Massimo Vignelli, an Italian-born designer whose elegantly simple subway signs, business logos, shopping bags, books, furniture and dishware became reference points of daily life and touchstones in modern design, died May 27 at his home in New York City. He was 83.

Carl Nolan, a longtime employee of Mr. Vignelli’s, confirmed his death. The cause could not immediately be confirmed.

Mr. Vignelli, trained largely in Milan, came to the United States in the 1960s with his wife, Lella, and together they formed one of the most celebrated design partnerships of the postwar era and beyond. David Lasker, a design authority, once observed that “practically everyone in the Western world, at some time of the day, interacts with Vignelli’s handiwork.”

That handiwork, renowned for its combination of beauty and utility, included the red, white and blue logo of American Airlines, Bloomingdale’s Big Brown Bag, National Park Service pamphlets with their trademark black strip, and the gilded covers of Fodor’s travel books. Perhaps most notably, he helped lead the design of a short-lived schematic map of the New York City subway system.

“We like to do design that affects millions of people,” Mr. Vignelli once told the New York Times.

Massimo Vignelli shows his subway signs proposed for the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority in 1968. Mr. Vignelli, the celebrated designer, died May 27 at 83. (Jim McNamara/The Washington Post)

Introduced in 1972, the subway map unknotted and color-coded the mess of tracks and tunnels and simplified their routes in straight lines and clean angles. It was replaced in 1979, however, after complaints that it distorted the city’s above-ground geography.

While controversial as a piece of cartography (Mr. Vignelli opted not to depict parks in green and water in blue), the map was enshrined in the collection of the city’s Museum of Modern Art and continues to be admired as an object of modernist design. In recent years, it was revived for an online guide to weekend subway service.

The New York City map was not Mr. Vignelli’s only venture into the bowels of urban underground transportation. In the late 1960s, he proposed the towering pylons that became the principal signage medium for Washington’s Metro system. (Mr. Vignelli also was credited with suggesting “Metro” as the system’s name.)

He initially encountered resistance to his design of the trunks, which were to be planted outside station entrances and along platforms and to identify stops in vertical text. “Are you worried about stiff necks?” one official asked him at the time. But Mr. Vignelli’s ideas ultimately prevailed.

Often described as clean and functional, Mr. Vignelli’s works were high on style and low on clutter. The Vignelli-designed Handkerchief chair — so named for the seat’s resemblance to a billowing hankie — became ubiquitous in public areas.

The chair is “stackable, cleanable, virtually indestructible and gorgeous in a minimalist way,” Washington Post design critic Linda Hales wrote after studying specimens at Reagan National Airport. Its proportions, she continued, “are gracious enough to accommodate all sizes, the material just springy enough, the curves in all the right places to make waiting as bearable as possible.”

Mr. Vignelli argued the centrality of function — rather than fashion — in design. He once created a line of high-rimmed dishes that could be attractively stacked to conceal leftovers as diners moved from one course to the next.

The New York Subway map designed by Massimo Vignelli, 1970. (Courtesy of MoMA/Courtesy of MoMA)

“We despise the culture of obsolescence, the culture of waste, the cult of the ephemeral,” reads a sort of design manifesto titled “The Vignelli Canon.” “We detest the demand of temporary solutions, the waste of energies and capital for the sake of novelty. We are for a Design that lasts, that responds to people’s needs and to people’s wants.”

Massimo Vignelli was born Jan. 10, 1931, in Milan, a design capital of Europe, where as a young man he worked as a draftsman and studied architecture. He said that he had absorbed the dictum that “an architect should be able to design everything from a spoon to a city.”

He studied at the Brera academy of fine arts and the Polytechnic University in Milan, as well as at the University of Venice, before settling in the United States. He worked in the early years of his career with the noted design company Unimark International before opening a firm with Lella Valle Vignelli, whom he married in 1957 and whom he credited as his chief collaborator.

Besides his wife, of New York, survivors include two children, Luca Vignelli of New York City and Valentina Vignelli Zimmer of Frankfurt, Germany; and three grandchildren.

Mr. Vignelli did design work over the years for Gillette personal-care products, Ford Motor Co., Xerox and IBM. One client he was not able to lure, he said, was the Vatican. Speaking to the Times, Mr. Vignelli quipped that he would have told the pope: “Your holiness. The logo is O.K., but everything else has to go.’’

Mr. Vignelli lectured widely on design and, at times expressed, his impatience with what he regarded as rampant mediocrity in the field.

“There are too many people with no education in graphic design. And because they have access to computers, there’s no end to what they create — signage, newsletters and so forth,” he once told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. “It’s pollution! They have no idea whatsoever about the dignity of type. If they were pharmaceuticals companies, we’d all be poisoned. But we are poisoned anyhow, visually.”

Among the principles he promoted was timelessness.

“When everybody’s making a lot of noise,” Mr. Vignelli once said, “the one that’s silent is more visible.”