My fascination with books began as soon as I learned to read, and the Golden Books imprint was my favorite. By third grade, I became acquainted with the Scholastic Book Club, and I used my allowance to order as many titles as I could afford. When the boxes arrived, I’d sit for a minute or two and imagine what was inside, what the books would be like, and, of course, how they would look. Always how they would look.
There is no one who has had more impact on the design of contemporary books than Chip Kidd. His book jackets for Alfred A. Knopf have helped spark a revolution in the art of American book packaging. He has created over 1,500 covers, including works for Bret Easton Ellis, David Sedaris, Michael Crichton, Cormac McCarthy, and many others.
Equally capable as a designer, writer, and editor, Kidd has authored books—such as the critically acclaimed Batman Collected—in which he shares his enthusiasms for graphic design and popular culture. Kidd has also been generous in revealing his successes, failures, and learning process to an audience of admirers, as he demonstrates in the remarkable monograph Chip Kidd: Book One: Work: 1986–2006 and in his semi-autobiographical novel The Cheese Monkeys, the story of a design student’s coming-of-age. He was similarly forthcoming in our conversation.
What was your first creative memory?
Making poopies. And some critics have pointed out that I’ve never really advanced beyond that.
As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I have gone on public record as saying that I wanted more than anything to be Chris Partridge in The Partridge Family on TV. For your readers under 40, I should explain that he was an eight-year-old professional rock drummer. No further explanation necessary.
When did you realize that you wanted to be a graphic designer?
I remember in sixth grade or so, we had an assignment in art class to make a record album cover for one of our favorite songs. I picked “Fly, Robin, Fly” by the Silver Convention, and drew a 45 rpm record with wings sprouting out of its sides, soaring through a watercolor sky flecked with cotton-ball clouds. It was so, so beautiful. And meaningful.
Did you ever have serious aspirations to pursue any other type of career?
I played the drums from third grade through college (hence Chris Partridge) and ultimately had to decide between pursuing a career in music and a career in graphic design.
Why didn’t you pursue drumming?
If there’s anything harder to become successful at than music, it is certainly not graphic design.
What did you study in college?
I did the “legit” thing and majored in graphic design as an undergrad at Penn State. That worked well for me, and I saw no sense in graduate school at all. I should also add that I have been ever grateful that I went to a university that required a full BA’s worth of classes, instead of an art school. A graphic designer has to function in the world. We need to know more than just typefaces and Pantone colors—indeed, that’s the least of it. I learned just as much about design by studying psychology, philosophy, English lit, geology, art history and, yes, ballroom dancing.
How would you define the term “graphic design”?
Entire books have been written about that, so I will keep my answer brief, boring, and technical. If design is, simply, purposeful planning, then graphic design is such involving the use of a visual medium—pictures, words, or a combination of the two. Yawn.
Do you typically work alone or with other people?
Both, actually. By that, I mean I usually design everything by myself, but I’m also on staff at Knopf, which means there are ten-plus designers just steps down the hall. And they are ten-plus great designers. We bounce stuff off of each other all the time, and it’s extremely helpful and encouraging. It’s the best of both worlds, actually. I wouldn’t be able to stay at home or in a studio alone and work in a complete vacuum. I know that works great for some people, but I need to be around others who are also making things. It’s very inspiring.
Do you work primarily by hand or with a computer?
Almost completely by computer, especially if I’m writing. But even back in school, well before the Mac came along, I was not big on sketching—I just don’t have the “sketch” impulse. I always tried to show work in as completed a form as possible, even at the rough stage. And of course the computer makes that a zillion times easier. That said, I do think that any worthy graphic design program should first teach kids to solve problems using their heads and their hands and leave the computer out of it.
Do you find that you have a process for initiating your design work?
The process starts with getting the assignment, which is usually to read a manuscript of a book I have to do the cover for. Then it can go any number of ways. If I don’t have a clear sense of what I should do, I’m instantly filled with dread, which hangs over me like a thin, stinky fog until I either figure out a way to solve the problem or throw in the towel. I will say, though, that those “eureka” moments—when it all comes together in your head and you realize the perfect thing to do and you just know it is right, whether the client will like it or not—those are the closest moments to sex in graphic design.
Are you ever given research by your clients you must consider for a project?
Sometimes the authors do the research for you, and every now and then, they pleasantly surprise you. Both John Updike and Orhan Pamuk presented me with the art to use for their most recent covers—Terrorist and Istanbul, respectively—and in both cases, they were terrific. Sure made my job easier.
How do you feel when a project is completed?
If it comes out well, relieved. If not, I’m at least glad it’s out of my life. Regardless, I’m usually on to the next thing long before the last thing is produced.
When do you know a project is finished?
When I see it remaindered at Barnes & Noble.
How do you know when something you’ve created is good?
When after ten years, I can look at it and not wince, that’s a good sign. Fifteen years, even better. Twenty and up—yay!
How confident are you in your own judgment?
It is all too easy to get so close to something you’re working on that you lose all perspective on it and you cannot tell. In such cases, if I have the luxury of time, I’ll put whatever it is away and come back to it later. Otherwise, I’d say my intuition has done me in pretty good stead.
How important to your work is writing?
In my case, extremely important, because I’m also a novelist. That sounds really pretentious, sorry. My great failing is that I’ve gotten so used to writing in Quark, in a text typeface, that I can’t really write much of anything unless I use my laptop. I would not recommend this method to others.
I’m often asked for advice on how to become a better graphic designer, and this is my response: “Two things—learn how to do crossword puzzles, and learn how to write.”
The former teaches you to think about language in a whole new way, and the latter forces you to use it. These are invaluable skills for any creative person.
Do you feel you are an intuitive designer or are you more intellectual in your approach?
I don’t see a difference in the two. Unless by “intellectual” you mean a design solution that requires reams of explanation in order to understand it, in which case I’d say it’s a total failure.
Do you sketch a lot?
No. I doodle a lot. And in my case that’s not the same thing. Regarding jobs, occasionally I find myself having to scrawl the odd idea onto a soggy bar napkin, just to get the most rudimentary point across. But I avoid that sort of thing as much as possible.
Are you wary of people who can’t draw?
Certainly not. Good draughtsmanship is a very, very difficult thing to achieve and usually requires years of dedication and hard work. What I am wary of, regarding this subject, is drawing that is deemed to be worthy of admiration but just leaves me scratching my head.
Do you keep a journal?
Alas, no. I just don’t have the sketchbook/journal/ diary gene, and I regret it terribly. I think I have a subconscious—or maybe not so subconscious—belief that the time I’d spend working on a journal could be better served by actually doing work. However, most creative people I know (especially cartoonists) do keep a journal; they find it therapeutic, and I have the greatest admiration for them. I had students at the School of Visual Arts whose personal sketchbooks were far more interesting than anything they did in the class.
Do you keep a book or files for inspiration?
Well, I do keep a scrapbook of sorts, in which I keep clippings of pullquotes from newspapers and magazines. They form a strange sort of reportorial haiku. I’ve been doing this for over seven years and am toying with the idea of publishing the collection. We’ll see.
Do you feel that your education has fundamentally influenced your design ability?
Without my education at Penn State—from Lanny Sommese, Bill Kinser, and others—I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. Conversely, the two best examples of self-taught designers I know are David Carson and Chris Ware. They are proof that it’s possible, but extremely rare, and I heartily recommend a formal design education, especially including a thorough study of the history of graphic design.
Who is your favorite graphic designer?
Non-living, I’d have to say it’s a four-way tie between El Lissitzky, Alexander Rodchenko, Piet Zwart, and Alvin Lustig. But, God, there are so many others. Living, I’d say Peter Saville, if you can call that living (sorry, Peter).
Who has influenced you most in your career as a graphic designer?
It’s corny to say it, but it’s the books themselves I have to design covers for that influence me the most. How could they not?
Typically, how many books do you read a year?
I’d say 30 to 40, which is a lot for me because I’m a very slow reader.
Do you read newspapers?
The New York Times, and, yes, The New York Post. Hey, there is no order without chaos. Often the Times is too discrete about a particular story, and the Post just goes for the jugular, which can be very refreshing. But its politics are abhorrent.
Where do you see yourself in five years? What are you doing?
The nice thing is that I can honestly say that if in five years I’m still doing what I’m doing now, that wouldn’t be bad at all. However, I have a few ideas about branching out in some new directions creatively and will be pursuing them. Whether the results get past the stage of “personal projects,” well, we’ll see.
Do you have recurring dreams or nightmares?
It’s little wonder that psychiatrists are paid to listen to other people’s dreams. I mean, is there anything more boring? Although, last night I had the Ruth Gordon nude-hazing dream again, and this time she was swinging the headless goat higher than she ever had before. Does that mean I hate my mother? Hold me.
Oh my God, how much time do you have? I live in almost constant terror. Here’s a tiny portion of the list: cancer, vaginas, giant cockroaches, Kathy Lee Gifford’s latest Christmas album, burning to death, tornados, gristle, children, choking on a small toy, the pope’s unwanted advances, matted clogs of hair, root rot, Deborah Sussman’s eyelash extensions, Republicans, and Sucralose. And the idea that Pat Robertson is not yet dead.
What makes you laugh?
This blind man walks into an expensive antique china shop on Madison Avenue with his huge German shepherd seeing-eye dog. No sooner does the shop clerk ask, “May I help you, sir?” than the man grips the dog’s handle with both hands, braces himself, and with a great heave hauls the massive beast off the ground in a single yank, and spins him around and around. The clerk cowers in fear. Having worked up tremendous momentum, the man finally lets the dog go and sends the terrified animal flying across the room, landing with a thunderous crash against an entire wall of priceless Ming vases, which explode into a million pieces. Then the man says, “No thanks, I’m just looking.”
How content are you with your life?
It’s not that simple.
I’d say that there are aspects of my life I’m very content with, and yet I’ll always be consumed with an intense yearning, and I think that’s necessary—total contentment can be a dangerous thing for a creative person.
Do you regret anything?
I regret not making the effort to meet Charles Schulz in his lifetime. I tried to make up for it by putting together a book that pays proper homage to his work. I think I was only partially successful.
What do you think of the state of contemporary graphic design?
I think of it as little as possible.
What do you think of Ken Garland’s 1964 First Things First manifesto?
However well-intended, I think it was pretentious nonsense. But I suppose I’m lucky enough to be in a position to say so. As the rabbi said, “Our task is to get on with the work.” The least effective way to do that is talking about what “we think” about it.
What about First Things First 2000?
Ditto. I’ve always considered myself to be very responsible about what I work on and how I work on it. That’s just common sense, and I don’t need a parcel of pseudo-intellectual claptrap (I’m referring to the manifesto itself, not necessarily the people who signed it) to tell me what to do.
What’s your response to Milton Glaser’s “12 Steps on the Road to Hell”? What number have you crossed?
I think it’s amusing and certainly to be considered.
But the only one that applies to me is number four: “Have you ever designed the jacket for a book that contains sexual content you find personally repellent?” For someone in the publishing business, this question is laughable in its oversimplification. There are entire libraries full of books with repellent sexual content that have won the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award, the Nobel, etc. Lolita is one long ode to pedophilia—which I find personally repellent, duh—and one of the best books I’ve ever read. I’ve designed a cover for a Brazilian edition of it and would do so again in a heartbeat. I think a better question would regard a given book’s intent.
For example, I would flat-out refuse to design a book cover for Ann Coulter or Bill O’Reilly.
Do you think graphic designers have any obligation to create design to inspire social change?
Yes, if that is your job. But it’s not implicit in the profession as a whole, and sometimes the social change that is “inspired” is not such a great thing.
Fascism in Italy did very well by some extremely beautiful art deco graphics and architecture. I think what you mean to say is “inspire positive social change.” I try to do that whenever I can, say for a New York Times Op-Ed piece or a political poster. But in my regular line of work, it’s the books themselves that have the far greater potential to affect and benefit the culture, not the jackets. And that’s just fine.
What do you love most about being a graphic designer?
Making things, and then having the things you make. In that sense, I’m a total materialist and not at all ashamed of it. I have been extremely privileged for the last 20 years to put together my own personal library of sorts, assembling great books that I’ve been lucky enough to design the covers for.
Is there anything you dislike about being a graphic designer?
There are so many other things I want to do, and time is running out. But I truly love what I do and am thankful I’m able to keep doing it. I should also add that I think it’s sad that most graphic designers still don’t get credit for their work. I’ve always maintained that whatever success and renown I’ve achieved as a graphic designer is because I’m in an industry—book publishing—that routinely gives credit to its designers. Kids, get your name on what you do. Peace out.