“Why can’t cars have names anymore?” we hear this rather more often than you’d think. Ever sit in traffic, look at the trunk lid of a car and try to decode the alphabet soup that appears there?
Badges are combinations of letters and numbers that mean something—to the company that builds them and the staff who try to shift them out of America’s dealerships, and to the enthusiasts who keep track of the changes in that ever-shifting alphanumeric broth. What’s an XG350, an NX2000, or a 6000SUX? What does that mishmash of letters and numbers mean? What does it make you feel? Modern? Confused? In these contemporary technology-driven times, perhaps it makes you feel nothing. In an era of new-car-as-appliance, the car companies may well want it that way.
Names are visceral and easily identified. Animals, technology, geography, and dominance of the American highway have all been fertile
