We write from our journeys, our learning process, our communities of thought, our desires and contradictions. This text was co-authored: the “we” speaking here refers to Enz@ Le Garrec and Camille Circlude, the initiators of a research project led in close collaboration with the Bye Bye Binary collective (BBB), of which we are members.

Today, BBB is made up of a variety of people: artists, designers, performers, thinkers, researchers. Every individual practice feeds the collective imagination, BBB’s objective being not just post-binary typographic design but also bringing attention to the political aspect of graphic design as a whole, from a trans*feminist, transfagbidyke, queer activist research perspective.

Our position is that of researchers, both subject and object of our own research project. We inhabit the object of study; we are immersed in, shaped and nourished by the exchanges and tensions that drive us. For this text, we’ve invited Gorge and Victoriæ Pildaer to think along with us.

Living archives

The Post-binary typography: research on uses, appropriations and pollination research project seeks to produce an archive of post-binary font use. Archiving these practices as they are produced is important in order to avoid reproducing historiographical invisibilisation and domination. To us, these are living archives:¹ the collective archival practice of taking the archive out of power-knowledge—in dialogue with the people involved—and creating performative archives that do things in the here and now.

History, as it is shaped by these archives, is never neutral, because it is crafted by those* who have the ability, the time, the resources and the connections needed to collect and store information. Infused with structural racism, classism, ableism and ageism, this bias results in stories that reflect the experiences of privileged groups.

If we are to accurately understand the production of archives about post-binary typography, to avoid controlling the research process and to accurately take care of these archives, our research project must involve the users* of post-binary fonts. We invited users* of post-binary fonts to a seminar entitled Scan Party & Archives vives [Scan Party & Living Archives].² Over the course of three days, we were able to scan or photograph many documents, which were then added to the Révolution typographique post-binaire [Post-binary typographical revolution] online database (typo-inclusive.net).

During this seminar, we had the opportunity to speak with linguist and researcher Julie Abbou as well as design researcher and teaching fellow Élise Goutagny at a roundtable entitled Résistances graphiques. Archives. Techniques. Pouvoirs. [Graphic resistance. Archives. Techniques. Power.]³. Julie Abbou asked us about how we file documents: “There’s a lot going on about archives right now, but what I’m interested in is where archival—as a process of drawing order out of disorder—will encounter resistance.”

Some objects resist the categories of archival storage boxes. The traditional archive, which Sam Bourcier calls “dad’s archive”, only concerns itself with “good” documents. We experienced this with Bye Bye Binary, as the Kandinsky Library Archives only accepted paper-based items that explicitly mentioned a specific context of production. What about flags, objects, t-shirts, students*’ Masters dissertations and other ephemera? In contrast, living archives allow for a negotiation of the disorder, heterogeneity and complexity in archives. Even though it is not possible to rethink the whole filing system, it is necessary to adjust the classification as the archive takes shape. Most importantly, as Élise Goutagny emphasised, “how do we still make objects meet when they are boxed up and kept apart?”

During our conversation, Élise told us an anecdote that illustrates not only the material and contingent nature of archives, but also their subjective and situated dimension: “When I went to the Archives Recherches Cultures Lesbiennes in Paris (…),⁴ I [told] myself ‘Oh, that’s funny, why is this stored together with that?’ and the person replie[d] ‘That’s normal, we just ran out of space in the other cupboard!’” This anecdote brings the archive into focus as a space that is alive and imperfect, shaped by material conditions as well as semantic choices made throughout the process of classification.

A catalogue of uses

Julie Abbou mentioned sociologist Susan Leigh Star, who theorised “informational infrastructures”: “Susan Leigh Star looks at many classification systems that have nothing to do with each other at first glance, and claims that each system requires very concrete, material structures to enable filing, and people to do the work of filing, but, meanwhile, no one agrees about the filing system or the categories. Those infrastructures are only revealed when a problem occurs, when they become dysfunctional.”

Our “informational infrastructure” is the “catalogue of uses” we developed on Révolution typographique post-binaire, which shows how the fonts we document in our research are used, the context in which they appeared and the context in which they circulate. The catalogue is a space where objects can meet and tell their stories. It contains more than 200 contributions, published through a submission form. This form helps us collect a lot of information about the documents themselves, as well as sociological data.

Our two-year research project is coming to an end, and we do not know whether funds will be available to keep it up to date. Therefore, this catalogue of uses should be seen as a photograph of practices that will keep expanding. Julie Abbou likes to evoke the metaphor of “framing shutters that cut up the light in a theatre”, as something that “cuts into reality”.

The working group we created to build this catalogue met very frequently between November 2023 and April 2025 to scan, proofread, edit, and publish the data sheets.⁵

The catalogue lists various types of material (flyers, leaflets, posters, flags, t-shirts, scarves, stencil makers, card games). Books (13,1%), zines (8,1%) and magazines (6,1%) are most frequently reported, mainly in A4 and A5 formats.⁶

Most contributors* identify as “woman” (38,9%), “non-binary” (12,3%), “genderfluid” (9,3%) or “queer” (9,9%). An overwhelming percentage of contributors* (79,6%) say that they are part of the LGBTQIA+ community, among which 38% identify as “Queer”, 28,9% as “Lesbian” and 15,6% as “Bi”. As for the TPBG acronym,⁷ 42,3% of contributors* identify as “Dyke”. Most contributors* come from the lesbian/dyke community. Bravo les lesbiennes ! ⁸

Some uses must be highlighted: decor for a Toulouse Pride float, subtitles for the show Wireless People and marble engravings by artist Maxime Maubouss. These uses of post-binary fonts would not have been included in traditional archives, as they fall outside of normal filing systems. Engraving post-binary fonts in marble also illustrates the stable and enduring dimension of writing, just like Victoriæ Pildaer inscribed the post-binary ligature æ in fær name on fær identity card.⁹

Indeed, during our interview with trans* visibility and human rights advocate Victoriæ,¹⁰ fæ commented on fær need for this ligature to fær name, which emerged alongside fær awareness of fær agender identity and first materialised through fær pronoun: “This name change originally came from the French pronoun ælle,¹¹ which I like to think of as a close equivalent to the English fæ. I was also inspired by the many trans and non-binary people I met.” Fæ emphasises that very few people have tried to respect fær need: “I can count the people who really tried to use that pronoun to refer to me on the fingers of one hand”. Even if fæ still feels comfortable about fær public and political identity as a trans woman, this binary does not fit with fær identity. Fæ wanted to change “Victoria” for “Victoriæ” from that point on: “I did not want a cisgender name anymore. I wanted my name to be mine and to reflect my intimate experience of gender. (…) I felt very emotional when I received my new identity card. A mix of pride, self-fulfilment, and joy.”

Pirate Identities

Gorge’s Fatal*e ou l’impossible phantasme is a striking example of the intersecting challenges we faced.¹² Indeed, the author* exaggerates the use of different fonts, post-binary or not.

Gorge situates hi·er work in what x·se calls experimental and “sexual writing”: the search for an exciting language (or tongue) conducive to sexual awakening.

In our interview with Gorge,¹³ we discussed hi·er excessive use of post-binary fonts. Post-binary typographies help hi·er “pace and amplify speech”. X·Se worked in close collaboration with graphic designer Roxanne Maillet—who created the book cover—and was very inspired by her typo·graphic overlays. Gorge says that typo·graphic overload is a different kind of legibility in the service of narrative content.

This is where Gorge’s multiple identities crystallise. As x·se performs and publishes hi·er books and zines under different pen names, hi·er identity becomes evasive and anonymous. One day, someone even asked hi·er if x·se knew Élodie Petit, which is hi·er own name. This strategy also aligns with hi·er anti-capitalist position: x·se refuses (sometimes unconsciously) to accumulate the symbolic capital that comes with personal recognition: “I don’t know how conscious this process is. It’s fun for me and I don’t want to overthink it. In that sense, yes, it is a willingness to escape the system because I don’t think it’s something that matters.”

While Élodie Petit is credited with Fiévreuse Plébéienne and Gorge authored Fatal*e, x·se examines the idea of escaping the capitalist system: “I wonder what it would have been like to publish Fatal*e as Élodie Petit. Because clearly, right know, I have no press coverage, I’m floating in some sort of nebula. But I also find it so cool when you’re not so tightly held to what’s expected of you. If I wanted to capitalise on my name, I would certainly have kept it, but that’s actually not my intention. Anti-system and anti-capitalist politics are in my blood.”

Meanwhile, for Victoriæ Pildaer, adding a ligature in fær name is a sort of “twist that meets my need to not be considered as a binary person anymore”. Surprisingly, the civil service accepted this twist when it was officially recorded on fær identity card. Yet, it exposed technical limitations in some digital infrastructures. Indeed, several databases (mailing services, university and hospital registries, etc.) struggle to include this special character: “Among other computer errors, there’s obviously ‘Victoriae’ [without the ligature], but there’s also ‘Victoriai’ and my favourite: ‘Victori?’”. Beyond technical constraints, the ligature also raises doubts in oral interactions. Some interlocutors* articulate “Vic-to-ri-ah-eh”, while Victoriæ prefers “Vic-to-ria” in oral conversations. This phonetic difference is a useful indicator to Victoriæ, as it helps fær quickly distinguish between the people* who know about and respect fær personal journey, and those* who are not aware of it.

Queer & Camp Aesthetics

We designed a collective font with queer and camp aesthetics. Seven members of the collective worked on it at the same time, which was a major challenge.¹⁴ Together, we tried to imagine what qualities would convey such aesthetics in a font.

Our understanding of “queer” hinges on revolutionary potential. For David Halperin, “[q]ueer is by definition whatever is at odds with the normal, the legitimate, the dominant.”¹⁵

Camp is an aesthetico-political strategy according to Susan Sontag,¹⁶ and an ethic and etiquette [savoir-vivre] according to Patrick Mauriès.¹⁷ Marguerin Le Louvier reminds us about the origin of the word: “The English word ‘camp’ comes from the French ‘camper’: to strike a pose, which usually means ‘mannered’, ‘excessive’, also ‘affected’”.¹⁸

Would a queer font disagree with the normal—with the white and colonial tradition of typography? Would a camp font be a matter of queer attitude, as Paul Soulellis suggests in his essay “What Is Queer Typography?”¹⁹

We created two teams to coordinate type design among seven people, following the observation that our early sketches went in two different directions: LOVE aesthetics, with loops, arabesques, hearts, frills, and both thick and thin strokes ; and angrier, spicier, thicker, more gothic RAGE aesthetics that evoked Blackletters typefaces.

This typeface would obviously be called LOVE & RAGE, which was already present in many Bye Bye Binary designs, and often used as a motto by the collective. The history of this poetic and political slogan is rooted in North American anarchist, feminist, and queer movements. The Love and Rage Revolutionary Anarchist Federation made it popular in the 1990s.²⁰ This motto affirms a dual commitment: on the one hand, love for justice, community and freedom; on the other hand, rage against oppression, racism, capitalism and the patriarchy.²¹

During our interview with Gorge, x·se analogised LOVE & RAGE and the idea of remaining a menace: “It means that we must always stay menacing in all we do. In Fatal*e, I really criticise queer consensuality.” For Gorge, this consensuality manifests in the production of stories that heterosexuals can handle: “If we’re always this palatable, then we’ll always get screwed, because we lose ourselves. (…) Stay a menace and LOVE & RAGE—I think they’re kind of the same thing.”

Knowledge Extraction and Colonisation

These reflections prompt us to interrogate the conditions for queer, antiracist, trans*, fag, bi, dyke, and/or feminist knowledge production in a capitalist, sexist, bourgeois and racist system. This means interrogating and remaining critical of colonial and extractivist acts (others’ as well as our own), when counter-discourses and knowledges are distorted and thrust into the logic of capitalisation. As we wrote in our article “Ces colères qui nous honorent” [Angers that do us honour],²² this logic breaks genealogies with no ethics of care whatsoever for the communities directly working on these knowledges.

These considerations motivated us to write the Conditions d’utilisation typographiques engageantes [Conditions for Engaging Typographic Use]or CUTE.²³ A lot of post-binary typeface production is rooted in open source culture, but not without questioning its inability to convey counter-discourses. We offer the CUTE as a tool to connect people who design, share, and use post-binary fonts, while attempting to rebalance power relations at play in copyright logics and to collectively resist knowledge extraction and colonisation.

The CUTE were written collaboratively and we invite others to join in.²⁴ The first version is expected to change over time.

Legibility

Researcher and doctor of graphic and typographic design Ann Bessemans²⁵ and speech therapist Christella Bigingo got us thinking about what we mean by legibility. They emphasise that there is no such thing as universal legibility, and that “universal legibility” can have several meanings. We are interested in the legibility and intelligibility of post-binary fonts to people experiencing cognitive issues that impact their ability to read (ADHD, ASD, and specific learning difficulties such as dyslexia and dyspraxia). This is an unprecedented question in typographical research. Graphic design, research, typography, and teaching practices in those disciplines are particularly insensitive about ableism in the field.

Our research project was an opportunity to create a material framework to investigate this question and expand on the research begun by our colleagues in the collective. Therefore, we now have the first elements of an answer to the question that guided this long-term investigation: “is inclusive writing accessible to dyslexic people?”

To do so, a type design team worked on a post-binary font prototype,²⁶ applying several legibility criteria. This font aimed for a “high legibility potential” and the team decided to call it BBB ReadMe. Several studies informed the designers*, including work by Luz Rello and Ricardo Baeza-Yates,²⁷ Sofie Beier,²⁸ Justine Bulteau²⁹ and Sophie Vela.³⁰

The design team then analysed highly legible fonts: Lucette by Alice Savoie, Inconstant Regular by Daniel Brokstad, Nordica by Ladislas Mandel and Minuscule by Thomas Huot Marchand. Sophie Vela’s essay “Les larmes n’améliorent pas la lisibilité" [Tears don’t improve legibility] gives a detailed account of this step in the design process.³¹

Based on these observations, the design team imagined variations on post-binary ligatures. The variant we called Epsilon uses the sign ɛ to mark gender neutrality, while the Superscript variant raises ligatures above the baseline, and an alternative Epsilon variant suggests ligatures that intertwine without touching.

These different variants were then tested for legibility through semi-directed interviews with 70 volunteers living with cognitive issues that impact their ability to read.³² The results were analysed in order to recommend design corrections to complex ligatures.³³

The Epsilon variant clearly stands out, as 81% of volunteers considered this system to be more legible, with and without design alternatives. The Superscript variant meets some individuals’ specific needs with regards to legibility, but it raises symbolic questions: using superscript for feminine gender markers inscribes them in smaller letters, thus implying an implicit gender hierarchy.

These results are detailed in our article “Conclusions de l’étude de lisibilité de la fonte BBB ReadMe” [Conclusions of the BBB ReadMe font legibility study], available at typo-inclusive.net.

Partial Alliances

We prefer “partial alliances” to Haraway’s “partial connections”³⁴ to describe the fact that we sometimes have to accept contradictory positions. The concept of partial alliances evokes allyship as a relationship involving all partners’ active responsibility, more so than the notion of “connections”. It refuses ideological purity and acknowledges that we sometimes have to accept strategic compromise. Allyship is not just symbolic or performative positioning: it implies a commitment to demonstrating support through concrete actions, educating oneself, publicly taking a stance against discrimination, and actively participating in the creation of workspaces that are safer, inclusive and free from precariousness.

Since 2022, the Théâtre La Balsamine in Brussels has supported our research through its commission of the BBB Karrik fork³⁵. This alliance crystallised at a strategic moment, as the theatre was seeking a new executive director. In the project submitted as part of their application, Isabelle Bats and Mathias Varenne explicitly included a collaboration with the collective. As they included individuals from communities that are directly affected, ahead of securing their positions, they provided a perfect example of the principle of “Nothing about us without us”,³⁶ and thus demonstrated active, situated allyship. Other commissions followed, such as the BBB Poppins fork for the Théâtre national Wallonie-Bruxelles, the BBB Sprat fork for FAME festival, the BBB Open Sans fork for Les Halles in Schaerbeek, and BBB DM Sans for the Théâtre Varia.

Convinced that theatres could act as agents for the implementation of post-binary typography, these institutions all seized the opportunity presented by a change in executive direction.³⁷

We had not anticipated that our alliances would grow to such proportions. Our work took us across Brussels, from one institution to another, in a kind of trans*humance carrying a variety of topics and people willing to engage in long-term collective reflection. This process continued at Les Halles in Schaerbeek and the Kaaitheater, ending with a research presentation at the Beursschouwburg.

This series of roundtables about our research started in November 2023 at the Théâtre national with the event “Un point inclusif·ve” [About an Inclusive Mid·point], which gathered around fifty workers from Belgian cultural institutions. This first study day sparked conversations about pollination dynamics in post-binary font use, as we explored both the motivations and doubts that teams expressed in taking on this project.

Following this first event, we collectively elaborated a practical guide to foster the implementation of inclusive writing and post-binary typography within institutions. Les Halles in Schaerbeek took over: they contributed to this guide, entitled Pour une langue de tous·tes les possibles [For a language of endl·ess possibilities], and organised the next meeting. They introduced a workshop about inclusive pictograms and the first in a series of workshops about inclusivity in Dutch, where preliminary research was presented following a workshop led by Eugénie Bidaut at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Anvers.

This study day gathered several Dutch-language institutions, including the Beursschouwburg and the Kaaitheater, where the following roundtable was held in January 2025. These partners were also enthusiastic about co-funding our inclusive pictogram kit. Even though we are still seeking funding to finalise it, the first version has now been integrated into the BBB ReadMe font. Co-financing is driven by the mutualisation of resources and free, open-source redistribution to as many people as possible.

Reflections about the Dutch language continued at the Beursschouwburg in March 2025, during a workshop where we heard non-binary poet neneh noï and researcher Vief Cornelissen, who presented their thesis Genderinclusief Taalgebruik.³⁸ Using online mapping, we produced a synthesis of the avenues and potential solutions explored during this meeting. Amber Vanluffelen (rekto:verso), Titane Michiels (Kaaitheater), and Camille Circlude (BBB)—for typographical sketches —collaborated on this mapping.

Our trans*humance also led us to question the inclusivity of the museum space. During LABdays 2024 and 2025, organizedorganised by Maak & Transmettre and l’Architecture qui dégenre at La Centrale, Eugénie Bidaut and Camille Circlude finalised a second guide, Écrire un musée déconstruit[Writing a deconstructed museum]. This guide is intended for professionals working in cultural spaces. It introduces a series of best practices to make texts and mediation materials more accessible and signage more inclusive.

During our interview with Gorge, we asked hi·er how x·se negotiates hi·er relationship to institutions in hi·er writing and performance work, as it is shown in contemporary writing and art spaces as well as feminist spaces, squats, and bars: “It’s essential that you keep questioning your relationship with the institution. Sometimes you stop doing it because you give in to some kind of easy option. (…) Obviously, if there’s cash to take, I take it. I think we need money to come our way. (…) Being paid by institutions makes it possible for me to go to more politicised spaces where I’m paid less.”

We were committed to developing such alliances throughout our research, not only so that our work can reach a wider audience, but also because, following Françoise Collin and Irène Kaufer, we believe that “[a]ll revolutions are both insurrection and institutionalisation³⁹”.