If beauty, as they say, lies in the eye of the beholder then taste finds its origins in the tongue of the creator, whether Michelin star chef or local chip shop fryer. It is much the same when concerning aesthetic preference in design - each style is produced by blending a unique combination of visual spices with the fundamental elements to result in a particular flavour or tone - and, like renowned restaurants, tastes become quickly established and reputations are consequently built. Traditionally, the Swiss prefer one dominant, sharp flavour with very little seasoning or variation - a dash of upper-case here and a sprinkling of right alignment there - whereas the Dadaists enjoy invoking a cacophony of previously experienced aromas. Regardless of the style of optical cuisine, the industry tends to rely on a similar methodology: Eat here once and, if you enjoy it, please come again.
But, in a world so oversaturated with visual information, do we ever really pause in between courses to digest and reflect upon what we have consumed, or do we all too easily give in to the glutinous attitude adopted by many when concerning communication?
Not known for happily agreeing with my peers’ choice of ‘flavour of the week’, I have learned from experience the importance of the cleansing of the visual palette. For the past three years, the works of Pentagram, Why Not Associates and Spin have been staples in my diet; Troika, my weekly alcohol allowance; Peter Saville, my occasional guilty chocolate binge, and Jonathan Barnbrook, my pregnancy craving (which has, much to the relief of many, recently subsided). I knew what I liked and I was happy in my choices, thank you very much. It wasn’t until I was ordered something different against my will and had it forced down my throat that I began to look beyond the boundaries of my box, comfortable as it was.
At first it felt less like having my teeth brushed and more like rinsing my mouth out with caustic soda, but I did develop an appreciation for what various other studios do, even if I didn’t adopt their tastes. It was the creative equivalent of eating a spoonful of Marmite. The taste clung to the roof of my mouth for a few days and I was vividly reminded of exactly why I refrain from tossing a jar into my shopping trolley on a weekly basis, but I did feel refreshed upon returning to old friends after having explored the other options on the menu.
It is also extremely easy to be seduced by one particular dish, regardless of ingredient quality or nutritional value. This is most evident in the gleefully happy vector-drawn world of character design where a recent trend of featureless, friendly creatures has become the prevailing flavour. A technique mastered by inexpensive Chinese take-aways across the nation, each character appears to have been individually commissioned and concepted but then dunked in a vat of generic sauce that resides in the studio’s basement to ensure that it slips down the hatch easily. The accompanying modular typefaces frequently suffer the same treatment. Yes, it fills a gap but like the contents of those much loved foil containers, when we return to it cold, tomorrow, we begin to see the errors of our bland, MSG-laced ways and often wonder why we bothered in the first place.
Filtering what we don’t find appealing out of our diet takes the same shape in both the design and culinary world. It’s a matter of sampling what’s on offer and making subsequent choices rather than deciding that we don’t like the initial look of something and refusing to try it. Although it is important to maintain standards and have definite likes and dislikes, there is a vast spectrum to be found in the visual feast on offer and there is room at the table for all. So, dust off the silverware and sharpen your teeth, it’s about time we all sampled something beyond our native cuisine to reawaken our tastebuds and refresh our creative minds. Now, where’s the Marmite?
Text: Clare Acheson