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About

I kept needing a font that didn't exist.

So I started drawing them. Loneman Type Studio is one person in Boulder making the typefaces he wishes he could have licensed.

Every family here started as a dead end on somebody else’s project. A packaging job that needed a slab with actual grit in it, not a clean revival with a texture filter slapped on top. A poster that wanted letters looking like they’d been pulled off a garage wall. I’d spend two days scrolling marketplaces, find nothing that fit, and settle for something close enough.

Eventually settling got old. I figured if I had a use for it, some other designer probably did too.

That’s the whole thesis

These aren’t typefaces designed to be neutral or to cover every case. Each one solves a specific problem I actually ran into, which is why they have names like Motor Oil and Garage Floor instead of Latin surnames. Bar Cart came from a menu. Panic Switch came from a record sleeve. Milk Crate came from wanting something stackable and blunt.

Why the textures

Four of the families ship with a texture axis alongside their weights — the same letterforms pressed harder, inked wetter, or scraped back clean. Real materials aren’t consistent. Ink bleeds differently on newsprint than on coated stock, and a stencil sprayed twice doesn’t land the same way twice.

Drawing those variations by hand instead of generating them means you get to choose how rough a thing reads, and it stays legible at the sizes you actually set it. It’s the part I’d want as a customer, so it’s the part I spend the most time on.

Type with weather in it.

How it’s made

Drawn first, usually badly, usually on paper. Digitised, spaced, kerned, and then set in something real to see where it falls apart — because a typeface that only looks good in a specimen isn’t finished.

What you get

OTF and self-hosted WOFF2, a license written in plain English, and a foundry small enough that the person who drew the font is the person who answers the email.