Mustang - The name is a perfect tag for the car that launched the pony-car era. What better image could there be for a trend-setting sports car than an unbroken horse? The name makes you think of adventure, wide open spaces and wild spirit. As a bonus, there is a clear association with the P-51 Mustang, the coolest fighter plane of World War II. The Mustang name has lived for more than 45 years. Although the car has gone through various iterations, some great, some terrible, the Mustang’s name has never lost its magic.
The name came to Carroll Shelby in a dream.
It was 1962. In Shelby's ramshackle garage was a muscular little sports car with bulging fenders and a V-8 engine. It had no top, no side windows and no name. Then Shelby had a dream: he saw a coiled black snake with a hooded neck and white fangs. The next morning, he told his crew that the new car would be christened the Cobra.
Pete Brock, who was there at the time, remembers his first reaction: "Cobra? What kind of stupid name is that?"
The kind of name that every car executive dreams of, as it turned out. Forty-eight years later, the name is still being used, and original Cobras now sell for more than $1-million. A great car name is a money-maker, and industry experts regularly cite Cobra as one of the best of all time, along with Carrera, Mini and Corvette Stingray.
So what makes these names work while others flop? Would a Cobra by any other name be as sweet? "The right name helps define a car," says Mark Gillies, executive editor of Car and Driver magazine. "Who wouldn't want a car named Cobra?"
A successful car name is an act of inspiration. Car companies spend millions trying to come up with new names, yet for every hit there are countless misses - like the Studebaker Dictator, the Chevrolet Luv and the Rickman Space Ranger.
The sublime and the ridiculous can be separated by the thinnest of margins. Ford may have come up with the brilliant Mustang, but it also coined the unfortunate Probe, which conjures up a colonoscopy. By all accounts, Chevrolet's Corvette Stingray was a stroke of genius. Then came Citation, a name that makes you think of a traffic ticket.
Today, every major car firm has a well-developed system for coming up with names - and ensuring that they don't have an unfortunate association in another language. The AMC Matador, produced from 1971 to 1978, was a flop in Latin countries such as Puerto Rico. The reason? In Spanish, matador means "killer."
To avoid this kind of disaster, major car companies have devised corporate systems that - in theory - filter out all but the best (and safest) names. At Nissan, prospective names are proposed by numerous departments, including design, marketing and sales. Then the names go to the Global Naming Committee, made up of six senior Nissan executives from around the world. Names chosen by the committee are then sent to consultants that research their meaning in other languages, and determine whether they're subject to copyright restrictions.
"It's a very thorough process," says Ian Forsyth, director of corporate strategy for Nissan Canada. "The name is critical." Forsyth says his company has a clear strategy for naming a car - the ideal is to come up with a name that captures the vehicle's spirit, but also avoids offence. "It isn't always easy," he says. "But we never stop trying."
Only a handful of car names endure to become classics. At Nissan, for example, the Z nomenclature that began with the 240Z in 1970 still carries on. Another long-lasting Nissan name is Maxima, which made its debut in 1976. Then there's the Pathfinder off-roader, introduced in 1986. Forsyth believes Pathfinder is an ideal example of how to brand a car. "The name works well because it tells you what the vehicle is and what it does," he says. "It suggests adventure, and going places. It's a really good name."
Some naming periods can be identified as clearly as geological eras. In the 1950s and 1960s, for example, Detroit car names expressed a longing for manicured lawns and social uplift. This was the time of the Ford Country Squire, the Pontiac Parisienne and the Rambler Country Club. In the 1970s came testosterone-laced muscle car names like Hemi-Cuda, Boss 302, Cyclone Cobra-Jet - and of course the unfortunate, wide-of-the-mark Dart Swinger.
Other companies maintain an unswerving naming policy. Rolls-Royce, for example, has always applied names that suggest quiet and regal ease: like Phantom, Wraith, Ghost and Silver Shadow. Its sister brand, Bentley, tends to use names that emote luxurious performance, like Turbo R and Flying Spur.
Then there are the Japanese, who have conquered the world of engineering, but have struggled in the mysterious world of naming. Their domestic offerings have included the Daihatsu D-Bag, the Isuzu Mysterious Utility Wizard and the Nissan Homy Super Long. Many Japanese exports tend to have names that mean virtually nothing (like Camry, Corolla and Prius) or names that avoid strong statements - think Civic and Accord. Industry observers say this conservatism is due to past naming errors. "They just didn't understand how names came across here," says Brock, who was associated with Datsun in the 1960s and 1970s, through BRE, his racing team. The iconic Datsun 240Z, which became a sales hit in North America, was originally named the Fairlady. Japanese executives planned to retain the name for North America, and relented only when the head of U.S. operations warned that it would be a disaster.
Brock, who was privy to the discussions, says the Fairlady name (which is still used in Japan) was the result of Japan's long-standing obsession with English style. "They loved the British," he says. "That's why they came up with a name straight out of a Noel Coward play."
The 240Z badge was actually an internal development code used by Datsun. It struck a chord with enthusiasts, maybe because it reminded them of a military jet. This was not a new idea. Porsche, for example, has used development codes to name many of its most famous cars, including the 911 and the 356. In many cases, the numbers were appended with a descriptive noun, usually a competition term - like Carrera, Spanish for "race."
Some companies, including BMW, use alpha-numeric designations almost exclusively. Obviously, it eliminates the translation issues that can cripple a car in foreign markets. (Like the Chevy Nova, which sold poorly in Latin countries, where its name sounded like no vas, or "no go.") In BMW's case, numbers are also used to create a clear model hierarchy: the cheaper 1-series up to the priciest 7-series.
Ruben Archilla, a senior designer with Mazda, says his company decided to change its global naming strategy (to numbers) after research showed that their brand recognition varied from country to country: "Model names with varying degrees of name recognition were contributing to a lack of brand identity," he says. "Many people knew the name 'Miata' but didn't necessarily associate it with Mazda or the other models we made at the time."
But some observers think alpha-numerics lack spark. "Using numbers is a cop-out," says Gillies. "Who doesn't love a great car name? When you get it right, there's nothing like it."