Detour Sans

Page 1

Version 1.0

DETOUR SANS Detour sans A font Designed by Carrie Chang Pasadena,California, USA Fall 2013


For every failure, there's an alternative course of action. You just have to find it. When you come to a roadblock, take a detour. Quote by Mary Kay Ash

Detour Sans 48pt . 59pt leading


About typeface

Detour Sans This Detour Sans is based on the interstate typeface and it still has a hint of the friendly feeling the quirkiness detour conveys. Inspired by interstate is a neo-grotesque sans serif typeface, Detour Sans is an interesting new take on interstate. Designed with an interrupted style, medium weight, and low contrast stroke. The design lends itself well to headlines and bodycopy as well.

Detour Sans is one of those simple typefaces that could be used daily without fear of being lost within too much eccentricity, while at the same time displaying some new aspect of its character in each application. It has a basic look, being willful but pleasant at the same time.


Approach

Simplicity is one of the main goals behind Detour Sans. Functionality and Legibility played a big role as well in finding right balance of

Legibility

the letter shapes.

Functionality

Simplicity


Basic Glyphs

Aa

Bb

Cc

Dd

Ee

Ff

Gg

Hh

Ii

Jj

Kk

Ll

Mm

Nn

Oo

Pp

Qq

Rr

Ss

Tt

Uu

Vv

Ww

Xx

Yy

Zz


Whole Set

Detour Sans Regular 48 pt

ABCDEFGHIJKLMN OPQRSTUVXXYZ abcdefghijklmn opqrstuvwxyz 0123456789 :;,.?!()[]“”+-=


In Context

Accelerate /

Jackkniffing

Traffic /

Boulevard /

Kilometer /

U-turn /

Caution /

License /

Van pool /

Driver /

Miles /

Warning /

Exit /

No parking

Yield /

Freeway /

One way /

Zebra

Gas /

Pedestrain /

crossing

Headlights /

Ramp

Intersection

Seatbelt


In Context

36pt

The hot water gave out. Blakey dressed and within five minutes was speeding, stop sign to stop sign, to the doctor’s house in the Heights. He replayed more of the doctor’s visit in his head. 24pt

The hot water gave out. Blakey dressed and within five minutes was speeding, stop sign to stop sign, to the doctor’s house in the Heights. He replayed more of the doctor’s visit in his head. The doctor’s hightops coated in chalk dust. Him standing there, grinding a cube onto Blakey’s favorite cue stick. Was that some kind of Freudian thing? He couldn’t help but see Dr. Foley’s kind stare as the front to a med-schooled


In Context

14pt

The hot water gave out. Blakey dressed and within five minutes was speeding, stop sign to stop sign, to the doctor’s house in the Heights. He replayed more of the doctor’s visit in his head. The doctor’s hightops coated in chalk dust. Him standing there, grinding a cube onto Blakey’s favorite cue stick. Was that some kind of Freudian thing? He couldn’t help but see Dr. Foley’s kind stare as the front to a med-schooled mind diagnosing the deficiencies in Blakey that had driven his wife from him. He probably looked at cancer patients that way. The stricken, terminals. Blakey felt asymptomatic. How had he failed his wife? Was he a bad conversationalist? Did he not work, keep the cars clean, do the yardwork (until he caved and used the three Ecuadorian brothers who did the neighbor’s lawn—great, great, great decision!)? He’d even lost his love handles earlier in the year by going on that Cajun diet where the sheer amount of cayenne pepper made it too painful to overeat. Was he a bad catch when it came to other appetites and affections? But how would his wife know? It had been many weeks, fortnights, since they’d even slept with each other, forget sex for the moment.

10pt The hot water gave out. Blakey dressed and within five minutes was speeding, stop sign to stop sign, to the doctor’s house in the Heights. He replayed more of the doctor’s visit in his head. The doctor’s hightops coated in chalk dust. Him standing there, grinding a cube onto Blakey’s favorite cue stick. Was that some kind of Freudian thing? He couldn’t help but see Dr. Foley’s kind stare as the front to a med-schooled mind diagnosing the deficiencies in Blakey that had driven his wife from him. He probably looked at cancer patients that way. The stricken, terminals. Blakey felt asymptomatic. How had he failed his wife? Was he a bad conversationalist? Did he not work, keep the cars clean, do the yardwork (until he caved and used the three Ecuadorian brothers who did the neighbor’s lawn—great, great, great decision!)? He’d even lost his love handles earlier in the year by going on that Cajun diet where the sheer amount of cayenne pepper made it too painful to overeat. Was he a bad catch when it came to other appetites and affections? But how would his wife know? It had been many weeks, fortnights, since they’d even slept with each other, forget sex for the moment.


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