The worst car names ever
Datsun Fairlady - As strategic errors went, naming a hot new sports car headed for the US market in the macho 1970‘s was like putting Audrey Hepburn in the ring with heavyweight champion Joe Frazier. But it almost happened. The Japanese are ardent Anglophiles, worshipping all things British. So they thought Americans would lap up a name inspired by a musical about a young girl’s makeover into a society lady. (The fawn-like Audrey Hepburn starred in the movie version.) At the insistence of the US importer, the car’s name was changed to “240Z” (an internal company code used to label the project during development.) But the Fairlady name stuck in Japan, and is used on the 240Z’s descendants to this day. The name stands as a monument to corporate tone-deafness: when the 240Z (nee Fairlady) arrived in North America in 1970, its sports-car competitors included the Mustang, the Barracuda, and the Cyclone 428 Cobra Jet.
Dodge Dart Swinger - “Dart” was okay. “Swinger” was pushing it. And together, the two words work like fissionable material and an igniter, achieving a gross synergy they could never achieve independently, conjuring up a phallic projectile and marital infidelity. Dart...Swinger.... a bad pair of images. The name was a calculated marketing effort, designed to express the youthful energy of an era defined by muscle cars and free love. But the result was branding disaster: say the name repeatedly, and try not to picture a 1970’s key party. (Brylcreemed hair... polyester slacks.... English Leather cologne....) Unfortunately, that image may be stuck in your head for a while.
Renault Le Car - In French, it means “The Car.” Intended as a clever way of connoting the Renault’s chic Gallic heritage, the name sounds like it was dreamed up by a mid-western U.S. brand manager in leisure suit. As non-descriptive nouns applied to a vehicle go, Le Car is matched for uselessness only by Volkswagen’s Thing. Although it does manage to tell you that the object in question is a car, the Le Car name fails on every other level. The French have come up with great car names before - like the Citroen Deux Chevaux (“Two Horses”) which is a perfect name for an iconic two-cylinder car. So how could the same country that brought you that awesome name (as well as haute couture, Brie and the baguette) produce a name like Le Car? By letting the U.S. importer choose. Sacre Bleu.
Chevrolet Luv - Words are freighted with meaning. And Luv is a particular kind of word, a cuter, mentally-challenged version of “love.” Although it sounds exactly the same as the proper version, the misspelling takes Luv to an entirely different place: a universe of long-gone, high-need girlfriends with pink bedrooms, teddy bear collections, and a habit of writing clingy personal notes on pastel-coloured paper signed with hand-drawn stars, hearts and emoticons. (Even if you never dated a woman like that, you know the horror.) The Luv name offends grammarians, educated women, and scares men. The Luv was a lame little vehicle, but its name was even worse. Chevrolet could easily have called it the Eunuch, which would have been an improvement.
Daihatsu Charade - Japanese manufacturers have a long history of misunderstanding how vehicle names sound in English. The Mysterious Utility Wizard, for example, was so bad that it entered the realm of irony, as did the D-Bag 4. But Charade is worst of all, because it actually sounds good to some North Americans (at least the ones who dropped English). Someone else would have to explain to them why no vehicle should have a vehicle with a name that means “an absurd pretense intended to create a pleasant or respectable appearance.”
Oldsmobile Intrigue - If ever there was a car that failed to live up to its name, it was this late-1990’s concoction. A deadly dull four-wheeled appliance, it looked like it was designed by a committee of style-challenged mid-level managers who were locked into a windowless suite at Howard Johnson’s and ordered to remain there until they designed a car. The resulting Oldsmobile is best described as beige vanilla lite, and so its name stands a cruel jest. Had Oldsmobile called it the Flatliner or the Dullard, we could have respected the honesty and dug the irony. But calling it the Intrigue was like inventing George Bush and naming him Barrack Obama.
Mercury Marauder - It’s easy to get a bad-boy name wrong (Slayer, Pillager, etc.) and Marauder is a case in point. Mercury probably hoped to convey a sense of virility and purpose, but they failed: the Marauder name may have caused someone, somewhere, to picture a shirtless stud warrior galloping around a burning city on a sweat-slicked stallion, but for the vast majority, it means nothing. Even worse, the name is the verbal neighbour of “maroon,” a colour that went out of style back in the eight-track tape era. And for the handful of romance-novel buffs who actually knew what a marauder was, it was a brutal disappointment to see the name stuck on a car that was the mechanical equivalent of a fat, bald accountant in a K-Mart suit.
Ford Probe - Ford executives probably thought that the Probe name would convey a journey into outer space, or maybe a quest for personal enlightenment. Instead, it serves as a four-wheeled reminder that you’re probably overdue for your colonoscopy. It didn’t help that the car’s wedge shape gave it a passing resemblance to a suppository. As car names go, a major fail.
Geely Beauty Leopard - Although the Japanese led the world when it came to hilarious misapplications of English names, the Chinese are now giving them a run for their money. Exhibit One: the Geely Beauty Leopard, manufactured by the ascendant Geely Motors (In Chinese: “Lucky Motors.”) But when it comes to picking English names, Geely’s luck ran out. By itself, “Leopard” isn’t bad. The name is a kissing cousin to Jaguar, after all, a righteous brand with an awesome performance heritage. But tacking “Beauty” in front of “Leopard” destroys the effect, clumsily drawing attention to something we already know (a leopard is a natural beauty - no need to tell us.)