Figma quietly ships a variable-fonts API
No changelog, no fanfare — just an endpoint that lets you tween weight axes in prod. The good ones never announce.
via figma.comA Daily Almanac of Outbound Links
No changelog, no fanfare — just an endpoint that lets you tween weight axes in prod. The good ones never announce.
via figma.comA typographer argues legibility, not vibes, should decide. Hard to disagree before noon.
via readymag.comIt fits in a tweet and outlives the framework you'll abandon next year.
via github.comColumns that line up are a moral position, not an aesthetic one.
via tonsky.meBorders so thin they're a rumor. The whole web should look this calm.
via 1px.blogCosts more than my first car. I want it anyway.
via keebs.ccHit Cmd+P on any site and weep. Ten lines of CSS would fix it.
via printcss.liveA short manifesto on baseline alignment that runs longer than its subject deserves, and is right anyway.
via gridfetish.ioSomeone shipped a VFS. The little database that ate the world.
via sqlite.orgThe only screen where designers are still allowed to have fun.
via notfound.fyiOKLCH at the top, your brand hex deck at the bottom. Sorry.
via oklch.fyiNo onboarding, no modal, no consent banner. Just a blinking promise.
via warp.devFelt textures, brass knobs, the works. The pendulum keeps its appointment.
via dribbble.comEntirely Bézier. Beautiful, illegible, mine now.
via fontshare.comEverything else is marketing. A grumpy, correct read.
via danluu.comA border does the job, sober.
via flatui.wtfA loving census of feeds still pumping in 2026. Subscribe to something today.
via openrss.orgA repair diary. Spite as a maintenance strategy.
via ifixit.comTwenty years of preprocessors, gone in one spec line.
via w3.orgA field guide to the fi, the fl, and the obscure st.
via typo.landPagination is dignity. Bring back the page number.
via uxbites.devArchived heroes, all promising to revolutionize something. Strangely moving.
via web.archive.org2019 — On this day
Logged the very first dispatch: a 47-byte favicon and an apology. Nothing has improved; everything has compounded.