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Contributed by Nick Sherman Fonts In Use. License: CC BY-SA. The Fonts In Use staff was never especially enthusiastic about maintaining our account on Instagram. The platform is antithetical to so much of the what we love on the web: hyperlinks, web feeds (e.g., RSS), advanced search, chronological timelines, archival functionality, cross-references, citations and proper credits, web standards, semantic formatting, and direct community connections, with freedom from corporate intermediaries and their agendas – the Open Web at its best. We sincerely appreciate the 28,000+ people who’ve followed our account on Instagram, but the benefit of “being where the eyes are” has involved compromises that are increasingly incompatible with our staff’s values. It’s been almost a year since our last post on Instagram, and we wanted to explain why here, publicly. Rejecting passive complicity There are legitimate questions about whether Instagram is even an effective platform for sharing design anymore, but – more significantly – there are deeper moral considerations about the platform that can’t be ignored. Instagram and its parent company, Meta, have been involved in countless issues related to the invasion of privacy, psychological manipulation, unauthorized surveillance, corporate fraud, employee exploitation, security breaches, censorship, negative environmental impacts, copyright infringement, moderation negligence, and conscious facilitation of everything from housing discrimination to literal genocide. It can be easy to forget or disregard all these issues while scrolling through a timeline of enjoyable posts from people you like. Surely, casually browsing photos of your friends or sharing some small design item doesn’t have anything to do with genocide, right? Meta has carefully engineered its experience to manipulate its users, and depends on this kind of passive complicity from otherwise critically-minded people to maintain its stronghold via the network effect. Their power is dependent on a massive user base continuing to use their platform without thinking too hard about the consequences on a larger scale. It’s too much for us. Fonts In Use can’t justify supporting such a morally corrupt company with more content, energy, or attention. Doing what feels right Discontinuing our activity on Instagram matches a broader ethos at Fonts In Use where we try our best to operate the project in a way we feel good about, even if doing so risks the possibility of a bit more work, a smaller operating budget, or a reduced audience. We’re proud to exist as proof that you can operate a successful, sustainable organization without relying on so many of the dystopian companies and technologies many people accept as necessary evils these days. We don’t claim to be perfect but – if you’ll pardon the cliché – we’re trying to be the proverbial change we want to see in the world. That mindset has led to other significant changes for Fonts In Use over the years: We stopped using Twitter, despite having tens of thousands of followers there, and embraced decentralized, non-corporate social media with Mastodon. We cut the use of third-party cookies and scripts from our website. We moved our website analytics away from Google and onto a privacy-friendly, self-hosted system. We rejected sponsorship from companies we find problematic. While some of these decisions make our work trickier, there are also notable practical benefits: Our content and relationships with our community aren’t beholden to the whims of egomaniacal billionaires. Visiting our website doesn’t require annoying consent pop-ups. Our website loads faster. Our readers’ privacy is secure. We sleep better at night. Best of all: despite abandoning all those practices accepted by many as inevitable compromises, Fonts In Use still has a stronger audience now than it ever has, by almost all metrics. More people visit the site more frequently, looking at more pages, and clicking more external links to sponsors, designers, and independent font companies than ever. Who knew removing unsavory variables from your online presence may actually be good for business? Push the status quo As with Twitter and Google, we don’t expect our discontinued activity on Instagram will have any immediate effect on that company’s behavior or bottom line. But maybe other designers reading this will reconsider how they manage their own content and relationships online, or be more proactive in removing toxic dependencies from their occupation. Maybe it will reduce the influence of predatory corporations on the world of typography just a little bit. One thing is certain: unless more people push against the status quo, the grip of horrible corporations will only become tighter and tighter. If you’re considering a similar move away from questionable social media platforms, there's no better time than the present. Even if you don’t completely leave those platforms, you can always start building up an independent presence in tandem – on a decentralized social network, your own website, and/or an email newsletter – where you control your own content and aren’t trapped by any one gatekeeper to maintain connections with your community. In the meantime there are several ways to keep up with what’s new at Fonts In Use: Subscribe to any of our many RSS feeds: for all posts, staff picks, comments, just the blog, or any tag, designer, contributor, format, user-curated set, category, etc. (most listing pages on the site have corresponding RSS feeds). Follow us on Mastodon. Sign up for our upcoming email newsletter. This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Florian Hardwig Source: movieposters.ha.com Image: Heritage Auctions. License: All Rights Reserved. Csillagok háborúja (Star Wars), 1979. The custom acute accents are simple squares. The secondary typeface is ITC Avant Garde Gothic. More info on StarWarsMoviePoster.com. Tibor Helényi (1946–2014) was a Hungarian painter, graphic designer, and poster artist. Among his most famous works are the posters he created for the original Star Wars trilogy, commissioned by MOKÉP, Hungary’s state-owned film distributor. Today, the posters are sought-after collector’s items. The typeface Helényi used for the titles is Langdon Biform. Characterized by triangular notches, the boxy design is by John Langdon (b. 1946). To most people, the graphic designer and retired typography professor is best known for his ambigrams, and especially those he made for Dan Brown’s 2000 novel, Angels & Demons. Langdon Biform is an early work of his, drawn in 1971 when he was in his mid-twenties, years before embarking on a career as freelance logo designer, type specialist, and lettering artist. Langdon submitted the design to a competition organized by Californian phototype company Lettergraphics, who added it to their library of typefaces. It didn’t take long before it was copied by other type providers. I’m aware of at least six digitizations, under various names including Lampoon, Harpoon ART, and Dominion, none of which were authorized by its original designer. In a 2014 interview, Helényi was asked about a debate among fans who wondered whether he’d even watched Star Wars before designing the poster. After all, his art includes creatures that don’t appear in the film. Helényi laughingly replied that he indeed had seen the film, and that he had a lot of fun with designing the poster. In addition to his impressions from the advance screening, he also worked from lobby cards. You can learn more about Helényi and see more of his work at his official website (maintained by his daughter Flora) and also at Budapest Poster Gallery. Source: movieposters.ha.com Image: Heritage Auctions. License: All Rights Reserved. A Birodalom visszavág (The Empire Strikes Back), 1982. Subtitle and credits are added in Univers Bold. More info on StarWarsMoviePoster.com. Source: movieposters.ha.com Image: Heritage Auctions. License: All Rights Reserved. A Jedi visszatér (Return of the Jedi), 1984. The secondary typeface for this poster is Univers Extended. More info on StarWarsMoviePoster.com. Source: www.liveauctioneers.com Image: Budapest Poster Gallery. License: All Rights Reserved. The original painted art created for the posters was sold in Budapest Poster Gallery’s Tibor Helenyi Estate Auction in 2015, alongside many other items by the artist. Stephen Coles. License: CC BY-NC-SA. Glyph set for Langdon Biform with its fifteen alternates, as shown in the “Do a Comp” fan by Lettergraphics International Inc., 1968–1975 This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Stephen Coles Source: www.flickr.com Kit Karzen/Harris for President. License: All Rights Reserved. The Kamala Harris 2024 campaign identity, designed by Wide Eye Creative, is built around Sans Plomb, a condensed gothic not unlike the Bureau Grot used by Wide Eye for Harris’s 2020 primary bid – in turn inspired by Shirley Chisholm’s 1972 campaign. This time, though, the typeface is from a French foundry, rather than from Anglo-American origins (Stephenson Blake via Font Bureau). Source: fontsinuse.com License: All Rights Reserved. The logo for Kamala Harris’ 2020 campaign used Bureau Grot and an atypical asymmetrical layout. It’s not clear to me why they made the switch. From a design point of view, the caps aren’t significantly different from Bureau Grot. Perhaps they liked the more constructed, “modern” feel? Personally, I would have gone back to Chisholm’s pick, the all-American Franklin Gothic, which has no shortage of contemporary versions for any use case. (At the risk of friendship bias, I recommend the interpretation from Fonts In Use cofounder Nick Sherman.) The symmetrical layout for “Harris/Walz” is a much more conventional approach compared to Harris’s 2020 logo, which took a different road than most US presidential campaigns. The new look reflects her move to the center (no pun intended) for a broader audience. Source: www.flickr.com Eric Elofson/Harris for President. License: All Rights Reserved. Not the best kerning on this rally sign (AY). The font, Sans Plomb Super, doesn’t deliver that big of a gap out of the box, so something went awry in the typesetting. Source: kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. Source: kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. Source: store.kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. The supporting face for “WALZ”, running text, and other small bits like “YES SHE CAN” merch is Balto, Tal Leming’s contemporary take on the American gothic genre, such as Franklin Gothic and News Gothic. The Harris web store adds Sara Solskone and Jonathan Hoefler’s Decimal, a continuation of the Biden/Harris 2020 campaign. Seeing Solskone’s name makes me wonder if maybe there was a missed opportunity to also choose a typeface by an American woman for the main mark. For example, Program by Zuzana Licko, or Utile Narrow by Sibylle Hagmann. Source: store.kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. Source: kamalaharris.com License: All Rights Reserved. The logo used in this web pop-up is the early version before it was redrawn (see below). Source: www.instagram.com Jonathan Hoefler. License: All Rights Reserved. A refined version of the Harris/Walz logo (white outline) launched around August 11. The biggest changes were relieving the pinched curve at the top of the S and enlarging “WALZ” just slightly to the left for optical centering. Hoefler, whose typefaces (or those of Hoefler & Co.) have been part of the logo for “every Democratic president in the twenty-first century”, recently revealed that the mark was refined on August 10–11, a few weeks after its initial launch. The work – which involved some redrawing and better “WALZ” centering – was done by Leming and Scott Dadich under the direction of Wide Eye’s Alayna Citrin. Hoefler also commented that, “Trump has used Gotham for years, and NEVER bought a license. Color me surprised! We talked to a white shoe lawfirm in NYC about taking action, and was told, with a laugh, ‘take a number.’” Ironically, it was Barack Obama’s 2008 run that made Gotham (and its lookalikes) a default for US political campaigns, regardless of party. At least Harris is diverting a bit from that same old choice. This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Florian Hardwig Source: www.abebooks.com Between the Covers (edited). License: All Rights Reserved. One advantage that lettering has over typeset text is that the artist can always alter letterforms ad hoc, depending on the context. This allows her to make the most of the available space, to dissolve awkward pairs into pleasing combinations, or simply to enliven a design by means of variegation. Ursula Suess was a graphic artist who designed numerous book jackets in her career. For the majority of them, she’d come up with her own letterforms. I’ll later add a selection of designs that hints at her stylistic range in the comments to this article. Source: www.abebooks.com Between the Covers. License: All Rights Reserved. An early jacket with italic lettering, designed by Suess for Sean O’Casey’s Sunset and Evening Star, Macmillan, 1955 Source: www.abebooks.com Between the Covers. License: All Rights Reserved. Suess designed the jacket for The Confrontation by Lenore Marshall (W.W. Norton) in 1972, the year her Book Jacket was released. The lettering could pass as an extrabold variation. Source: www.klingspor-museum.de Photographer unknown. License: All Rights Reserved. An undated portrait of Ursula Suess In the early 1970s, Suess set about designing a typeface. According to a 2014 article by Ellen Sussman, she was in part motivated by the fact that “most type styles at the time were too wide and didn’t fit on a jacket.” Her typeface indeed is compact, both horizontally and vertically, with condensed, tight-setting letterforms and a large x-height with short extenders. Suess didn’t want to forgo all the flexibility she was familiar with from lettering, so she drew a large set of alternates. A TGC specimen sums it up: “She used lettering similar to this in her book cover designs, where space limitations called for lettering with many swash characters that was strong and condensed, yet rich and sensuous.” The calligraphic design was released by VGC as a stand-alone italic in 1972, named Book Jacket. Whether you find the name boring or brilliant, it did clarify the intended application area. And Book Jacket indeed was used for designing book jackets. One example by Suess herself is shown here. (See Robert Halsband’s biography of Lord Hervey for a second one.) As We Are Now is a novel by Belgian-American writer May Sarton (1912–1995), published by W.W. Norton & Company in 1973. Suess used her typeface in two sizes, with the alternate swash caps for the big initials, a wider terminal form in “We”, and hardly any space between the last two words of the title. For the subline, she opted for more restrained forms overall, but inserted a descending h, a sweeping f that embraces the preceding o, and a single swash cap L in “LOVE”. The a in “author” is the double-story alternate. May Sarton’s name is set in Richard Isbell’s wide Americana. Source: canadatype.com Canada Type. License: All Rights Reserved. Partial glyph set of Book Jacket Pro, the digitization drawn by Patrick Griffin and released by Canada Type in 2010 Ursula Suess was born August 13, 1924 – which means it’s her 100th birthday today. Canada Type, who released a digital version of Book Jacket in 2010, provided a biographical outline: Ursula Suess was born in 1924 to German parents in Camden, NJ, and grew up in Munich, Germany, where she attended two semesters of design school at the Academy of Fine Art before it burned down during the war [in July 1944]. She then studied calligraphy with Anna Simons for two years. She returned to America in 1946 and established herself as a graphic designer working for Oxford University Press, Macmillan Co., Harper, and other publishers. She also taught calligraphy for 20 years at the Westchester Art Workshop, and at the Cooper Union in New York City. In her 50s she learned to cut gems and eventually became an accomplished gem carver. She moved to Green Valley, AZ, in 1998, and has been applying her artistic versatility with clay, water-color and acrylics. In Arizona, Suess became a long-time supporter of the Tubac Center of the Arts. Ellen Sussman additionally mentions paper sculpture, pottery, and collage as techniques she engaged in. Apart from Book Jacket, she is credited with at least one more typeface: Rotalic is a low-contrast italic sans featuring swash caps with ball terminals. It was also released with VGC. One of its four styles recently was digitized as BN Rascal. Suess passed away in 2020. She left us a large number of beautiful works, including many pieces of lettering and two unique typefaces that have stood the test of time. Source: tubacarts.org DeDe Isaacson, Tubac Center of the Arts. License: All Rights Reserved. Ursula Suess at the Tubac Center of the Arts Source: www.abebooks.com Rare Book Cellar. License: All Rights Reserved. This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
Contributed by Stephen Coles Source: lithub.com License: All Rights Reserved. Martyr! is a novel by Iranian-American writer Kaveh Akbar that combines modern situations with traditional imagery. For the jacket, prolific cover designer Linda Huang did what she does so well: pick a striking and relevant typeface and let it do a lot of the work. License: All Rights Reserved. Left: Salem, as advertised in the Inland Printer, Vol. 28, No. 2 (November, 1901). Right: Daria Cohen’s reinterpretation, Zangezi (2018), with additional weights, italics, and condensed (2021). Her choice was Zangezi Condensed, a fresh, fashion-forward take on Salem, in which Daria Cohen took a turn-of-the-century dazzler, narrowed it, and increased its stroke contrast, giving it even more spike and sparkle than it already had. The idiosyncratic type is the perfect companion to the contemporary use of antique illustration. Huang also deftly delivers the commercial necessities – a blurb and “a novel” – in an inconspicuous way. Huang on the design: Despite its heavy themes, I found Akbar’s novel to be insanely funny,” Huang told Literary Hub. “I cackled many times while reading the manuscript. More than anything, I wanted to evoke this unique tragi-comedic tone on the cover. One of the central, recurring images is this Iranian ‘Angel of Death’ warrior. I experimented with scale and ultimately found the warrior in miniature to be most striking, with ‘a novel’ set in a deadpan speech bubble. I was also lucky to stumble upon the perfect decorative typeface to activate all that negative space. To me, humor is one of the most alluring qualities in a book (and really, in life) so it was an absolute treat to work on Akbar’s novel. Source: www.penguinrandomhouse.com License: All Rights Reserved. The version of the cover seen in bookstores today. Martyr! quickly became a New York Times best seller – soon enough for the cover to get an extra speech balloon celebrating that fact. You can also see an improvement on the letterspacing in “Akbar”. A Digression and Suggestion Photo: Stephen Coles. License: All Rights Reserved. Once you get to the end of a book, “a note on the type” is a great way to learn about the creation of the letterforms you’ve been staring at for hours. Photo: Stephen Coles. License: All Rights Reserved. Back jacket flaps usually include an author bio and designer credit. This is good. Could they include a bit more? The interior of this book, designed by Betty Lew, includes “A Note on the Type”, a lovely hundred-year-old publishing tradition which not only credits the text face (in this case, Dante), but tells a bit of its story. Why not have a typeface credit on the jacket flap, too? Sure, you’re reading a lot more Dante than Zangezi when you read this book, but it’s the cover that often sells the book. Also, the type used on book covers is more likely to be something newer that the interior text, and thus more likely to be made by living designers. Isn’t it time we give them a nod? This post was originally published at Fonts In Use
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My feed is mostly designers talking about AI, and the temperature of all of it is the same: Something is coming. You need to get out in front of it. You need to be the one doing the changing rather than the one being changed. I don’t disagree with most of the individual advice. But read enough of it in one sitting and what surfaces underneath is competition — ordinary competition, of the kind that has always been there. The worry takes two shapes. Either the client no longer needs a designer, because the tool supplies the design. Or another designer, holding the tool, takes the job you would have had. Both are worth taking seriously. Neither is new. The Permanent Condition There has always been someone faster than me, someone cheaper than me, and someone better than me. This was true the day I started my career and it will be true on the day it ends. It describes a market, not an era. Designers — actually, all in the professional services — have a folk theorem for living with this reality: Fast, cheap, good — pick two. I’ve heard it said and read it written countless times. I’ve said it and written it, too, to win arguments and contracts. Today I got curious about where the saying comes from, and went looking. Nobody knows. The phrase itself gets attributed to something called the Common Law of Business Balance, and from there to John Ruskin — an attribution with no evidence behind it whatsoever. The idea underneath has a slightly better paper trail: an engineer named Martin Barnes drew it as a triangle, with cost, time and quality at the corners, for a project management course in 1969. Even that isn’t an origin. Versions of it were in use by the 1950s, and no one can say who put it that way first. This beaten-to-cliché piece of professional wisdom is a cipher. Which is useful to remember because it’s also, often, wrong. There are as many designers who are fast and cheap and good as there are those who are slow, expensive, and bad. I have worked with some of each. Thinking back on this now, I am surprised that no one ever responded to the “pick two” challenge by saying, “I want all three, I just won’t be getting them from you.” Faster and Cheaper My entire career has been punctuated by tools that sped up production. Desktop publishing collapsed typesetting and layout into something one person could do in an afternoon. Then Photoshop. Then the rest of the Adobe suite, Illustrator and InDesign. Then Sketch. Then Figma. Each one arrived, each one made producing the work materially faster, and each one set off a race to master it before everybody else did. Each of them may have changed what a day at work felt like, but none ended the profession. What makes faster feel dangerous is that we convert it immediately into cheaper, and we do that because most designers price their time. If the work takes four hours instead of twelve, charging the twelve-hour price feels indefensible, and somebody else will happily charge for four. That’s a pricing problem rather than a technology problem, and it’s been the same pricing problem through every acceleration I just listed. A practice that charges for outcomes absorbs a speed increase as margin. A practice that charges for hours absorbs it as a pay cut. As for cheaper, it arrived long before any of this, and it arrived by geography. I work closely with a designer who lives in the Balkans. They are, by some distance, among the most talented people I have ever worked with. They didn’t go to design school. I went to the Rhode Island School of Design, which bought me a credential the marketplace still reads as shine, and I’m clear-eyed about the fact that on the measure that actually matters they aren’t behind me. They can also charge less than I can, because rent where they live isn’t rent where I live. None of that has anything to do with AI. It has been available to every client I have ever had as long as we all had an internet connection. And just in case anyone thinks that professional design competition from overseas is a more recent phenomenon, the first designer I met when I visited Malaysia in 2004 was born and raised in Penang, had no design degree, and had dozens of clients most of whom were headquartered in the United States. He was fast, cheap, and good. That’s why they paid him, rather than someone else. What Better Means There is an objection to what I’ve said so far. I’ll try to put it in its best form rather than a convenient one. Every tool I listed made production faster without making the thing. Desktop publishing didn’t design the page. Photoshop didn’t choose the image. Figma doesn’t know what the product should be. AI, as a design tool, is different in kind, because it produces the artifact. So the comparison to Sketch and Illustrator is a weaker argument than it sounds. I think that objection is right about the tool and wrong about the job. It only holds if the artifact itself is better. Imagine two designers given the same brief — an identity system for the same client. Put the results in front of a panel, blind, with no knowledge of how either came to be. The panel picks a winner. They’re qualified to do it and their reasoning will be sound. Now ask the client which designer they’d hire again. It is by no means a given that the panel and the client will agree. The two answers can fork, and when they do it isn’t because the client has poor taste. The panel is assessing an artifact. The client went through something. They were asked questions nobody had asked them before. They had a position drawn out of them that they couldn’t have articulated on their own. At some point they were told that the thing they wanted was the wrong thing, by somebody who had earned enough credit to say so. None of that is necessarily visible in the file — nor should it be. I wrote recently that expertise is becoming subjective — that where knowledge is cheap, experience is what differentiates. If that’s true, it cuts in both directions. Experience doesn’t only distinguish you; it aligns you with some people and not others. A prospect’s fit with how you’ve worked, what you’ve lived through, and how you talk about it is doing as much work as the expertise itself. Which means there’s no better in the abstract. There’s better, for them. There’s also a posture question here, and it matters more than it looks. To believe that your prospect couldn’t do better than you is a level of audacity that runs counter to how every designer I know actually thinks — and yet it’s close to what we’re advised to project. In a world this populous it’s absurd to imagine you’re the best at anything, and more absurd still to build a public persona on the premise. That advice persists because it works on a seductive technicality: whether or not you believe you’re the best, behaving as though you are turns out to be convincing to other people. Notice who that advice is sold to. We’re the market for it; our clients have never heard of it. Rejecting that is accuracy rather than modesty. The world is too crowded with designers to spend a second ranking yourself among them. Beside the posture, the same feed sells a tempo, and that carries its own irony. All that commentary argues that you should move faster in order to stay ahead. But if experience is the differentiator, speed is the thing eroding it. Going slowly through a problem — getting it wrong, trying it on a real client, finding out — is where the differentiation was built all along. The race is being run on the wrong road, and running it costs you the one you needed. Nobody Asks About Tools When I moved from Sketch to Figma I thought it mattered. I had reasons. I argued about it. Designers I respected stayed on Sketch for years afterward and we all thought the other was wrong. In the end, it didn’t really matter. I know designers who still work primarily in Photoshop. In the last twelve months, I saw a website design produced in Illustrator. Of course I think these are mistakes, bordering on the absurd. But it’s also none of my business, and as far as I can tell it hasn’t cost them a job. Isn’t that interesting? But it makes some sense. After all, nobody has ever asked me what tools I use. Except another designer. I don’t know what this technology does to the profession over twenty years, and I notice that the people who claim to know are usually the ones with something to sell. What I can see from here is smaller and steadier than that. Somebody out there is faster than me. Somebody is cheaper. Somebody is better — that isn’t modesty, it’s the realism that comes from decades in the work, and I have met them. All three have been a phone call away from every client I have ever worked with. Any prospect can have them, faster, and at a cheaper price. But they don’t have me. And they don’t have you.
If you work in software (as a designer, developer, PM, or any adjacent role), you’re probably aware of just how much AI has changed the way code is created. And if you’re an engineer, you’re definitely feeling the downstream impacts of AI’s speed. Way, way more code is being written. But the way we review code hasn’t changed that much. But if you’re not familiar, code review is a step in the software development process where developers look at code before it gets shipped. It’s been a cornerstone of engineering teams’ workflows for almost as long as there have been engineering teams. AI coding has turned code review into a bottleneck; a human can only look at so much code, so reviews have started taking longer, and each engineer’s review backlog is growing exponentially.1 AI code review tools have stepped into the breach, eliciting an earnest grumble from developers: AI reviewing AI-written code is like a student grading their own test. Execs don’t have much sympathy, though. We can move faster, so we should. So teams are stuck in a traffic jam, trying to figure out how to review code faster, without sacrificing quality. I’d like to argue that the source of this problem is more fundamental than speed vs. quality. We’re in this situation because somewhere along the way we swapped one question for another. Code review was always meant as a verification step: does the code produce the outcome we want? But it’s a hard question to answer, so we started asking an easier one instead: is this good code? Let’s go back to the original question. Code review should get better at verifying outcomes — faster, yes, but more accurately, and for the system as a whole, not just single lines of code. What is code worth? The premise of code review is that code can be good or bad, and that bad code can be turned into good code, and that good code is important. This is a sound premise. Bugs are obviously bad for business. But we’ve made an attribute substitution: we decide whether code looks good as a stand-in for whether the software works. Engineers use mental shortcuts to determine the goodness or badness of code. They range from very well-documented patterns (use guard clauses to return early, use pure functions where possible) to vibe-based ‘code smells’ (magic numbers, deep nesting). But these aren’t written in stone. They are debated and re-evaluated constantly. Even if there are inviolable definitions of good code, writing good code isn’t guaranteed to result in valuable software products. Sometimes, it works out that way; before Facebook bought it, WhatsApp kept its codebase lean enough that 35 engineers could serve 450 million users.2 But there are far, far more examples of software succeeding despite being written poorly: Undertale would never have passed a single code review (almost all of its dialog was one giant switch statement), but became one of the most beloved games of the past decade. Good code does not strictly equal good software. Code itself has no intrinsic value. So what are we actually reviewing when we review code? Verifying There’s just no substitute for actually running the code and verifying that it does its job well. I don’t mean unit tests, or even integration tests, but running the code in total, a full end-to-end test. Doing this at scale for large applications is difficult. At an org with hundreds of AI-enabled engineers, you likely have thousands of pull requests a day. Spinning up and breaking down complete copies of your entire application (likely, application cluster) is time- and resource-intensive. Even if you do manage it, verifying under realistic conditions may be completely infeasible (imagine simulating the activity that Stripe handles — 1.75% of global GDP). Which is to say that you won’t know if your code works or not until it’s in users’ hands. Traditional code review has two outcomes: You are confident enough that the code works well enough to ship it You are not confident enough that the code works well enough to ship it Verifying your code under the most realistic scenario possible (i.e., yolo, straight to production) has three: You are sure the code works, and it’s already shipped. Good job! You are sure the code doesn’t work, so you improve the code until it works You don’t know because the system failed in an interesting way. Instead of confidence, you have information, and can use it to improve the system. Verifying a major change by shipping it is risky, but the closer you can get to it, the more your review is actually worth. Feature flags, canary releases, observability and CI/CD — the stuff of modern devops — have all been commoditized to the point where it’s cheap to build in the safeguards that make the yolo approach tractable (even at Stripe scale). Stop reviewing code3 You’re probably doing code review for the wrong reasons. Let AI do the work of making code better: tracing code paths, finding, and fixing obvious issues. And if it’s a student grading their own test, so what? AI can make the code better. People can check if it works. Invest in the tools to verify your code in realistic conditions, deploying it directly to users if possible. Use your own eyes and brain to see it working, or see it not working. Learn from the difference, share what you learn with your team, and build feedback loops that improve the system the more it fails. And eventually the failures will become rare and incredibly interesting. Footnotes & References GitHub saw 1 billion commits in all of 2025; by April 2026 it was seeing 275 million a week. ↩︎ Cade Metz, “Why WhatsApp Only Needs 50 Engineers for Its 900M Users,” Wired, September 15, 2015. ↩︎ Of course, there are situations where safety means protecting human lives or massive economic outcomes, and reviewing code is the only safe option. The IRS shouldn’t ship updates to the code it uses to disburse tax refunds without reviewing the code. Waymo shouldn’t ship updates to its self-driving cars’ algorithms without reviewing the code. But you probably aren’t working for the IRS or Waymo. And if you are, get in touch ;) ↩︎
If you think about it, there is *a lot* of software that hasn’t been built across hundreds of industries because our best paid designers and engineers were occupied with building social networks and ad networks. "The best minds of my generation are thinking about how to make
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