You know the moment. The project's running, the client's happy, and the presentation is ready. Then someone asks: "Are we actually licensed for this typeface?" Suddenly, three people are staring at a sixteen-page PDF of fine print, trying to figure out whether a LinkedIn ad counts as social media or advertising, whether the client was allowed to send you the fonts in the first place, and whether the e-book costs extra. Are we exposed here? Nobody knows for sure. So you settle on a guess and carry on with a slightly uneasy feeling. I know that moment because I've been in it often enough. I draw typefaces now, but I am and have been a creative director. I've run campaigns, advised clients, missed deadlines, and pulled them back. And I know that the licensing question always comes at the worst possible time — and that it's rarely asked out of interest. It's asked out of quiet unease. That unease is what I wanted to get rid of.
Three licenses. All uses.
When I started TabulaType.Studio, one of the first decisions I made was that you shouldn't have to ask that question anymore. There are three licenses, and they're unambiguous. A Desktop License covers everything you design — print, logos, social media, digital advertising, broadcasting, e-books. Not as a list of exceptions, but because that's your job, and I don't want to break it into billable pieces. Then a Web License applies if the font runs on your website. And an App & Game License applies if it's built into an app. That's it. No logo surcharge. No broadcasting fee. No additional invoice because the ad became a social post. Most people only need the Desktop License.
By size, not by seats
The second thing mattered just as much to me: if you're small, you should pay less.
So the price follows the size of your company — not the number of people installing the font. Put it on every machine in the building. An international mid-sized company with ten thousand employees creates very different value with a typeface than a regional PR office with four editors. So the price follows company size, not the number of installations. That's fair, and it works for both sides.
At the bottom of that logic are freelancers and one-person studios. They pay half. Not as a discount, but because the model demands it: if size is the measure, the smallest unit has to pay the least.
And honestly, also because I have a soft spot for people going it alone. I know that day: designing in the morning, writing a proposal at lunch, and patching your own website at night. Anyone working like that shouldn't also have to fight a licensing table.
Pay once. Done.
Every license is perpetual. You buy it once, and it never expires. No annual fee, no renewal, no email from me in five years asking for money.
Not even if you grow. Four people today, forty in three years — you don't re-license. I'm giving up recurring revenue, and I know it. But I don't want your success to trigger an invoice from me.
And when I improve a typeface — kerning, more languages, extra diacritics — you get those updates free.
So you can get on with your work
My EULA still turned out longer than I'd like. Some things have to be precise, or they help nobody. But next to every clause that matters, there's a short version in plain English. So you can find what you need in ten seconds instead of guessing for ten minutes.
And if your case doesn't fit — for example, a tool where your users set their own text, or a font inside a device's operating system — I don't ban it. Just write to me. We'll find a solution.
Because in the end, this isn't about licenses. It's about you doing good work without a bad feeling in the back of your mind.
All clear? Or still wondering about something? I've answered the most common questions in the FAQ. If yours isn't there, drop me a line at hello@tabulatype.studio.