the truth is that this was in many ways the beginning for me because I was finally forced to apply my graffiti mindset to all the the other things in my world.
We’ve learned how to design confidently for screens — but what if you had to design around a wildly different form of ephemeral interface that, in fact, you mostly didn’t want people to even have to use? What if the traditional design rules and constraints no longer applied? Where would you begin — and how would you gauge success?
Despite a high number of living languages and such graphic richness, Indigenous communities continue to face widespread challenges towards typographic expression and accessing and using their languages on essential digital platforms.
For bicultural and diasporic designers, there can be pressure to either assimilate into dominant Western design languages or lean on familiar cultural signifiers to communicate who something is for. But culture is rarely that simple. So how do we design for identities that exist somewhere in the middle?