Squid in Love: A Display Font That Feels Like a Smile
It was a quiet Tuesday morning—coffee still warm, the first draft of a new seasonal newsletter open on my screen—when I paused. The header felt flat. Not wrong, exactly, but uninviting. Like a greeting said without eye contact. I’d been using a clean sans serif for months, reliable and neutral, but this particular issue was about warmth: a collection of slow-cooked recipes, handwritten notes from local gardeners, and soft watercolor illustrations of spring herbs. What it needed wasn’t neutrality—it needed personality with intention. That’s when I reached for Squid in Love.
Squid in Love is a display font with gentle curves, buoyant rhythm, and just enough whimsy to feel human—not cartoonish, not forced, but quietly joyful. Its letterforms swell and taper like ink pressed softly into paper: round ‘o’s that hold space like bubbles, a playful ‘g’ with a looping tail, and lowercase ‘a’ and ‘e’ that tilt ever so slightly, as if leaning in to listen. It doesn’t shout. It leans forward, curious and kind.
I tested it first as the newsletter header—just the title, “Spring Gatherings,” set large over a muted sage background. Instantly, the tone shifted. It wasn’t just legible; it invited pause. Readers scrolling quickly slowed down—not because the text demanded attention, but because it offered something tender to land on. That’s the quiet power of a well-chosen display font: it shapes mood before a single word is read.
In editorial design, Squid in Love thrives where voice matters most—blog headers, ebook covers, chapter openers, pull quotes, and printable guide titles. I used it for a digital magazine’s feature page introducing a small-batch ceramicist: the artist’s name in Squid in Love, paired with a warm serif body typeface for the interview. The contrast worked beautifully—the display font carried the spirit, while the serif grounded the story in readability and quiet authority.
It’s also found its way into a coaching workbook I designed last month. Not for the exercises or instructions—that’s all set in a friendly, open sans—but for section dividers (“Tend Your Boundaries,” “Name What Lights You”) and reflective prompts. There’s something about its rounded forms that softens the weight of introspection. It doesn’t make deep work feel light—it makes it feel safe.
For printables—a wedding guide, a seasonal planner, a set of gratitude cards—I’ve used Squid in Love sparingly but deliberately: always for primary headings or decorative accents, never for body text. Its charm lives in scale and contrast. At 24pt or larger, it breathes. At 12pt, even in bold, the subtlety blurs. It’s not built for long paragraphs—and it shouldn’t be. That’s not a limitation; it’s clarity of purpose. A display font earns its place by elevating moments, not filling pages.
On screen, Squid in Love holds up well across devices when used thoughtfully. In PDF exports, it embeds cleanly (I confirmed with both desktop and mobile previews). For web use, I convert it to WOFF2 and serve it via @font-face with a system-ui fallback—always testing contrast ratios against background colors, especially for lighter weights. It’s subtle enough that poor contrast can mute its warmth, so I tend to pair it with deep charcoal or forest green rather than pale greys.
Pairing is where Squid in Love truly sings. I often nest it beside a relaxed serif—think Adobe Garamond or EB Garamond—for body copy in ebooks or editorial features. The serif offers rhythm and familiarity; Squid in Love adds heartbeat. For digital newsletters or social graphics, I’ll pair it with a clean, airy sans like Inter or Lato—something with generous spacing and open apertures, so the display font doesn’t compete with function. Never pair it with another high-contrast script or decorative face; it’s not meant to duel for attention.
Before adding Squid in Love to any client project or digital product, I always check what’s included: at minimum, regular and bold weights, standard OpenType features (ligatures and stylistic alternates help refine polish), and full Latin character support. For multilingual projects—even simple French or Spanish accents—I verify diacritic coverage. And yes, I double-check the license: whether it permits use in editable templates, commercial ebooks, or downloadable printables. A beautiful font loses its value fast if licensing limits how—and where—you’re allowed to share it.
What surprises me most about Squid in Love isn’t how it looks, but how it feels to work with. It slows me down—in a good way. When I choose it, I ask different questions: Is this heading meant to welcome? To celebrate? To invite reflection? The font doesn’t answer those questions, but it reminds me they matter. In a landscape crowded with loud, algorithm-optimized visuals, choosing a typeface like this feels like an act of editorial care.
It’s appeared in a recipe ebook’s cover (paired with linen-textured paper in print), a digital magazine’s summer issue banner, a set of printable affirmation cards for a wellness coach, and even the title treatment on a short film festival program—each time adapting not through versatility, but through sincerity. It doesn’t try to be everything. It simply shows up, fully itself: buoyant, thoughtful, quietly affectionate.
If you’re redesigning a blog header, laying out a course PDF, or building a printable planner, consider what emotional temperature your readers need before they even begin reading. Squid in Love won’t fix weak writing or unclear structure—but it will make the doorway wider, warmer, and more intentional. And sometimes, especially in slow, human-centered publishing, that’s where meaning begins.
