Food products are not just sustenance but design objects. Everything is designed.  From the food itself to the package and the letters on the outside. Typography, a visual itterance of our unperfect languages only adds to the mess, Type does strive to stabilize meaning and inflection yet it will always be short of perfection. What the word organic is meant to be is different than what it is and also different from what people try to make it be and different from the way it is perceived. Confused? Me, too.

As I’ve noted, buying food is a process. It’s a process and it plays so many roles in our lives. Our motivations for buying food are wide and varied. I buy specific foods because I like it, because I think I need it or even because it is socially acceptable. Things get more complicated when we start considering not only the consumers role but the manufacturers role and then there is the government. The government outlaws certain words while allowing others onto the face of packages, then they subsidize some foods and ignore others, swiftly effecting what millions of Americans eat.

I want to be healthy, I want others to be healthy  too. Nutritionists can sit around and sing songs about what to eat and what not to eat but it’s not so simple and it never will be. And that is what I’ve conceded to. I continue to think about Michael Pollan’s (seemingly simple) guideline, “eat food, not to much, mostly plants.”

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I’ve been having a little hiatus in writing since I’m adjusting to my new job and focusing on reading. Hopefully I’ll get better at devoting daily time to my new friend Thesis.

Often, type does a variety of unsavory things  like belittle, exaggerate and minimize the words it visually represents. Think about any basic food package, the manufacturer wants to shout about it’s positive attributes. Words related to beneficial claims will be large and colorful on the front of a package. And the less coming characteristics hide on the back. These typographic ploys do not honor content.

So, in my pragmatic and typographically correct world, what would food packages look like? My first inclination was that every package would look the same (I know, how very socialist) Black and white with a splash of warning red, the type of product would come first (rice, bread, cheese), second the brand  (kellogs, cascade farms). Third, the nutritional content and ingredients. I then thought about how depressing it would be to walk down a grocery aisle and see all of these soldier foods.

For type to do it’s job, packaging doesn’t need to be so militaristic (nor depressing). Bringhurst also said “In a badly designed book, the letters mill and stand like starving horses in a field. In a book designed by rote, they sit like stale bread and mutton on the page. In a well-made book … the letters are alive. They dance in their seats. Sometimes they rise and dance in the margins and aisles.”

Similarities should be obvious while pertinent attributes highlighted. The word “immunity” shouldn’t jump across a box of cocoa krispies and the ingredient “high fructose corn syrup” should be easily noticed. Still, this imaginary world where type perfectly emulates words is unrealistic, for a variety of reasons that I won’t go into. The most plausible solution is twofold: designers become more accountable to the way their designs effect meaning and behavior, while consumers become more aware and change behavior according to what is true about the food they eat.

Food and design intersect to create environments and situations that effect our food decisions. The size of a food package might lead you to believe it’s ok to eat the whole thing. The words “made with fruit juice” might make you think you’re doing your kids a favor by letting them sip down more than one juice box. The appetizing presentation of hor’dourves at a party tantalize your taste buds and eyes, leading to more consumption. Using a small plate can help you eat less and still feel satisfied. Clearly labeled single-size portions keep you from over-eating. The clarity of the nutrition label (if you read it) might help you make a good decision about which food item to buy.

And there are lots of environment factors that have little to do with design but greatly effect eating habits. Like what people around you eat, your social life, the food options at your closest grocery store, how much television you watch, the time you spend cooking and how much coffee you drink. A question for myself (and fellow designers), how can design increase opportunities for healthy decisions? And a question for everyone, how can simple changes increase your opportunities for healthy decisions?

Do all your eating at a table. (He reminds us that a desk is not a table.)

Only eat foods that your grandma, great grandma and great great grandma would recognize.

Don’t eat breakfast cereals that change the color of the milk.

If it came from a plant, eat it; if it was made in a plant, don’t.

Both books are unconventional and insightful, if you are looking for a fresh perspective on food I highly recommend both. After In Defense of Food I realized how much Americans (myself included) focus on nutritionism, instead of food. We have reduced our foods down to formulas and single nutrients. Instead of eating blueberries, I eat antioxidants. Instead of enjoying a piece of fish, I enjoy omega 3s. Maybe reading labels and digits is less important than focusing on the satisfying sustenance that food is.

Back in April, Michelle Obama visited an urban garden here in San Diego which she praised by saying it was “a model for building healthy communities across the nation and around the world”. School gardens keep popping up to to teach kids about healthy eating and where food comes from. And even for those who can’t grow gardens, they keep small herb plants or more frequently visit local farmers markets.

I can’t help but think what a novelty it must be for all these new green thumbs to step into their yard and pluck off a cucumber or tomato for their next meal. It’s a novelty for me to watch zuchinni plants turn into giants almost overnight. I also can’t help but think how this food differs from the food at the store, and not in nutritional value or taste but the experience. This produce doesn’t come marked by a small designed sticker, nor is it unnaturally the same size as all of its siblings. It might even have some dirt on it (gasp). A vegetable becomes a vegetable instead of a product sold by a company who employs marketing tools.

I am a graphic designer and I wouldn’t have this profession if it weren’t for marketing, design and commerce. I don’t mean to criticize the store, just appreciate the miracle that is growing your own food because even for me (or maybe especially for me?) there is something refreshing about loosing the flourished typefaces, branding colors and logos. On today’s menu: squash blossom quesadillas.

I wondered if this ability to make rapid decisions can be positive in the food buying process. Can I just trust my instincts? It’s a nice idea and even though my brain will probably help me filter through past images I’ve seen of certain brands or articles I’ve skimmed on health, my rapid cognition will factor in too many things. Even the color of the package, or the style of the typefaces presented to me.

In Blink a study was referenced where people began to complain that 7-Up had changed, when in fact the only change was the color of the package. They had added 15% more yellow and people equated this with a stronger lemon-lime taste. So, is my brain is telling me that my organic milk tastes better than other milks? I’m aware of the virtuous feeling I’m overcome with when I open up the fridge and pull out that carton of organic milk. But does it go even beyond that? Is my breakfast tastier? Or seemingly healthier?

Our brains are powerful. So is design, so are images and type and words. The people at Kellog know that. And after much criticism they are finally doing something to admit their influence. A recent New York Times article shares that they will begin to phase out the marketing of cereals (like Cocoa Krispies) to children if the product doesn’t meet certain nutritional requirements. Another sign that design has an unavoidable impact on our decision making.

(click to see me bigger)

We went to Las Vegas this past week, I let myself be glutenous and indulge for 48 hours with decadent buffets and brightly colored margaritas. That’s over (fortunately and unfortunately) and I stocked up on fresh and delicious foods for the next week. There is something so drastic about going from glitzy restaurants with showy signs, giant plates and mountains of crab-legs-flown-in-from-who-knows-where to neighborhood produce stands with fresh picked cabbage and broccoli where you can barely read the price because it’s scribbled on a flimsy piece of cardboard.

So, what’s in my basket? Archer farms organic milk, chavrie goat cheese, rolled oats, whole wheat baguette, tortillas de maiz, cantaloupe, chiquita bananas (aren’t they all?), organic romaine lettuce, oranges, broccoli, cabbage and voskos greek yogurt.

I’ve been shelling out 100% more to buy organic milk. It’s crazy. Yet I do believe there are benefits from eating organic foods. I can’t buy everything organic but I recently read that the best thing to do is buy organic with the foods you eat often (milk is a staple in my diet).  And isn’t the carton so pretty? Perfectly kerned letters roll across a dark blue band and the words Archer Farms arch their way over a sweet red hen. A soft diamond pattern fills the background and the letters that make up the word organic are soft and, well, organic.

Tortillas de maiz festively announce their main ingredient (corn, of course). And surprisingly it really is a prominent ingredient. The only three ingredients in these warm, fresh discs are corn, water and lime. Finally, a package I can trust.

The label plays an important role in American society. Not only is it revered but its application changes attitudes and behaviors and ultimately the wellbeing of American people. The label has many political, economic and social meanings within American society.

Socially, the label is meant for everyone and it provides transparency across the board with foods we consume. Yet unlike Mary Poppins it isn’t “perfect in every way”. What about those groups of people who don’t understand the nutrition label? The label makes a lot of assumptions, it assumes that its viewers are all American, speak English, literate and have youthful eyes for reading small typefaces. The bottom line is it just doesn’t function if it can’t even be read.

Also, it turns out that calorie counts are not always honest. In fact a study revealed that many restaurants undershot the total calories in food by an average of 18%. Does this mean I can’t trust the calories printed on food packages, are these numbers conveniently low?

Another problem exists with the label, what I call the calorie:serving dilemna. Did you check out that cookie label? Maybe it said 100 calories, not bad, right? How many cookies did you eat? Now look at the serving size. And do the math. This is a currently debated issue within the FDA. Many want the serving sizes to better reflect what people actually consume in one sitting, yet then again, it might give off the idea that it’s ok to eat 5 cookies at once or half a bag of chips.

FDA surveys and research have shown that the labels have significantly impacted consumer decisions. In fact, “30% of consumers said they had changed their mind about buying or using a food product because they read the nutrition label.” However, I have a better question: are Americans healthier? This question is more complex and is difficult to quantify. The opportunity to make healthy and informed decisions is out there, and “Americans may choose to eat themselves into a bloated corner, but not because the truth isn’t staring them in the face.”

The nutrition label fades into the background as a design object, yet it’s essential. We encounter it in the morning on a cereal box, we see it again on the back of our mid-morning snack and again and again throughout the day. It’s with us whether we like it or not, and even if we ignore it completely, its design and content have implications on what we eat (and don’t eat).

Before 1994 there was no standard for nutrition labeling on food. That’s right, only 16 years since we’ve been entrusted with the info-packed rectangle. Ever since starting my foyer into the world of food and design I’ve been taking closer note of all things food, including the nutrition label. I’ve begun to consider the nutrition facts label my shiny jewel in the dense waters of food buying. I can’t trust all of the jibber-jabber on the front of the package, but if you flip that baby over there is a whole space dedicated to the truth (or at least I hope).

Its content, and its form are not haphazard. The label is not just a list, it’s a design. The basic granola label above reveals that the design is organized by a series of horizontal lines, both heavy and light. The shapes (letters and lines) are mostly rigid and obviously planned in shape and placement. The clear composition and intentions exhibited in the nutrition facts label can be compared to works by the De Stijl artist Piet Mondrian. Composition with Yellow, Blue and Red (above) reveals a similar planned and organized use of lines and rigid forms on a white background.

There is no ambiguity between foreground and background in the design. Certain elements are heavier and could be perceived as being closer to the viewer or at least more important. Most often the label uses Helvetica, a typeface that has it’s own full length documentary. It’s utilitarian and modern Swiss forms lend themselves well to quietly communicating the labels data.

I have a lot to say about the nutrition label and the more I learn the more I see the nutrition label as a basic yet necessary tool. Future posts will explore it’s faults, social implications and more artistic merits. Think about it, how does the nutrition label play into your life?