This one is really for bike industry product managers and marketers, but read on, because you might find it amusing. On the Paceline, each week, we talk about products we like, and what doing that week after week has brought home to me is just how badly named so many really good products are. As a person who consults in that space, it pains me to see something good hamstrung by a bad name, which is, after all, often the first thing you learn about a product.
Some of the things that make a name poor are: 1) It’s a number instead of a word. 2) It’s too long. 3) It’s too local, like it might harken a place name that’s important to the company but not to anyone else. 4) It’s a joke that just isn’t that funny. 5) It’s a word people don’t know or don’t use. 6) It’s a word/name you made up.
optimized gearing options, rugged reliability, and quiet and stable drivetrain, sets itself apart from the rest of the component world.
Now, in a second, I’ll give real world examples for each of these, but before I do that I want to acknowledge that naming things is really hard. People underestimate it. I’ve participated in the naming of a few products, and despite being a full-time word guy, I’ve not been massively successful at it. I will say that, for just about everything you want to name, when you find the right one, you know it, and I believe a lot of companies fall short on this score because they don’t give the process enough time.
So first, numbers. There are exceptions to this rule, like when the number is palindromic (Can numbers be palindromic?), like with the Mazda 323 or 626, which have a ring and a balance, although I’d argue they tell potential customers nothing about the cars. Maybe one is bigger than the other? I don’t know. As examples of when numbers don’t work, just see pretty much the entire line of Assos clothing. Assos makes among the very best cycling apparel on the market, but I couldn’t actually name a single thing they make. Imagine how successful they’d be if they gave some of those pieces a personality.
This same principle applies to acronyms that mean something to the company but not the consumer. It’s not that we won’t eventually catch on to what they’re trying to get across, but why make that process a challenge? One example is the Giant TCR. What is that? And who cares?
Next, it’s too long. This is pretty obvious. It’s tempting to try to fully describe a product for consumers, but you end up with a description, not a name. Craft makes something called the MEN’S CORE SUBZ WIND BIB CYCLING TIGHTS. That’s seven words and at least three of them are redundant or don’t mean anything to me.
Next, it’s too local. I’ll just grab a couple examples from car world. The Hyundai Sante Fe, the Tuscon, the Kona. These are all places I know, but they evoke warm weather that I don’t live in. I have a hard time matching those products to my geography. One bike example I can think of, and this is a fantastic bike, so know that I’m not criticizing the actual machine, is the Parlee Chebacco. It’s named after the area they developed it, which is nice, but means nothing to most people. Potential customers will misspell it, which is a problem, and it doesn’t evoke any feelings in people who don’t know what or where it is.
Next, it’s a joke that just isn’t funny. This is pretty subjective, I understand, but I think of names a bit like tattoos. It could even be really, really funny, but is it going to be funny everyday forever? Probably not, sadly. One example is the Evil Chamois Hagar gravel bike, a universally well-reviewed bike. But Sammy Hagar is the worst thing that ever happened to Van Halen, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about this bike, other than the guys at Evil have a reasonable sense of humor.
Or, it’s a word people don’t know or don’t use. I get this one. When you’re naming something, and all the good, obvious names are taken, you resort to the deep cuts from the Thesaurus. Like the Marin Gestalt.
Finally, the name you made up. Trek took Madone, which runs afoul of the place names I don’t know rule, and compounds it by making up Domane and Emonda from the same letters. Um. OK. I don’t know what any of those bikes are. I mean, I do, because it’s partly my business to know, but if you don’t you’re in the dark. Specialized might be winning their head to head battle for the simple fact that they have better bikes names. I’m not even kidding.
One final thing, once you’ve found a good name, don’t abuse it. Like Cannondale doesn’t need to have a million versions of the TopStone or the Scalpel. Everything Fox makes doesn’t need to be the Ranger something-or-other. Take your time. Differentiate. Or…take the clue that you’re making too much of the same thing.
Like my Litespeed T1 SL Disc. World’s coolest bike name, ruined.
There’s no T2, nor even T3, but there’s a T5. You should call them.
Yes, naming is hard. In my many years in advertising and marketing, naming projects were often the most time-consuming (and sometimes lucrative, if we were getting paid by the hour). Everyone’s opinion is valid and everyone has an opinion. I remember one project in particular for a large, Fortune 100 company that took weeks. We were tasked with coming up with names for their internal employee website that would track each employee’s benefits programs and streamline internal communications and project management.
After weeks of going around and around and generating, literally, thousands of names, the client finally settled on the very first name we presented. It was fine. We were being paid by the hour, a trick we learned after getting our brains beat in our first naming projects where we working on a project cost.
When I bought a Litespeed gravel bike, it was called the Litespeed Gravel. Simple enough. Name follows function. Couldn’t find that on their web site any more and had no idea what some of the other names (Cherohala, Watia, Toscano, Montypythonia, etc) meant. Just give me the frame specs and build options, OK?
Some things make sense if the market is small enough and knows the product. Porsche 911 vs 928 vs. 944, vs. 951, etc. People who bought Porsche knew what the numbers meant and they didn’t change for decades. I had a 944 and a 951 and still have a hole in my pocket for the effort but they were great cars. Were I rich, I’d look for a 917. Now Porsche is into selling SUVs to poseurs and calls them Macons or Cayennes or some other crap. What does that mean? Actually, I think they should name all their SUVs Porsche Poseurs.