Naming cars can be a difficult task especially when sophistication may be lost in translation, writes KILIAN DOYLE
NO DOUBT you have better things to do with your life than sit about pondering the curious, controversial and baffling art of naming cars. I, on the other hand, do not. So this week I have been considering how much of a massive headache for manufacturers this issue can be.
There are so many variables involved that getting a name right can mean the difference between roaring success and financial decimation.
Accordingly, car firms pay marketing gurus indecent amounts of cash to come up with names for their wares. Sometimes these experts are worth every penny. But sometimes they get it very, very wrong. For every Testarossa or Gallardo or Carrera, there is a Tiguan or Qubo or Justy.
There's an execrable fashion these days for naming cars after lost tribes or obscure meteorological phenomena. The problem with this is that, while they sound exotic, these monikers mean diddley-squat to anyone.
For example, can someone please explain to me what Koleos means? What on earth was Renault thinking? Fine car it may be, but do they really believe anybody wants to drive anything that sounds like it's been named after a painful internal growth?
They'd be better off giving it a name that says something about the car itself. How about the Renault Recession Bedamned, I'm Doing Alright, Thanks Very Much?
But this too can backfire, a classic case in point being the Mitsubishi Carisma, which - as anyone who has ever driven one will attest - had none at all. Then there's the Proton Savvy. Yeah, right. If you had any savvy at all, you'd buy an Aygo. Suzuki Swift? Compared to what? Evolution?
Even Ford, bastions of sensibleness, have had naming issues. The Probe just sounds excruciating, Mondeo is too close to 'mundane' for its own good and Ka is simply daft. And then there's the unfortunate fact that - whether by intention or otherwise - the Escort and Fiesta share their names with English porno mags. Maybe that's designed to give lairy blokes the delusion that if they buy one, the car will end up full of busty slappers too?
While I'm being lewd, it's worth noting that in addition to picking a name that is evocative or romantic or indicative of the vehicle's qualities, car makers also have to be careful that they survive translation. You are no doubt aware of Mitsubishi's problems with the Pajero, which is Spanish for something that turns teenage boys blind, but did you know General Motors had to call its Buick LaCrosse the Allure in Canada after discovering LaCrosse is Quebecois slang for onanism?
Speaking of Americans, they used to do names properly back when they were chest-beating, flag-waving world-dominators. The Mustang, Charger, Stingray, Thunderbird and Cobra may have handled like battleships and come apart in your hands, but at least they sounded like the Chariots of the Gods. But despite a few valiant recent attempts to rekindle that virile, rebellious petrolhead spirit of old, most US car makers have sought solace in their nation's whimpering retreat into impotence by naming their cars accordingly. Dodge Journey or Chevy Suburban, anybody?
The pottiest names of all come from the Far East, where things really do get lost in translation, often to hilarious effect. A personal favourite is the Toyota Estima Lucida G Luxury Joyful Canopy. Slips off the tongue nicely, you'll agree.
Would Sir buy an Isuzu Mysterious Utility Wizard or a Honda Beat Midship Amusement? No? Perhaps I can tempt Sir to a Suzuki MightyBoy or a Mazda Bongo Friendee instead? Or maybe a Nissan Elgrand Horny, Datsun Naked, Mitsubishi Mini Active Urban Sandal, or Mitsubishi MUM 500 Shall We Join Us?
Hmm. You're evidently a man of discerning tastes, Sir, but I think I've got the very thing for you. You'll really know you've made it when you find yourself swanning about in a Yamaha Pantryboy Supreme.