Nicknames are, for the most part, a sign of affection. From “Mickey D’s” to “HoJo,” consumers frequently assign pet names to the brands they love—casual, familiar terms that reflect endearment and connection. But when companies co-opt those nicknames and start using them in their own marketing, the outcome, according to new research by Isenberg Professor Matt Thomson, is rarely positive.
“Companies should pay attention to what consumers want, but on fundamental issues like who gets to name a brand, companies need to stand up and do their own thing,” says Thomson, the Charles D. Schewe Faculty Fellow and Professor of Marketing. “We talked to consumers who told us that brand nickname use by the company is just a bit cringy. Nobody benefits from that.”
Thomson, who collaborated with Zhe Zhang of Western University in Canada and Ning Ye of Stockton University on this line of research published in the Journal of Marketing, was inspired by a local example shortly after moving to Amherst. While searching for permanent housing, he stayed at the Howard Johnson hotel on Route 9 in Hadley. There he noticed the iconic nickname “HoJo” prominently displayed on its signage.
“Every time I drove by this sign, it reinforced the idea that companies really were doing this thing—adopting the nicknames that consumers use to refer to these brands and then deploying them in their own marketing,” Thomson says. “It just so happened there was a very concrete local example, and it ignited my interest in the topic.”
Marketing Strategy Fails
To explore this phenomenon, Thomson and his collaborators conducted a series of studies using real brands and real-world data. They found that when companies use their own nicknames in marketing campaigns, it tends to backfire.
“It’s always consumers who come up with the nicknames, so they feel like they own it—it’s their thing,” Thomson says. “When a company starts using consumers’ nicknames, though, our evidence suggested that consumers feel like the name is being co-opted and that it makes the company look obedient or submissive to consumers, which—in this context—is a bad thing. It’s obviously the company’s right to name their own brand, and consumers expect them to exercise that control.
“Imagine how strange it would seem if parents started allowing their friends to name their newborn child or family pet,” he adds. “It’s giving away a fundamental prerogative—the right to name the new addition to the family—to some outsider.”
Brands, he notes, are expected to project strength, competence, and consistency.
“Weaker brands are likely to be viewed as lower quality, less differentiated, having less-appealing associations, etc.,” Thomson says. “Projecting strength is a vital source of brand success. Companies using their own nicknames seems to undermine that.”
Even brands known for their warmth or community focus aren’t immune.
“We compared a charity and a law firm—two extremes in terms of perceived warmth versus competence. Using a nickname hurt both, but the effect was slightly less severe for the charity,” Thomson says.
Regional Differences
One possible exception? McDonald’s in Australia. Locals reportedly embrace the use of “Mickey D’s” in advertising, but Thomson cautions that cultural context plays a huge role.
“Nicknames may be more accepted in some regions, but in the U.S., we have not been able to find a single example of brand nicknames that improve corporate performance,” he says.
Thomson integrates these findings—which were reported on by The Wall Street Journal—into his undergraduate market research class, using the study to teach Isenberg students the value of experiments and the importance of fieldwork.
“We looked at X posts, ad click-through rates, and other real-world outcomes,” he says. “It’s important to take research outside the lab and show that your ideas also work in actual business environments.”
The takeaway for marketers, according to Thomson, is clear: Let consumers have their fun with nicknames. But don’t try to capitalize on that affection by adopting the nickname yourself. You’ll end up looking weak.