We've built the scaffolding: strategy, positioning, tone, and differentiation. Foundations gave us the structure. Now language has to do more than explain. It has to define what we're building.
That starts with a name.
A name isn't a creative detail. It's often one of the first cues people receive, and it immediately begins shaping how they see the brand. The moment someone hears it, judgment starts to form. That reaction might be fast, unconscious, or biased, but it sets the frame for everything that follows. Before they try your product, see your work, or read your manifesto, the name sets the tone. A strong name clarifies; a weak one forces every other cue to over-explain.
Wittgenstein wasn't writing brand strategy, but he might as well have been. He defines the weight of a name. It draws the perimeter of what your audience believes you can be. If the name feels flat, narrow, or borrowed, the brand will feel that way too. It carries neither personality, values, nor mission. It exists to trigger recognition, prime association, and quietly shape a mental ecosystem.
Naming breaks abstraction and renders meaning legible. Once called, a thing gains shape, boundary, and effect. It becomes something the audience can sort, repeat, and recall. A name anchors everything else the brand expresses: visually, verbally, and behaviorally. Every cue radiates from that word. When we name something, we're not just identifying it. We're deciding what kind of space it gets to occupy in someone's mind.
A name becomes powerful by shaping what follows. It doesn't just sit at the front of a brand; it sets the logic for everything behind it. Design decisions feel sharper. Messaging lands cleaner. Meaning coheres. The best names don't predict the future; they create the conditions for it to make sense.
Before you write anything down, you need pressure to push against. What should be felt? What can't be avoided? What are you responding to, resisting, or trying to reclaim? Naming with intent means setting the semantic, semiotic, and behavioral conditions that shape the conditions for language to matter.
Return to the tension defined in your positioning work (Positioning That Means Something). The name carries its weight. That friction is your leverage. A good name doesn't avoid the pressure. It sharpens the contrast. Don't reframe. Reinforce.
Use your semiotic scan of your brand (Reading the Room). Catalog the dominant words, tones, and metaphors already in play. Call out the clichés and flag anything off-limits. The name must land inside that terrain without echoing it. Mark the patterns, stake the gaps, then aim straight at the open space.
Leverage the distinct vantage point (Differentiation, Distinctions, & Intersections). The name must signal the single attribute that sets you apart, whether that's a stance, a method, or a worldview, and do it faster than any tagline could. Strip away what's shared; spotlight what's yours.
Draw non-negotiable lines. Strip out any tonal register, naming pattern, metaphor, or archetype that blunts your distinction. "No startup suffixes." "No pastoral clichés." "No finance cadences." "Cap it at two words." Precise edges focus the search and keep the language honest.
Anchor the name to the cultural pulse: current behaviors, vernacular shifts, and emerging symbols that shape perception right now. Decide whether to ride the wave or cut against it. Names that only fit fade; names that seize the moment break through the noise.
Names operate through language. They are spoken, read, remembered, and repeated. It's easy to mistake expression as a subset of logic, but they serve different purposes. Logic chases precision. Language shapes perception. One defines the boundaries of a message. The other colors it with tone, rhythm, and cultural weight. A name has to work in both spaces. It needs the clarity to be understood and the texture to be felt. It's the entry point to everything that follows.
Every naming book offers the same triangle: descriptive, associative, and abstract. It's not wrong, but it's incomplete. Each mode has its strengths and its costs. The real question is: what narrative does each mode enable, and what system does it trap you in?
Descriptive names tell you exactly what something is: Whole Foods, General Motors, Booking.com. Associative names work through proximity: Amazon evokes scale, Nest suggests comfort, Slack implies reduced effort. Abstract names, such as Kodak, Hulu, and Oreo, start with no inherent meaning and earn their associations over time.
Each mode comes with trade-offs. Descriptive names are straightforward, searchable, and easy to place, but at times too rigid or dull. They aid comprehension but limit narrative. Associative names open space for interpretation but rely on the audience to connect the dots. They cue intention but risk misalignment. Abstract names are flexible and distinct but slower to establish. They offer narrative freedom but demand more time, more repetition, and more discipline to solidify meaning.
No direction is inherently better. The right choice depends on the category you're entering, the space you're claiming, and the cues already saturating the field.
Direct. Functional. Often compound. Use it when comprehension needs to happen instantly: when the product is new, the category is technical, or the offering speaks for itself. But clarity is not the same as emptiness. A descriptive name still needs shape. It needs some kind of sharpness: rhythm, word choice, or unexpected framing. Otherwise, it dissolves into the noise.
Suggestive. Metaphorical. Tonal. Use it when the product is simple, but the brand needs a narrative. When your differentiation lives in emotion, values, or behavior. Associative names don't carry the message; they hint at it. They invite the audience to close the gap, to participate in the meaning. That only works if the metaphor is legible, the cues are coherent, and the story can support the leap.
Form-first. Meaning later. Use it when you're building a new category, when the offering defies classification, or when long-term brand equity matters more than short-term comprehension. These names earn power by repetition, consistency, and alignment. They can't be clever. They can't be weak. They need sonic and visual presence; something for the audience to hold onto while the brand fills in the gaps.
A name communicates more than meaning. Sound, shape, and rhythm influence how it's received, often before comprehension even begins.
Some names move easily. Their pacing is smooth, their syllables familiar, their transitions clean. Others create friction through strange letter combinations, uneven stress, or jarring pairings that slow the reader down.
A name might sound natural aloud, but look awkward on the page. It might resemble the wrong word, interfere with legibility, or fall apart when typeset. Elements like symmetry, length, and letterform stability all affect how a name holds together in use.
The best names perform across every context. They speak well. They scan cleanly. They carry their weight in a system. If they falter, everything around them has to work harder to compensate.
At this stage, you're generating real candidates. The task is linguistic: create names that stay sharp under pressure. Push on structure, rhythm, and tone until the form gives you something worth holding.
Start by pulling from unexpected sources. Not metaphors, but adjacent knowledge systems: mythology, anatomy, subcultures, tools, texture. You're not naming the thing itself. You're drawing from the world that surrounds it, from words that carry tone, context, and texture before they carry meaning.
Next, begin to apply linguistic constraints. Structure each round of ideation to force variation: short compounds, vowel-dominant stems, clipped endings, mirrored consonants, internal rhyme. Each limitation pushes the form of your name in a different direction. You're revealing patterns you wouldn't reach by instinct alone. Constraint becomes a search method.
Speak everything aloud. Not once, not carefully, but in rhythm, in context, at a natural speed. Listen for potential issues, stress, stumbles, and collisions. Names are read, spoken, and then remembered. If it doesn't move cleanly through the mouth, it won't last in the world.
Finally, the resonance test. Names don't exist in isolation. Run each one through slang, idiom, and cultural usage. Check for mistranslations, soundalikes, taboos, redirects, and autocomplete noise. If it feels too close to something that already exists, especially something adjacent, it collapses under the weight of someone else's meaning.
You can't. Not really.
There's no universal test, no perfect score, no formula that guarantees a name will land. With enough funding, names might go through trademark checks, linguists, naming agencies, audience panels, cultural checks, and domain researchers. But without those tools, what do we have? Just pressure, and you've already applied some in the creation phase. The early tests exposed potential. These final tests expose weakness.
Here's how to narrow the field:
Kill your darlings. Take your top three and remove one. Which is easiest to let go of? Why? The process of elimination reveals more than preference; it exposes the names that lack weight. A strong name should be difficult to discard.
Strip the support. Remove all context. No origin story, no logo, no tagline. Just the word. Which names still carry meaning and texture on their own? If a name requires justification to make sense, it's not doing enough.
Flip the tone. Say each name aloud in four different emotional registers: admiration, sarcasm, urgency, and frustration. Imagine it appearing in a one-star review or as the punchline in a TikTok comment. The strongest names hold form even when the emotional framing shifts.
Invert the category. Take the name out of its intended context. Imagine it applied to a product or service in a completely different industry. Does it still feel viable? Some words stretch to fit new contexts. Others simply flatten into generic noise.
Step away. Take a complete break. Don't look at the names for at least 48 hours. Then, without notes, write down whichever ones you remember clearly. Don't rely on how they made you feel; depend on what your memory kept. Stickiness is earned, not granted.
Run a cold read. Pick one person with no knowledge of the project. Say the names aloud, casually, in passing. A minute later, ask which one they remember. Then ask again the next day. You're not looking for their favorite. You're looking for the name they couldn't shake.
Not every weak name is obvious; some sound fine in isolation. They're pronounceable, available, maybe even clever. But once placed into context, beside competitors, inside systems, across formats, their structure starts to falter. These aren't aesthetic missteps. There are logic gaps. They break coherence, not because the tactic is flawed, but because the application is unexamined.
Take the startup suffixes: "-ify," "-ly," "-io,". Names built around this framing are functional, flexible, and digital-native. Brands like Shopify, Bitly, and Twilio built equity around these shapes, and as a result, others imitated that same framing. But when a linguistic structure becomes a pattern, the name tends to flatten. The brand has to work harder to carve out an identity elsewhere.
Puns operate in a similar tension. They can be sharp, memorable, even disarming. They invite the audience into the language, create intimacy, or defuse seriousness with wit, but they also narrow the tone and create fixed meaning. They often don't extend well. A pun might make a strong first impression, but it rarely offers a structure that other names can follow. In systems thinking, the question isn't "Is it clever?" It's "Can it scale?"
Borrowed equity creates a different kind of instability. Referencing an external symbol (a cultural figure, a historical reference, a legacy brand) can offer immediate familiarity, but that recognition comes at a cost. It signals association, not authorship. The name leans on meaning that already exists, which means the brand must constantly clarify what it is not. Instead of building its territory, it stays in someone else's shadow, limiting future narrative.
Lastly, we must understand availability isn't the same as viability. A name can clear a trademark search and still collapse in practice. It might cluster too closely with category peers, blur in conversation, or autocorrect into something unintended. Legal clearance doesn't guarantee distinction.
Each of these traps reveals the same underlying issue: a name that functions in isolation but fails within the brand systems it's intended to support. Weak names don't always break loudly; they blur, drift, or collapse under competing cues, as every element does when misaligned. We must remember that a name is not just another cue; however, it is our first step away from the abstract realm into the point where ideas take a realistic form. Naming isn't about checking boxes; it's about establishing structural coherence. If the name can't carry meaning across formats, contexts, and time, it doesn't just underperform. It compromises the clarity of the brand itself.
When ByteDance expanded its short-video platform internationally, it renamed Douyin to TikTok, a two-syllable, onomatopoeic coinage that mimics a ticking clock. The name evokes tempo, rhythm, and brevity, aligning with the platform's core behavior. It speaks cleanly, translates easily, and arrives without cultural baggage. Rather than localize the original name, ByteDance leaned on form-first abstraction to let meaning emerge from usage. Source
Takeaway: A sound-driven, baggage-free name can anchor instant recall and give the brand room to graft new narratives as it grows.
In 2018, IHOP temporarily flipped its "P" to a "b," becoming IHOb as part of a campaign. While the campaign sparked attention, it also triggered widespread confusion about the brand's focus. Some assumed a permanent shift away from breakfast; others read the "b" as "breakfast," compounding the ambiguity. The stunt exposed how even a temporary name, if poorly structured, can blur category signals and undermine long-standing brand associations. Source
Takeaway: Names shape perception fast. When structural cues conflict with existing associations, even short-term moves can destabilize long-term meaning.
Audi positioned e-tron to signal electric innovation and engineering precision, and felt that way in German/ English-speaking markets. But in French, "étron" means excrement, a vulgar collision that gave the media an easy target. Headlines mocked the name, jokes spread, and what should have been a clean launch turned into a reputational distraction. Audi cleared legal screens but failed to run a basic cultural check, allowing a single syllable to undermine the authority of its flagship electric line. Source
Takeaway: Availability is not viability. Skipping a cultural-language scan can turn an aspirational cue into systemic noise that the rest of the brand must endlessly counteract.
Naming asks you to pin meaning down: briefly, precisely, and at scale. It's not the final word, but it is the first one the brand will be judged by. A strong name doesn't carry the weight of the brand alone. It simply makes everything else easier. It cues the difference. It shapes the system. It earns its place not by cleverness, but by clarity, durability, and the space it opens for what comes next.
And what comes next is the rest of the language.
The Role of Language & Tone shifts from naming to the full spectrum of language strategy. We'll build the tools that shape how a brand speaks: its tone, its vocabulary, its message structure, and its capacity to flex across audiences, channels, and time. If naming is about entry, language is about presence: how the brand lives in conversation, not just how it introduces itself.