Lileks: Please stop changing the names
It has happened again.
Venerable local food-delivery company Schwan's made an announcement the other day: Forget our name. Please!
They've changed the name from Schwan's to Yelloh! Which means nothing! To anyone! If anything, it suggests that you no longer call them on the phone, but shout your order out the window.
It's a typical modern company name, inasmuch as it provides no hint what the business is. Perhaps you've had this conversation at a social gathering:
"Where do you work?"
"Bombbi."
"Oh! Is that a website where you can order pants, or an app that lets you hire someone to wash your windows?"
"It's a marketing company that positions strategic assets for vertical integration."
"I thought that was Bummbo."
"Bummbo merged with Zombi. We're Bombbi."
The names all sound like characters in a children's book.
I grew up in the age of Corporate Shorthand — AT&T, ITT, IBM. It never occurred to me that the letters stood for anything, and it was something of a surprise to learn that they did.
Later I learned that many companies had sturdy, honest names that told you exactly what the company did. U.S. Steel: Anyone have doubts about what they made and where they made it? No. Consolidated Tin Mines: It was a safe bet that they were a tin-centric concern. Amalgamated Wax: Thanks to the foresight of their founder, Betram Hardinger VonStroopwafl, they had achieved total wax amalgamation.
Not all were clear. General Tire, for example. It didn't seem like the sort of company that would sell you a specific tire.
"Say, I'm looking for a set of 37-inch steel-belted whitewall radials. You carry those?"
"Not precisely, no, but more or less."
"OK, well, I need them to fit my car. Will they?"
"In most cases, I'd say it's likely. Generally speaking."
I suppose you'd go to General Tire if you got your car from General Motors. Or perhaps you were confused by the other tire brands: Firestone, Bridgestone, Goodrich, Goodyear. You probably could ask for a Fireyear or Goodstone tire, and they'd give you one.
Anyway, not to sound like a cranky Minneapolitan who thinks it's all gone to perdition since "Mary Tyler Moore went off the air, but no one ever forgave Dayton's for changing its name. They spent 98 years building a brand, forging associations with Christmas and flower shows and Daisy sales and funny Warehouse Sales ads with Mr. Shirley, and then they torched it all and renamed the company Marshall Field's. And we were supposed to be happy!
"Oh, fantastic! We've lost a name and all the associated traditions with which we grew up, but hey, Marshall Field's has Frango Mints, so I guess it's an even swap."
If the Star and Tribune merger had occurred today, some marketing genius would recommend dumping both names in favor of something hip and modern.
"We'll call the new organization Medeyeah! You know, like media, but with ME, and Yeah!" It's silly, and needless, and frankly, it looks like a desperate bid for attention. Which makes it perfect."
Signed, Lilex!
