MINI Kerfuffle

The Mini began life in a fit of pique. Saying that, describing Leonard Lord’s creative spark with a French expression may be too ironic even for the British (who’ve been defending their island nation with arched eyebrows for centuries). Less obliquely, the head of the British Motor Corporation allegedly launched the automotive project with the words “God damn these bloody awful [German] Bubble Cars. We must drive them off the road by designing a proper miniature car.” In 1959, while the UK was still suffering from a gigantic post-WWII, post-Empire hangover, the ill-fated BMC launched the Mini. Long story short, Mini RIP 1970. Until the Germans (of all people) decided to resurrect the brand. BMW beget MINI.

Notice the addition of the three capital letters. MINI, not Mini. BMW changed the iconic car’s typography to signal the fact that the new MINI was not or was—well, I’m not quite sure. Although the Germans designed the new, 2001 MINI, it was (and is) built in the Land of Hope and Glory (Oxford). So not a point of origin issue, then.

Perhaps BMW wanted to distinguish the new car’s relatively robust quality from the previous machine’s tendency to malfunction, fall apart and rust. You know make a BREAK with the past, while maintaining a LINK to the past. Lovers of the original car will gladly tell you the new MINI is a far more bloated conveyance than its namesake, and assume that [what they see as] MINI is a typographical admission of the car’s fundamental flaw (i.e., what BMW saw as its main advantage.)

In all likelihood, the caps lock rechristening was initiated by a marketing maven (wearing really trendy designer glasses) who didn’t get paid to leave well enough alone. One can imagine the bullet-ridden Powerpoint slide (screen?) gliding over the MINI champion’s giddiness. In any case, not to coin a phrase, making Mini into MINI was a bloody awful decision.

With the MINI, BMW launched one of those entirely pointless wars between a corporation’s love of trendy typography and popular usage. Of course, BMW never stood a chance. When faced with the infinitesimal decision between holding down the caps lock key to satisfy an unknown, unseen legal obligation or branding infatuation, or not, not wins every time.

The gig was up right from the git-go. Prior to the MINI’s launch, the entirely enthusiastic automotive media failed to capitalize the automaker’s capital idea. Even the obsequious Motor Trend—a magazine whose editorial decisions have been made entirely pliable by BMW’s advertising budget—failed to get with the program.

Well, they did and they didn’t. Their editors remembered to the maximize the MINI, while their writers (hard working, detail-oriented people that they are) ignored it. The end result was entirely predictable: both uses co-existed, with MINI losing ground. For once, Motor Trend lived up to its moniker.

A shift key is a terrible thing to waste, but at least the MINI mishegos separates the pedants from the pistonheads. For example, Wikipedia (the unauthoritative authority on all things) has two distinct entries for vehicles spelled m-i-n-i: MINI and Mini. But even this unambiguous dichotomy causes typographical conniptions and a retreat into disambiguation.

At the top of Wiki’s Mini page: “For the “new” Mini, see Mini (BMW). For other uses, see Mini (disambiguation).” Shouldn’t that be “For the new MINI, see: MINI?” And what’s with the quote marks around “new”? Is Wiki’s anonymous editor showing his displeasure at BMW’s Mini revolution or a more general annoyance with precious typography? And over at Wiki’s MINI entry, the word is bolded and an explanatory aside (apology?) offered: “Mini (styled as MINI) is a British automotive brand . . . .”

Who cares? No one who doesn’t shelter under BMW’s corporate umbrella, obviously. I publish and moderate an automotive website: thetruthaboutcars.com. Although I use MINI to refer to the 2001 car (I’ve got my own issues), our car-savvy commentariot does not. As for the mainstream press or on the street? Fuhgeddaboutit.

In a strange way, BMW should take some comfort in pistonheads’ (and potential consumers’) lack of adherence to and/or outright ignorance of this particular example of corporate lexicography. Except for a group of die-hard Mini fans, the MINI is a Mini. Anyway, it would cost BMW tens of millions of dollars to throw in the typographical towel. And if you type “Mini” into Google, official MINI sites occupy the first two positions. So, then never mind.

If there’s a lesson to be learned here, it’s this: even the largest companies can’t buck popular usage. Nor should they try. The best possible solution is to create a compelling name for an automotive product and then actively perpetuate any nicknames given to the vehicle by the general public. (For example, enthusiasts have dubbed the new Chevrolet Malibu “the new ’Bu.”) Avoid trendy typography at all costs.

And if your audience misspells the product’s name or, God forbid, misplaces the hyphen (don’t get me started), go with it, not against it. Just as you can’t fight city hall, you can’t force people to make keystrokes that satisfy internal politics, rather than personal psychology, which has no time whatsoever for such inane games.