My relationship with type started in 2013, when I had just entered university and still referred to everything simply as “fonts.”

I knew what a logo was.
But the idea of a “corporate identity system” was new to me. In an introductory advertising course, we were asked to create a small identity set for ourselves: a logotype, a business card, and a letterhead.

The classroom was filled with A4 sheets covered in dozens of surname experiments different fonts, endless variations, sketch upon sketch. It felt chaotic. Everyone was searching for the right answer inside an overload of options.

I didn’t participate in that search.

Instead of rewriting my surname repeatedly, I chose a typeface called Ancient Geek and simply set “HARDAL” in white on a black background. It received praise immediately.

It may sound slightly arrogant in retrospect, but that moment taught me something important:
Sometimes, the right typeface solves half the design.

Around the same time, we watched the Helvetica documentary. We were introduced to the idea that a typeface could shape entire visual cultures. Why was Helvetica so influential? What did it mean for a typeface to be neutral? How could something so “invisible” become so powerful?

Helvetica was not just a font. It was a way of thinking.

• • •

In my second year, typography became more serious.

We were assigned to design a typeface inspired by a district of Istanbul. We had not been formally trained in type design, nor would we be. The task was to modify an existing structure and explore new forms from it.

That was when I began understanding categories — serif, sans-serif, grotesque, humanist — and, more importantly, systems.

During this period, I read an essay by Kris Sowersby of Klim Type Foundry about how certain cultures are closely associated with particular typographic languages. Italy has Bodoni. France has Garamond. Switzerland has Helvetica.

But what about Turkey?

Before 1923, the Ottoman Empire used Arabic script. With the foundation of the Republic, the Latin alphabet was adopted. A new system was built almost overnight. Yet in contemporary global typography, Turkey does not possess a widely recognized typographic language.

That absence stayed with me.

I became interested in designing something not bound to geography.
A neutral system.
An international voice.

• • •

In 2019, for my graduation project, I decided to design a sans-serif family.

My goal was clear:
A typeface that performs its function without demanding attention.

Akzidenz-Grotesk, Breite Grotesk, and later Helvetica became my conceptual reference points. Not to replicate their forms, but to understand their thinking.

I was not looking for stylistic similarity.
I was looking for structural clarity.

At first glance, familiar.
In detail, contemporary.

Respectful of history,
but drawn with today’s tools.

The concept of “default” became central.
A starting point.
A baseline.
A silent system.

The name FH Dfaalt originates from this idea.

• • •

Is true neutrality even possible?

Over time, I realized neutrality is not the absence of character it is a deliberate design decision. Avoiding exaggeration, resisting unnecessary expression, maintaining proportional discipline. These are all intentional acts.

The aim was not to create something without personality.
The aim was to create something that does not impose its personality.

• • •

In early 2025, I shared the final test versions of the typeface with several designer friends. Their feedback mattered. Neutrality cannot be judged in isolation.

During that same period, my mother was diagnosed with cancer.

There is no need to dramatize this part.
Life simply slowed down.

Treatment, uncertainty, waiting.
She passed away at the beginning of July.

Grief has a way of quieting everything. It shifts focus inward.

The final decisions I made on FH Dfaalt happened during that time. Perhaps that is why the typeface became even more restrained, more balanced, more silent.

It gave me structure when everything else felt unstable.

The name was suggested by my wife.
Today, “Dfaalt” is engraved on my mother’s gravestone.
And it will remain there.

• • •

FH Dfaalt is not a trend-driven release.
It is not a stylistic statement.
It is not an attempt to be iconic.

For me, it is a system that functions without needing to be seen.

Inspired by history,
drawn for the present,
shaped quietly by personal experience.

Sometimes the strongest design is the one that does not raise its voice.

FH Dfaalt carries exactly that intention.