Leggo my logo!

Or how to design a shitstorm

There’s been a bumper crop of logo makeovers these past months. Google went slightly slanty sans. AirBnb twisted itself into a Rorschach test. Uber’s crimped U got crushed by a brutalist thingamajig. Most recently, The Metropolitan abandoned 16th-century ideals for retro 70s chic.

In every instance, choruses of hate.

Because someone had the audacity to change it in the first place. Because the new logo sucks. Anyone can see that. Because it was done by a branding firm that doesn’t know shit or because it wasn’t done by a branding firm and the person doing it doesn’t know shit.

Bottom line, you’re idiots for changing your logo and your brand will go down the tubes and I’m just going to go all Donald Trump on you.

Yet Google et al seem to be doing better than ever and if anyone thinks that the Met is going to empty out, please let me know so I can visit the place in peace.

Why all the fuss?

Betrayal.

You’re not the brand I thought you were. How could you just up and turn on me like this? As if we didn’t have history together? I thought you knew me. I thought you cared. Now you’re dressing in new clothes, getting a weird haircut, hanging out with a strange crowd.

Which is actually the point of logo changes. The brand is less worried about us sticking around than it is about connecting to a new audience. Which makes us feel used (we made you!), used up (how could you not want me anymore?), yesterday’s crumbs.

To which so many hearts cry out, “Don’t ignore me! My opinion matters! I know what’s good for you! I know you better than you know yourself!”

But unlike New Coke, the new logo doesn’t go away. It doesn’t listen. You still search with Google, book an AirBnb, hop in an Uber, and cram in with the other sardines at the Met. And one day, you look at that new logo and smile to yourself, remembering how much you once hated it.

Just don’t change again, ok?