I spent two weeks in February walking the transfer corridors beneath North Station with a ruler in my coat pocket. The signs were not ugly because they were old; they were ugly because each committee had added a polite exception. A red arrow leaned east, a blue number sat low, and three different voices asked the same tired question.
Reduction is a civic service
The transit office wanted warmth. Riders wanted the platform before the doors closed. We kept the circle for movement, the square for place, and the triangle for warning, then removed every flourish that could not survive a missed train at 8:17.
By the second review, the map looked severe enough to make the room nervous. That was the proof. A useful system feels cold for one minute, then disappears into the hand.