You’ve probably never thought about it, but Starbucks has now forced your hand. Their new, lighter coffee roast is called Starbucks Blonde – and that’s “blonde” with an “e”, which normally means it applies to women (as “blond” applies to men). It debuted in January 2012 and was designed for people who prefer coffee that is “subtle, mellow, lighter-bodied, full of flavor, and delicious.“ Starbucks now has three main roasts: Dark, Medium, and Blonde.

Blonde itself has two varieties, Willow and Veranda, which presumably conjure up images of where you should be drinking it, in and around your gracious residence. The bright, happy packaging reinforces this, with images of a stylized tree and an old-fashioned porch swing, respectively.

But why Blonde? And more specifically, why Blonde with an “e”?

A little bit of internet research reveals that “blond” is indeed a part of brewing lingo, although not nearly as common a term as “French Roast”. Rombouts, the Belgian coffee company, claims that ”‘Blonde’ roasting is commonly used in Finland and northern countries. It produces a light coffee which is acidic but not bitter.”

And the Coscina Brothers Coffee Company in Hawaii also support this use:

Denotes a flexible, delicate and smooth flavour. The bean is of a pale cinnamon colour and has a drier appearance. It’s an excellent choice for those who prefer a soft coffee. A blond roast denotes a coffee with a little more caffeine than a dark roast.

Interestingly, Starbucks has registered both Veranda Blend and Starbucks Willow Blend as trademarks, but not Starbucks Blonde, so presumably they trying to use it in a descriptive way. (They’ve also registered “Gazebo Summer Blend”, so look for that, oh, around May.)

I’d say that qualifies as legitimate use: Starbucks looked around, and chose an unusual, but perfectly accurate and accepted word for very lightly roasted coffee. And use of “blond wood” as a way of describing very light (or even bleached) wood is very familiar, especially if you frequent IKEA as much as I do. Perhaps the additional “e” was meant o imply a level of sophistication, or they used it because someone liked the way it looked. Yet there’s something about the additional “e” that adds another layer of meaning to the brand.

If you Google the word “blonde” you’ll see what I mean: everything you ever wanted to know about blonde jokes. Happily, the second hit is the Urban Dictionary definition, which clearly states: “A hair color sometimes associated with unintelligence when in fact intelligence is not affected noticeably by hair color.” It’s still sadly true that blondeness, especially in women, is associated with stupidity, vacuousness, and artificiality. It is at once a symbol or desirability (because of its rarity) and of undesirability (because, really, who wants to be thought of as stupid?)

Starbucks, of course, is aware of this, and even went to the extent of issuing a “no blonde jokes” memo to individual Starbucks stores, as reported in the Starbucks Gossip blog:

We were told at a Regional Rally there are absolutely no Blonde jokes to be told around the coffee what so ever. It will be a written offense if so. This came right from the RD’s [Regional Director] mouth to about 100 SM’s [Store Manager] so communicate back to our stores at our own meetings.

So, on the positive side: light, refined, rare, feminine (are they targeting women? hard to say). The negative is only because of Western society’s sexist assumptions about blonde women, which Starbucks is actively trying to head off. On the whole: good choice!

To take this discussion one step further, though: there are very subtle nuances to words that are even more difficult to articulate, except by example. In the case of “blonde”, I offer this story (since I’m a linguist, all my stories are ridiculously academic and revolve around words).

In an Intensive Greek seminar at UC Berkeley, the class got stuck discussing the word εὐγενής, which is eugenēs in romanized writing. You can probably recognize the “eu-” prefix from words like euphemism and euphonious; it means “good”, while “genes” is very much related to words like genetic, and means “born”. A translation of eugenēs might be “of noble birth” or “noble in nature” – but it doesn’t necessarily mean “noble” in an upper-class way. It can mean someone with a pure, honorable, or generous nature, an inborn, ineffable quality. The instructor was having a hard time conveying all this, so one of the more fluent students turned to the class and said, in exasperation:

“It means blonde.”

Overall Name Grade: B+

The world’s 55+ segment burgeons with an estimated $3.4 trillion worth of annual buying power, and boomers are ready to show deserving brands the money. They’re tons hipper than their predecessors – not to mention ergonomically, economically, and aesthetically discriminating. The time’s ripe for refined products and brands that cater specifically to their health needs without yelling “early bird special.”

Inspired by democratically design-minded brands Method, OXO, Dyson, and Simplehuman, Sabi seeks to bring sophisticated design to the seasoned masses. The brand’s founder, Assaf Wand, says the idea for Sabi came from his mother’s quest for a discreet, user-friendly way to take her medications. He teamed up with Yves Béhar of renowned industrial design firm Fuseproject to create a better-looking way to swallow those bitter pills.

Wand is savvy enough to not limit the age appeal of his “health and wellness” products, saying that Sabi wants to “transform mundane daily chores – taking pills, taking out the trash, getting dressed, opening jars – into moments full of delight…across all life stages.” Behar believes Sabi “will make sense to an older generation in need of solutions, but also to a younger set of users that simply expect good design everywhere.”

Sabi products are meant to be pretty and poetic with enhanced quality, versatility, and utility. Take for instance, the Folio, a pill organizer that mimics a sleek Moleskine notebook. The name “sabi” perfectly encapsulates its mission, to “elevate people’s experience of everyday life.” Derived from the Japanese aesthetic construct, “sabi” means beauty that comes with age; the concept that use – and the artful mending of damage – can actually make an object more beautiful and valuable.

“Sabi” might ring a bell because of the ascendance of “wabi-sabi” into the popular consciousness. The brand’s website defines it as, “寂  SABI [/sab-i/] noun – a Japanese cultural aesthetic inspired by the notion of life’s transitory and evanescent nature. Deliberate or cultivated simplicity in daily living. Artistic representation that strives toward refined understatement.”

As conceptual and highbrow as this language sounds, the name “Sabi” is an excellent choice for this brand. It’s differentiated in the marketplace, easy to spell and pronounce, memorable, evocative, and rife with positive, layered meanings. At just four letters, it’s short, sweet and looks great visually – stark and simple on packaging, product, digital and print communications. Its tonality is spot-on: pure and spare, in-sync with the pared-down look and feel.

The names of Sabi’s three product lines: Vitality, Agility, and Mobility are exact and elegant, along with its individual products. For example, each Vitality product’s name is short and evocative, conveying its functional benefit with a bit of fun: Chop (easy pill cutter), Crush (easy pill smasher), Folio (pill traveler), Grande Carafe (pills + water bottle), Holster (daily pill clip), and Shake (easy pill dispenser).

Finally, a brand that takes the pain out of popping pills, with a dose of slick style and a catchy name. That’s something I won’t get sick of anytime soon.

Overall Name Grade: A

The packaging is gun-metal grey, and the tagline proclaims, “It’s not for women.” The advertising goes out of its way to poke fun at male stereotypes, with one commercial depicting Stallone-type action heroes taking on baddies, bullets, and snakes in a jungle setting.

Despite a bit of controversy over sexism and stereotypes in the campaign, I really like how overtly Dr. Pepper is declaring that this beverage is for men.  It’s deliberately over the top in a way that’s as humorously offensive to men (who will no doubt be imbibing Ten in their man caves) as it is to women.  If anything, the campaign makes me more curious to try it (and I’m not a Pepper fan to begin with).

I’m less enthusiastic about the name itself.

The reference to 10 calories still very much calls out the diet-ness of the beverage, and that it’s much closer in composition to Diet Doctor Pepper (zero calories) than Regular Dr. Pepper (150 calories).  If Ten is the manly version of Diet Dr. Pepper, what colossal beast is out there drinking Regular Dr. Pepper?

There’s also the Bo Derek association of being a 10, which recalls feminine perfection more than the male equivalent.  And of course, the name structure is highly reminiscent of a whole host of diet beverages like Coke Zero and Pepsi One.

In short, the name still says diet beverage—just a slightly watered-down, er sugared-up, one.  It’s a lost opportunity for Dr. Pepper to pound its chest and put a testosterone-laden stake in the ground.  Personally I would’ve liked to see the Dr. Pepper Defcon, the Dr. Pepper Nunchuck, or maybe (taking a lot of liberties, since you get to do that in a blog), the Dr. Cut (hey, that cut in calories gives you that super cut look!).

Overall Grade:  B-

Way back in the dark ages of 2007, we reviewed the name Kindle in the very pages of this blog. At the time, we weren’t in love with the name, although we did point out that as a verb, it’s active and suggests exciting or arousing an interest in books. It also suggests illuminating the mind, something a good book should do. But overall, we thought the negative associations (torching books) outweighed the positive (kindling knowledge).

Four years later, Kindle has become one of the three leading e-book readers, the others being the Barnes & Noble Nook and the ubiquitous Apple iPad. Like most bold names, it attracted its share of negative comments, but the product was so good that most people got over the downside of “kindle” and just bought one. And interestingly, Amazon managed to turn a verb into a noun (as opposed to the genericization of Google, in which a noun is turned into a verb, thus losing its proprietary-ness).

Just in time for this year’s holidays, Amazon has released four new versions of the Kindle: Kindle (“all new”), Kindle Touch (multi-touch screen), Kindle Touch 3G (free 3G wireless), and Kindle Fire (color, plus built-in media browser). Here, Amazon has taken the masterbrand approach and appended descriptors to the name Kindle, much like Apple has done with the iPod (dubbing them Touch, Classic, Nano, and Shuffle). It’s a good strategy, and one that allows them a lot of expansion under the Kindle name; they’re building value into the brand on its own, quite apart from the Amazon parent brand.

But what about Fire? Hardly a descriptive term, like 3G or Touch. It’s clearly meant to evoke the result of the kindling, energy and light and power, and it turns the full name into a nifty verb phrase. And because the name is Kindle Fire, not just Fire, they are preserving the strength of the Kindle brand. (Although I wonder about the trademark, filed for by an entity called Seesaw LLC, which has also filed for the mark Amazon Silk – the Kindle Fire’s web browser. Coincidence? I think not! Dun dun duuuuuun.)

Of course there was a ton of speculation about the name of the new device; back in August, Amazon was discovered to have registered various Kindle domain names based on the elements, including KindleAir.com, KindleWater.com, and KindleEarth.com. Perhaps it was a ruse, or perhaps they just hadn’t decided on a name – or there may yet be more two-way-tv-wrist-radios coming from Amazon. You have to admit, though, that Kindle Fire makes a hell of a lot more sense than Kindle Water.

Kindle Fire rocks as a product name for all the right reasons – it’s short, catchy, evocative, and stands out in the marketplace, even a marketplace that’s full of goofy names like eClicto, Boox, and eSlick. It will be interesting to see what Amazon does with the next gen products – will they build on the Fire name, and come out with the Inferno? Or will they go the “earth elements” route? Regardless, Kindle Fire is a smart addition to the Kindle family.

However, the less said about Amazon Silk, the better. Unless it’s a soy-based browser?

Overall Grade: A

I’m a fan of Ben & Jerry’s, both their ice cream and their naming. Clever tributes to music greats (e.g., Cherry Garcia and Phish Food), loser spouses (i.e., Chubby Hubby), and off-beat, if annoyingly self-aware indie films (i.e., Neapolitan Dynamite) have earned the company a reputation for irreverent, provocative and exciting naming. And fortunately for their marketing department, even when they’ve served up a somewhat vanilla flavor name (Americone Dream comes to mind) their product development folks have delivered, and good. I actually like the name Karamel Sutra, but more impressive was figuring out how to keep a caramel core soft when surrounded by frozen ice cream during manufacturing and distribution. Pure genius. You go, geeky science food guys!

So what to make of their newest flavor name, Schweddy Balls, a vanilla based ice cream with a hint of rum and packed with, what else, malt balls? I haven’t tried the frozen concocktion yet (I’ll bet it’s delicious), but frankly, I’m not sure I want to. It was probably inevitable that at some point, in that crazy marketing kitchen, with all those provocative and irreverent names being stirred up, that the otherwise good naming folks at B&J were going to over season a name and end up something too strong and, well, distasteful. For me, this one’s just a little hard to swallow.

For those of you with brain freeze, the name references a hilarious SNL skit in which Alec Baldwin (Pete Schweddy) joins Ana Gasteyer and Molly Shannon (the hosts of the fictitious “Delicious Dish”, an NPR parody program) to promote his holiday popcorn and cheese balls. That is, his Schweddy Balls. If you haven’t seen the skit, it’s classic, and you can imagine the number of double entendres.

I know representatives for the company have already made statements about the name, indicated that their customers understand and appreciate the humor in it, but I’m a customer, a naming professional, and a dad to two young B&J fans, and I think it’s going too far. I think their marketing folks got carried away and somehow ignored the fact that they were naming a FOOD product, and that their audience is broader than the Vermont late-night pot-smoking scene. Of course many B&J flavor names are provocative, but none evoke associations with perspiring genitals, an image and idea that has GOT put off a good many people, save perhaps folks like Puerto Rican Senator Roberto Arango and Dustin Diamond.

I’m trying to imagine how Catchword might’ve evaluated this name if we had developed it ourselves.

Before we recommend a name to a client we’ll discuss its appropriateness for the brand and fit within their existing portfolio of products, it’s ease of use (i.e., how well it works in a marketing and sales context), its memorability, and its availability profile. That’s simplifying things quite a lot. Of course all projects are unique, with unique name and brand requirements, but in general, a name must be considered against at least those measurements.

Invariably, names don’t perform equally well across all measurements. One that’s highly distinctive and memorable may have a more attractive availability profile, but not be as good a fit with the existing family of products. One that’s simple to understand and intuitive in a marketing and sales context may be less distinctive in the space and more challenging from a trademark perspective. As much as we hate to admit it, in most cases naming decisions require just a little bit of compromise. The one exception being the name CATCHWORD, which is just freaking awesome and great in every way.

I think where Schweddy Balls really glistens is in its memorability. Once there, it’s pretty darn hard to get the image of dripping wet testicles out of your head (try as you might), and so the name succeeds in lodging itself in your mind like a ball in a semen sack.

And, while we haven’t done a trademark screen of the name ourselves, I’m gonna go out on a stiff limb here and say Schweddy Balls looked pretty darn good from an availability perspective.

So that’s the positive. It’s distinctive and it’s available.

Here comes the compromise.

This name does not work well in a marketing and sales context. For many people, it will be embarrassing to order, hard to say (I keep mistakenly saying Shveddy instead of Shweddy), and inappropriate for the younger set. If you’ve been to a B&J ice cream shop recently you know that the environment is very family oriented. My local shop sells kids t-shirts, beanie cow plush toys, frisbees, youth notepads and pencils, and a push and roll kid’s truck! I think I can handle my 9 year old daughter ordering “It’s A Cluster” but might feel the urge to wash her mouth out with soap if she asked for Shweddy Balls. Gross. And so, because the name is inappropriate for my daughter it also alienates me, the dad, who might otherwise not care so much about the reference.

The name’s disconnect with the younger set has implications for its brand fit. It’s somewhat hard to reconcile the apparent effort to create a family focused retail environment with a flavor name like Shweddy Balls. Until now, I’ve felt that B&J has done a great job of walking that line, of developing clever, provocative, mature names that didn’t offend my ideas of good taste and parental sensibilities. Furthermore, the marketing folks have been deft at balancing a myriad corporate brand traits, including fun, funny, socially conscious, irreverent, independent, and again family friendly. With Schweddy Balls I think they’re deviating.

Oh, and remember how I said that all naming projects are unique, with unique name and brand requirements? Well, Catchword’s worked on a lot of food and beverage naming assignments, and one objective that seems to be universal and constant is that the name sound at least somewhat appetizing. That is, even if it doesn’t make your mouth water (for instance, if it’s more abstract) it at least shouldn’t turn your stomach.

Overall Grade: C-

The first thing that struck me and probably you is the unusual capitalization. I’ve seen “camel case“ names where capital letters in the middle of the word look like a camel hump, e.g., WikiLeaks, iPhone, MySpace, FaceTime, OnStar, McDonald’s. But this almost looks like an inverted camel case because of the lower case letter in the middle of a bunch of caps. Upon further reading, I learned that SyNAPSE is actually an acronym for Systems of Neuromorphic Adaptive Plastic Scalable Electronics. Whoa, there’s a mouthful. That explains the capitalization. But isn’t the point of an acronym to be short? Can a seven-letter word really qualify as an acronym? SyNAPSE seems like more of a macronym if you ask me.

When I get over the distracting visual appearance of SyNAPSE and focus on the spoken word, things get a lot better. I get it – the name supports the idea of a complex network of neurons. This is potentially a huge improvement over traditional linear computing. It reminds me of the phrase “neurons firing” and seems like an aspirational way to refer to a shift in the role of computers. The name is also broad enough to cover a range of future possibilities for IBM to explore. Also, the first syllable “Sy” recalls words like cyber and sci-fi, giving the name a nice techy edge.

The drawn out full name, supersystems-of-neurodynamic-advancedacceleration-pyroparticle-spectrometer-electromagnetics (that’s what it sounded like to me), will probably be forgotten if these chips do make it to market. Then we just have to pray that one of the Big Blue execs decides to normalize the capitalization to Synapse, not SyNapse (camel-casing should only be used when it makes sense – not just to look cool).

In the end, SyNAPSE gets our praise for a relevant, aspirational name and our scorn for the crazy capitalization. Besides, human-like computing is well and good, but when are they going to come up with a chip that works out and cleans the bathroom for me?

Overall Grade: B

Which brings me to the initialism that recently caught my eye. SRT is Chrysler‘s initialism for “Street and Racing Technology”, and it’s been around since 2003. It started as a high-performance badge Chrysler bestowed on certain models of its Dodge Viper roadster, RAM truck, Chrysler 300 and Dodge Charger sedans, and even some entry-level Neons.

Now Chrysler has shifted gears and elevated SRT from a model descriptor to an exclusive brand (drivesrt.com), in the tradition of BMW’s prestigious “M” brand (where M stands for Motorsport.) All of Chrysler’s SRT models will have V8 (or V10!) engines, performance brakes, and 900-watt Harman Kardon stereo systems (among other high-end components). The 2012 lineup consists of the Chrysler 300 SRT8, the Dodge Charger SRT8, Challenger SRT8 392, and Viper SRT10, and the Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8—and it has taken to the road for various car events.

So what kind of traction are those three little letters likely to get for the line (and Chrysler)?

On the plus side, the fact the name already has some va-va-vroom equity is a good thing. And the term “Street and Racing Technology” deftly spans a lineup ranging from sedans to racing cars. Also, as letters go, the sounds of these three convey appropriate associations for the brand (the long sibilant “S” evokes smooth, gliding motion; the “T,” precision.)

On the other hand, the name’s hardly memorable. The reference to “street and racing technology” will soon fade into oblivion. And when it does, the name will become just one more alphabet soup brand (like the Mercedes AMG line). Of course by then the brand may have acquired enough cachet that the name won’t matter, as with its prestigious German brethren.

In the meantime, the clunky model naming conventions for this brand could use a tune-up. Who wants to brag about owning a Dodge Challenger SRT8 392?

Overall Grade: B-

5 clues. 1 famous brand name. 0 shame in defeat.

Game #10: Name That Brand

• The ancients knew it, naturally
• For Felix’s ailing father
• Not quite a bear
• Water-soluble form
• Even better than computers

Click through for the answer...

Answer #10: Bayer Aspirin

The effects of aspirin-like substances were known to the ancient Greeks and Romans (Clue #1). Hippocrates prescribed the bark and leaves of the willow tree to relieve pain and fever. The willow is rich in a substance called salicin, a naturally occurring compound similar to acetylsalicylic acid.

In 1897, German chemist Felix Hoffmann, with Friedrich Bayer and Company, searched for a treatment for his father’s arthritic pain and began to research acetylsalicylic acid, which worked well (Clue #2). The compound later became the active ingredient in the drug named Aspirin – “a” from acetyl, “spir” from the spirea plant (which yields salicin) and “in,” a common suffix for medications.

By 1899, the Bayer Company (Clue #3) was providing aspirin to physicians to give to their patients, and Aspirin soon became the number one drug worldwide. In 1900, Bayer introduced the first aspirin in water-soluble tablets – the first medication to be sold in this form (Clue #4). In a national survey conducted by MIT in 1996, twice as many people choose aspirin over the personal computer as an invention they couldn’t live without (Clue #5).

Interestingly, both Aspirin® and Heroin® were once trademarks belonging to Bayer. After Germany lost World War I, Bayer was forced to give up both trademarks as part of the Treaty of Versailles in 1919. It is now a registered trademark of Bayer AG in more than 90 countries.

Beyond just mixing and matching these words to form compound or blended forms, we might take key vocabulary words and translate them into Latin, Sanskrit, Italian, Hawaiian — whatever languages suit our communication and tonality needs.  There are plenty of online dictionaries that can help with this.

We also take interesting prefixes and suffixes and add them to different words.  Or, we play around with word endings or truncate some of the words.

After exploring all the obvious ideas — what we call “due-diligence creative” — we take off into blue-sky territory. We might look at the personal interests and hobbies of a company founder, song titles, new metaphors, or arbitrary (but interesting) words.  We might take a short, expected word from our project vocabulary and try pairing it with something completely unexpected.

We make sure that several people work on each project to bounce ideas off each other both virtually and in person.  Teamwork helps us ensure we are continuously brainstorming new naming directions and ideas.

When we have a substantial list together — for us, well over a thousand names — we then look at the list as a whole.  New names start to form when we combine all candidates into one list and evaluate them together.  We play around some more, modifying spellings, combining different roots, and just generally looking beyond the obvious.

When we’re satisfied that we’ve explored every possibility, we narrow down the list — we call this activity shortlisting.  A good rule of thumb is to shortlist 10% of the total names.  A day or two later, we look at the list with a fresh pair of eyes and hone it down even further.

Getting down to that final, perfect name is an iterative, non-linear process that usually involves legal and domain-name screening, building consensus within the client team, perhaps additional creative work, thinking about logo and other visual treatments, and so forth.

In my next post, I’ll talk about the various naming styles, ranging from highly descriptive to totally fanciful.

5 clues. 1 famous brand name. 0 shame in defeat.

Game #9: Name That Brand

• Electro-Alkaline
• California brine
• A laundry list of products
• Chlorine and sodium hydroxide
• A hidden valley

Click through for the answer...

Answer #9: Clorox

In 1913, five California entrepreneurs set out to convert brine in the San Francisco Bay into sodium hypochlorite bleach. They called their venture the Electro-Alkaline Company (Clue #1), and distributed their product to commercial laundries, breweries, walnut processing sheds, and municipal water companies. Later, the company would change its name to Clorox – an amalgam of “chlorine” and “sodium hydroxide” which together form the product’s active ingredient (Clue #4).

Not until 1916 did the company realize the potential for household use and begin manufacturing a less concentrated formulation of the bleach – a 5.25 percent sodium hypochlorite, water-based solution. It’s interesting to note that sodium hypochlorite is an unusual substance in that it is derived from a single compound – salt water (Clue #2) – and then reverts back to the original compound after use. In this case, it’s the cleaning process, either in washing machines or on surfaces, that turns the bleach back into salt water.

Over the years, however, Clorox has grown its portfolio to include household cleaning products, auto care products, dressings and sauces (including Hidden Valley Ranch, Clue #5), and a host of other consumer offerings. Clearly, the company is no longer just about laundry (Clue #3)!