There was an article in this issue with the title of “A Boy and His Dog” and after my reminder of the 1975 movie of that name a couple weeks ago, I briefly considered using it here, but it was too long and oddly formatted as to make it more of a hassle OCRing of it. Plus I found this one a little more interesting.

A Vroom Of One’s Own

The Name Game
by Barbara Feinman

“What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

When Shakespeare penned those words to come out of Juliet’s mouth, he was making the point that the feud between her own family and that of her star-crossed lover was based on something as meaningless and arbitrary as a name. Well, maybe a rose would indeed smell as sweet if you called it anything else, but when it comes to naming automobiles the pros aren’t so sure: By any other name, that which we call a Miata just might not seem so appealing. Joe Grady is a linguistics professor who also acts as a consultant for a California-based company that names products, including new cars. Joe has been part of various creative teams that have named everything from pharmaceuticals to clothes, household goods, and computer stuff, including the team that came up with the car-name Alero.

The way his particular company works is that about a dozen people are put on a creative team to name a particular product. They do this through a series of meetings with each other, with the client and by sending e-mails and faxes back and forth. After the team comes up with a selection of likely possibilities, the client then tests them out on potential buyers.

I asked Joe about the creative process of coming up with new names. Was there was a formula and a set of guidelines, or was it just a bunch of people clamoring in a room? “First of all,” he explained, “a great new name that will be memorable to people isn’t going to be generated by rules.” But then he paused to think. “On the other hand, it’s not a totally random process. The process has to combine open-endedness with considerations about the personality of the car, the market that’s targeted, the company’s brand identity, and the style of the carmaker.”

I’ve always liked the way that Miata rolls off the tongue—so much so that a friend once pointed out that whenever referring to my own roadster I never called it “my car,” but always “my Miata.” So the next logical question for Joe (or maybe it was a test) was whether he thought Miata was an effective moniker. “I think it’s a good name for a few different reasons,” he confirmed. “First, it sounds Italian. Everybody associates a sports-car tradition with Italy, so that’s valuable to link up with.”

But while it may sound Italian, I pointed out, miata is actually Old High German for
reward. Joe nodded at this and replied, “Well, it’s also a very pronounceable word, so a lot of people who speak different languages would be comfortable with it. For instance miata also fits well with the Japanese language, since both Japanese and Italian like syllables to end in vowels. All three syllables of miata do, so it sounds natural in both places.”

Then Joe began speaking more rapidly—more professorially—as his ideas jelled. “Miata also conveys the idea of quickness and smallness. It fits the car because it’s a short name, all the syllables short and quick…. And the M sound suggests smoothness, softness, and energy. I’m basing this on actual research on sound symbolism, by the way; M strikes people in all those ways.

“With a car like the Miata you’d be thinking what are the key messages you want to communicate: It might be speed, freedom, fun. You’re going to use these ideas as a launching pad to come up with a name. Whether it’s a Miata or a family SUV, every carmaker has an idea of the personality of the car and who it’s intended for. You’re going to use those as your inspiration and filter.”

The backside to this issue are the many literal meanings that may already be associated with a supposedly meaningless name. In the case of Miata—as with nearly all wholly made-up product names—the word came first, a meaningless series of sounds chosen simply for its pleasant ring and sporty connotations. Only after some research did Mazda learn miata was also a word in an old, obscure German dialect—conveniently a positive one.

In other cases, that research doesn’t prove as fortunate. Pontiac’s Firebird was originally to be called Banshee, but some last-minute research showed the literal definition of banshee to be “a mythical female spirit whose wailing foretells an impending death in the family.” They figured maybe Firebird was safer…