Last week wine distributor Lot18 and MGM – producer of the Hulu streaming series The Handmaid’s Tale – announced one of the more harebrained merchandising collabs of recent years: three wines named after the show’s most prominent characters, Offred, Ofglen, and Serena Joy. It went about as badly as you might expect, and within 24 hours the wines had disappeared from the Lot18 website.
In the February 2 issue of The New Yorker, Lizzie Widdicombewrites about a new clothing retailer, Kit and Ace, that recently opened its first New York City shop.
The company has an athleisure*(athletic + leisure) pedigree: one of the co-founders, Shannon Wilson, is married to Chip Wilson, who founded the yogawear pioneer Lululemon. The other co-founder is Chip’s oldest son, JJ. (Chip Wilson, who is an informal adviser to Kit and Ace, “resigned from Lululemon’s board last year, after a disastrous episode involving unintentionally see-through yoga pants,” writes Widdicombe.)
Where did the Kit and Ace name come from? Here’s Widdicombe:
JJ oversees branding for the Kit and Ace line. The name, he explained, refers to two imaginary “muses” that he and Shannon came up with. Kit is the name Shannon would have given a daughter (for Vancouver’s Kitsilano beach, “where all my dreams came true,” she said). “I think of Kit as Shannon in her heyday,” JJ said. “An artist at heart, a creator. A West Coast girl. An athlete.” Ace, her masculine counterpart, is “a West Coast guy. He likes things that are easy and carefree.” He filled out the picture: Ace surfs. “He’s graduated college. He’s thirty-two. He’s maybe dating The One.”
Could Ace be modelled on JJ? His parents teased. “He’s a bit of a pain in the ass!” Shannon said.
“A little pretentious,” Chip said, laughing.
There’s no explanation of the symbol that stands in for “and.”
Besides being plausible personal names, kit and ace have other relevant meanings. Kit can mean “a set of articles or implements used for a specific purpose” (a survival kit; a shaving kit), while ace can mean “expert” or “first rate.” Both words can function as verbs (to kit out, to ace a serve) as well as nouns.
This isn’t JJ’s first foray into retail, or into company names that follow the X + Y formula: He founded Wings + Horns, a menswear company, in Vancouver in 2004.
Kit and Ace sells clothes made from a washable fabric blend the company calls Qemir (sometimes uncapitalized; pronunciation uncertain): 81 percent viscose, 9 percent cashmere, 10 elastene. The company has applied for trademark protection for “Qemir” and for a tagline: “Technical Cashmere.”
Kit and Ace, like Lululemon and Wings + Horns before it, was born in Vancouver, BC; a second U.S. store opened in January on San Francisco’s Fillmore Street.
For another retail store name taken from imaginary “muses,” see my 2012 post about Georgi & Willow. For more “X + Y” retail names, seethis post and my Pinterest board. For a roundup of restaurant “X + Y” names, see this post.
Heroes:Quidsi, the parent company of a clutch of e-tailers (Diapers.com, Soap.com, Look.com, et al.), thinks very highly of its workforce and “culture.” Its employees aren’t just model citizens. They aren’t merely heroes. They’re superheroes! With … superpowers?
By the way, for an interesting take on “our culture” as a code word to screen out older (i.e., over 30) job applicants, see “The Brutal Ageism of Tech” in the New Republic.
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Not your close relative’s X:Intacct, a “cloud accounting company,” wants you to know it ain’t no dinosaur.
“This ain’t your grandpa’s financial system.”
Earlier posts about “Not your close relative’s X” here and here.
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Super-comparatives:Harry’s—cute name for a shaving company—isn’t just sharp. Or sharper. It’s sharperer. And less expensiver. Clever branding or risky linguistic overreach?
Note the apostrophe on the razor handle.
All the self-consciously hip brands are doing it, of course. Here’s a promo for ABC’s “Revenge”; the tagline is “Later. Sexier. Revengier.”
Food portmanteaus: Taco Bell is testing a quesarito (a hybrid quesadilla/burrito), which will come as old news to Chipotle customers. The owners of a couple of Shoprite markets in New Jersey claim to have invented the donnoli (hybrid donut/cannoli). At the Donut Fest in Chicago back in January, an NPR reporter tasted a doughscuit (“an impossible mix of doughnut-fried sweetness and crumbly biscuitness”) And the Portland, Maine, bakery Little Bigs got slapped down in its attempt to sell a cronut imitation as a crauxnut. Little Bigs asked customers to suggest a new name. The winner: C&D (for “cease and desist”).
And this just in: The New York Timesreports on the cragel (croissant + bagel), the mallomac (Mallomar + macaron), the scuffin (scone + muffin), and other hybrid baked goods.
Caps and consonants: Yep, still a THNG! DSPTCH sells camera straps, bags, and related accessories in San Francisco’s Dogpatch neighborhood. Or is that DGPTCH?
Meanwhile, Japanese retail giant Uniqlo has launched SPRZ NY, “a new global project where art and fashion meet, creating something magical.”
Spores? Spritz? Something Preternaturally Random and Zany? Nope, nope, nope.Surprise!
In retail branding this season, ampersands are the new black. I’ve written previously about ampersand-linked retail brand names like Judith & Charles, Fifth & Pacific, and Georgi & Willow, and I’m working on a new post that compiles more than 30 additional “X & Y” names. In the meantime, here are two examples of how the ampersand is extending its reach.
Crate & Barrel, the mid-market home-furnishings chain, this week launched a $10 million ad campaign based on the ampersand. The ads—which will appear in magazines, on TV, online, and in stores—use “X & Y” headlines to celebrate connections: “Hostess & Mostess,” “Love & Light,” “Happy & Hanukkah.”
In another corner of retaildom, women’s-wear designer Eileen Fisher has created an “Ampersand” category to tell stories that go “behind the label” and beyond color and fabric content.
Goodwill Industries, known for its job-training programs and bare-bones thrift stores, is trying something new: a trendy, one-of-a-kind boutique in San Anselmo (Marin County). But don’t look for a Goodwill sign on the storefront: the shop will be called Georgi & Willow.
The new store will sell men’s and women’s clothing and housewares “curated” (vogue word alert!) from other Goodwill stores in the Bay Area. A message on an interior wall will let shoppers in on the store’s connection to the parent organization.
Of course, the initials of “Georgi & Willow” are another clue. But there’s more to the name story, according to the San Anselmo-Fairfax Patch:
The boutique’s title [sic] combines the names of two fictional Marin County women. … Organizers have developed an elaborate Georgi and Willow backstory, with details including how the two characters met - they became friends at a young age and went to Sir Francis Drake High School.
Georgi is sophisticated, well-traveled, with a dressy personal style while Willow is a natural, practical, trail lover!
The boutique concept is new, but this isn’t Goodwill’s first foray into creative naming. Back in 2007, I wrote about William Good, a joint venture between Goodwill and Nick Graham, founder of the men’s-underwear company Joe Boxer. That collaboration—which didn’t involve brick-and-mortar stores—seems to have quietly dissolved.
Georgi is the glossy, sophisticated, well-traveled, beautiful woman who, frankly, other women are a little jealous of from afar, but when they meet her she's so personal [sic] she makes them feel like they're the only person in the room and they really come to lover her. She's a real people person. She cares very much about giving people second chances, which is why she is supporting the local Goodwill chapter through George & Willow.
Willow, on the other hand, is that very practical, earthy Marin County woman who would rather be hiking on Mount Tam [Tamalpais] and gardening than doing anything else. She has her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she doesn't wear any makeup or fingernail polish, and what she really cares about is the environment.
Once-dominant women’s apparel company Liz Claiborne Inc. announced Wednesday that it’s changing its corporate name to Fifth & Pacific Cos. Inc. (stock symbol FNP). The 36-year-old brand had been named for its founder, the innovative fashion designer Liz Claiborne (1929-2007), who once toldWomen’s Wear Daily that her goal had been “to dress busy and active women like myself, women who dress in a rush and who weren’t perfect.” The company was hugely successful throughout the 1970s and 1980s but floundered in recent years; even a guest designing stint by Isaac Mizrahi failed to revive customer interest. The only place you’ll find the Liz Claiborne label now is in J.C. Penney stores: Penney bought the company in 2009.
The new name, according to CEO William L. McComb, is intended to evoke New York (Fifth Avenue, one of the most prestigious shopping streets in the world) and Los Angeles (Pacific … Ocean? On the other side of which lie the sweatshops of China?). “We wanted a name that somehow captured the intrinsically American element of what we do, even though these are global brands,” McComb told WWD. “We talked about the lurking drama of New York and Los Angeles really being a defining element of what we are as a company.”
Apparently no one at Claiborne/FNP recalled the lurking drama of a similarly named retail venture, Gap Inc.’s Forth & Towne (2005-2007), which had a devoted customer base of women over 35 who were infuriated when Gap pulled the plug. (See this blog post and this one.) “Forth & Towne” was supposed to communicate “fourth brand” (I have no idea why it was spelled “Forth”) and, um, something to do with cities and towns. (And no, despite what you may have heard or imagined, Forth & Towne’s demise had nothing to do with initials. No one who shopped there ever called the stores F.A.T.)
Forth & Towne may be gone, but the X & Y naming trend shows no sign of waning: witness Judith & Charles, Rock & Republic, Rag & Bone, and many other clones. I collected a long list of them in a May 2010 post.
For fashion-nostalgists, here’s an obituary of Liz Claiborne from The Economist.
(Hat tip: MJF.)
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After the failure of Forth & Towne, Gap Inc. decided to grow by acquisition. The retailer’s newest brand—bought for $150 million in 2008—is Athleta, which makes activewear for women. Athleta is now getting its first nationwide brand campaign—and its first tagline, “Power to the She.” That is not a typo.
The campaign—which features a lot of young, lithe white women doing fit and flexible things—was created by Peterson Milla Hooks of Minneapolis and was budgeted for only four months, which may explain why the ad copy reads as though it were copied and pasted, without benefit of editing, from a focus-group transcript.
Imperative, imperative, imperative … and all of a sudden a declarative sentence with a dumb pun (“We kick asphalt”). And that tagline. Good grief. I can tolerate a lot of grammar-bending in advertising, but this makes zero sense to me. Why is “she” capitalized? Why does “she” take a definite article? Are we meant to think “power to the people” or “hell to the no”?
Does “the She” stand alone?
No, I suppose not.
Alas, poor Gap. It’s been just over a year since the notorious logo redesign and subsequent Gap-lash. Now this. Get me an Advil. Get me a new agency. Get me rewrite!
A while back, in a post about Canadian fashion brand Teenflo’s name change to Judith & Charles, I noted that the new name fit a pattern I’ve been seeing a lot lately. I called it “X + Y,” and I mentioned that I’ve noticed a parallel trend in restaurant naming. Today I want to show you some examples.
As with fashion and retail, X + Y restaurants aren’t entirely new. In the past, though, the X and Y elements have almost always been surnames: Musso & Frank (in Los Angeles) and Smith & Wollensky (in various cities) are two venerable examples. Musso & Frank was named for its founders, Joseph Musso and Frank Toulet; Smith & Wollensky was reputedly named via a random search of the Manhattan phone directory.
And X + Y is hardly the first significant fad in restaurant naming. In the late 1980s I was a contributing editor at a magazine called Tables that was distributed free of charge to the wait staff at a certain type of large restaurant—the type that had a full bar (a major liquor company was the magazine’s sole advertiser) and, often, an adjective-noun name: Ruby Tuesday, Velvet Turtle, Red Lobster.
In the early 2000s we saw a trend toward stark one-word names (mostly nouns) that seemed to say, “We can’t be bothered with fancy nomenclature—we’re much too busy creating fabulosity in the kitchen.” Many of the one-word eateries are still around: Animal, Home, Dine, Dish, Fly, Fork, Grub, Range, Sauce, Savor, Spork, and Street come to mind.
The current double-barreled trend expands on the previous theme, inserting “and,” an ampersand, or a plus sign between the nouns. The result is more expansive and inclusive than a one-word name; it feels more balanced (like an equation), and it tells a bit more of a story. On the other hand, the formula is in danger of becoming as clichéd as the old adjective-noun names.
Food-obsessed San Francisco leads the way here. My surely-not-comprehensive list includes:
Last October I called Teenflo, the chic, 35-year-old Canadian fashion label, "one of the worst brand names I've seen." To quote myself: "The name suggests teenagers (who go with the flow?), but one look at the clothes tells you the label is targeted at sophisticated adult women with money to spend."
Apparently someone at Teenflo concurred, because the name is about to change to "Judith & Charles."
The Teenflo name came from the names of the original founders Martin and Florence when the line launched in Paris in 1975. However, deciding enough was enough (and probably tired of explaining the name's origin to the media), Teenflo's Judith Richardson and Charles Le Pierrès have launched a re-branding initiative moving from Teenflo to the eponymous Judith & Charles, gradually removing all mention of "Teenflo" from the line.
"We're transitioning in the new name," said Judy Richardson at the store opening in Bayview Village. "You will still see the Teenflo name on some items but eventually it will all be Judith & Charles."
The new name is less misleading, but I wouldn't call it distinctive. In fact, shopping malls are overrun with "X & Y" (or "X + Y" or "X and Y") labels right now. ("X & Y" is also a major trend in restaurant naming, but that's a topic for a different day.)
Here's a list—far from comprehensive, I'm sure—of fashion brands that follow the formula.
Of course, there's a long tradition of partnership names in fashion and retail: Sears & Roebuck, Abercrombie & Fitch (founded in 1892 as a purveyor of sporting goods), Baume et Mercier. But the current trend goes beyond actual partnerships. Often, the linked names or words communicate a story, real or fictional (in the case of Martin + Osa, a historical one; in the case of Elizabeth and James, a vague narrative about "a young girl and a boy"); borrow bits of obscure slang (a "rag-and-bone man" is a junkman; "whistle and flute" is Cockney rhyming slang for "suit"); or simply juxtapose words for the hell of it. (I've never figured out "Rock & Republic.")
To be sure, it's easier to secure a double-barreled Internet domain name than a single-word name. But remember: a domain name is just an address. To succeed, a brand needs to stand apart from its competition. And in a world of "X & Y" brands, "Judith & Charles" becomes just two more names customers will struggle to remember. __