The unbearable heaviness of brand

For two highly agreeable weeks, I had loan of a Lotus Emeya GT. Not the hyper fast version, though this one was quite fast enough, but close to being a range topper all the same. With due diligence I tested the grand tourer in a variety of conditions and contexts: rain-swept motorways, winding A-roads and pothole strewn country thoroughfares (rigorous but less fun). 

But because I am a Londoner, a great deal of time was spent negotiating the city. The Lotus, incredibly adept for such a large car, introduced me to a new and unexpected experience – a pleasant interaction with that most implacable of foes, the London traffic warden. Overstaying my welcome in a regulated on-street parking area, I emerged from my meeting to see said warden admiring the Emeya’s striking form. “I’ve been here for 20 minutes, I just didn’t want to ticket a Lotus,” they confessed. Now that is a level of brand equity that cannot be bought off the peg. 

Once the feelings of gratitude had receded, it struck me that to many punters the Emeya isn’t really a Lotus at all. Its two-tonne frame is much too far away from Chapman’s “adding lightness” philosophy, the success of which tethered England’s best-loved brand to a modus operandi that, however beguiling in its simplicity, did not make space for evolution. Indeed, to be off-brand is the cardinal sin – a death sentence in design reviews, board meetings, even job interviews. I recall a talented friend being rejected for a TV presenter role on that very basis: great CV and skills, but “not a brand fit” was the official rejection line. 

Designers should be free to question and provoke as well as interpret

Chris Bangle sketched this out for me once, on one side of the paper was a little cluster of debatable points that could be contested in a meaningful way and way over on the other side was the dreaded “off-brand” bubble, ostracised, floating alone, unworthy of engagement. 

The reaction to the reveal of the Ferrari Luce interior confirms the primacy of brand. Much like Lotus, the idea of an EV Ferrari had already irked the faithful. In defining what an electrified il Cavallino Rampante might be, Ferrari worked with design supergroup LoveFrom to produce a human machine interface, which mixed physical switchgear with a Cupertino aesthetic. Predictably there was no shortage of enraged online commentators (is there ever), but the more reasoned critique ran thus: “Yes, interesting, but it is not right for the brand”. Conversation ends. 

But without space to challenge the shibboleths of brand, what does that mean for the role of design? A ventriloquist articulating the company direction, derived from the ideas of various other departments? Design can be so much more, and so it should be. The industry is littered with examples of carmakers who doggedly stuck with what they knew, only to find themselves overtaken and left behind as the world around them moved on. This is not an argument of change for its own sake – that way lies madness – but the weight of brand as a drag on progression can be unbearable. Designers should be free to question and provoke as well as interpret. 

Lotus had ambitions to grow and for that it needed to change. To change, it needed to challenge what the brand meant. That takes courage, which seems to be in short supply of late. To argue whether Lotus got it right is almost beside the argument, though being a little partisan I hope in the long run their bravery will be rewarded. Over time and without challenge, brands can be buried under layer upon layer of history to the point where it will only weigh them down. In the words of Chapman, sometimes we need to add lightness.