From a car zealot's standpoint, the Buick Allure I recently drove is probably the best damn Buick ever. I could actually tell that rubber tires - not pillows - were what was connecting the car to the road. Real feel in the steering. The suspension was nicely buttoned down and proportioned itself accordingly between a smooth ride and keeping the car flat in the curves. It was even a bit of a looker, to the point where folks made a point of coming up to me with compliments.
Trouble was, most of these admirers wondered if this was the new Regal? Well, er, kind of. Before I could go into my usual automotive Cliff Claven response, most left with a smile saying "I really like what they've done with the Regal". Me too. But, IT'S NOT A REGAL!
Which left me thinking how many of these folks with six year old Centurys, or Regals, see this new Buick, drop in on their friendly neighbourhood Pontiac-Buick-GMC showroom looking for a replacement, but end up leaving a bit confused?
Brand names are difficult to establish in our busy, cynical, and forgetful society. Why does The General do this? Why do they take a nameplate that they've spent decades in promoting, have literally millions of previous owners' awareness, and then throw it all away for something bright, shiny, and new, but totally unrecognizable?
(And in Buick's case, they need to double their efforts. Someone at Marketing HQ screwed up as the American version of the Regal replacement is named "LaCrosse" which apparently is slang in French Canada for pleasuring one's self. Hence we get the name "Allure". Whoops.)
We all know a brand name is not built overnight. Success is measured in decades, not years. Brand names can be changed, but only infrequently and only very carefully. People who purchase the same product from the same store or manufacturer have built up a brand image of what to expect each time they make a purchase. That's what gives a brand meaning and value. Take for example Honda's strategy versus Chevrolet in the mid-sized, family car segment.
Since 1976, when Honda offered its first Accord-branded car, the vehicle has grown, its styling, interior, platform, and drivetrain have all has changed dramatically since that first car. But Honda resolutely insists on calling each new generation "Accord". In the same time period, Chevrolet has countered in this segment with Nova, Citation, Celebrity, Corsica, Baretta, Lumina, Epica (in Canada, anyway), Impala, and now back to Malibu.
Even seasoned car spotters need a program to deal with the plethora of new nameplates springing up on Chevy lots. Over the last few months, we've been introduced to the Aveo, Epica, Optra, Colorado, SSR, Cobalt, Uplander, and soon the HHR. All better cars then their replacements, no doubt, but with no brand name history, or loyalty. Now consider how Toyota handled a similar scenario.
Their first Sienna minivan was a generation behind the competition and was not a homerun. It sold because it was a Toyota, plain and simple. So when Toyota was planning the launch of their latest minivan, which addressed the old Sienna's shortcomings, and then some, they didn't feel the need to shout about the car's obvious improvements with a bright shiny new nameplate (i.e. spend marketing money) and we got a "Sienna" again. Another example is the last two generations of Nissan Altimas. The two cars' personalities, performance, styling, and value could not be more polar, yet the badge still read "Altima".
Now, in GM's case, I do have some understanding and empathy. Once established, a brand name and the perceptions that surround it can be extremely difficult and expensive to change.
Imagine you're a GM product manager. You've been buried away clandestinely working on the 2005 Pontiac Grand Am replacement for four years. You've been benchmarking the new car against the old, and boy, is your new baby better in every way. In fact it's almost embarrassing. So yeah, you want the world to know its BRAND NEW! And you want a new name to prove it. Natch: The First Ever G6.
Trouble was, most of these admirers wondered if this was the new Regal? Well, er, kind of. Before I could go into my usual automotive Cliff Claven response, most left with a smile saying "I really like what they've done with the Regal". Me too. But, IT'S NOT A REGAL!
Which left me thinking how many of these folks with six year old Centurys, or Regals, see this new Buick, drop in on their friendly neighbourhood Pontiac-Buick-GMC showroom looking for a replacement, but end up leaving a bit confused?
Brand names are difficult to establish in our busy, cynical, and forgetful society. Why does The General do this? Why do they take a nameplate that they've spent decades in promoting, have literally millions of previous owners' awareness, and then throw it all away for something bright, shiny, and new, but totally unrecognizable?
(And in Buick's case, they need to double their efforts. Someone at Marketing HQ screwed up as the American version of the Regal replacement is named "LaCrosse" which apparently is slang in French Canada for pleasuring one's self. Hence we get the name "Allure". Whoops.)
We all know a brand name is not built overnight. Success is measured in decades, not years. Brand names can be changed, but only infrequently and only very carefully. People who purchase the same product from the same store or manufacturer have built up a brand image of what to expect each time they make a purchase. That's what gives a brand meaning and value. Take for example Honda's strategy versus Chevrolet in the mid-sized, family car segment.
Since 1976, when Honda offered its first Accord-branded car, the vehicle has grown, its styling, interior, platform, and drivetrain have all has changed dramatically since that first car. But Honda resolutely insists on calling each new generation "Accord". In the same time period, Chevrolet has countered in this segment with Nova, Citation, Celebrity, Corsica, Baretta, Lumina, Epica (in Canada, anyway), Impala, and now back to Malibu.
Even seasoned car spotters need a program to deal with the plethora of new nameplates springing up on Chevy lots. Over the last few months, we've been introduced to the Aveo, Epica, Optra, Colorado, SSR, Cobalt, Uplander, and soon the HHR. All better cars then their replacements, no doubt, but with no brand name history, or loyalty. Now consider how Toyota handled a similar scenario.
Their first Sienna minivan was a generation behind the competition and was not a homerun. It sold because it was a Toyota, plain and simple. So when Toyota was planning the launch of their latest minivan, which addressed the old Sienna's shortcomings, and then some, they didn't feel the need to shout about the car's obvious improvements with a bright shiny new nameplate (i.e. spend marketing money) and we got a "Sienna" again. Another example is the last two generations of Nissan Altimas. The two cars' personalities, performance, styling, and value could not be more polar, yet the badge still read "Altima".
Now, in GM's case, I do have some understanding and empathy. Once established, a brand name and the perceptions that surround it can be extremely difficult and expensive to change.
Imagine you're a GM product manager. You've been buried away clandestinely working on the 2005 Pontiac Grand Am replacement for four years. You've been benchmarking the new car against the old, and boy, is your new baby better in every way. In fact it's almost embarrassing. So yeah, you want the world to know its BRAND NEW! And you want a new name to prove it. Natch: The First Ever G6.