Graphic Obscurity
Philip Morris's connection to tobacco has disappeared behind a vague new corporate name and logo.
By Steven Heller
June 2003
When the Philip Morris Company changed its corporate name last January to
Altria, it introduced an abstract logo that is dramatically different from
the heraldic coat of arms still used on its cigarette packages. Big corporations
tend to treat venerated logos with deep respect. Creating an entirely new
corporate identity raises a flag, which is exactly what Philip Morris
has done in its battle against negative public perception.
The new logo, a colorful mosaic grid conceived by New York's Landor Associates,
looks very similar to the 1994 "Earth Flag" designed by Danish
designer Torben Skov for a conference in Ostend, Belgium. It's also conceptually
reminiscent of the postapartheid South African flag, with clashing
colors symbolizing the nation's diverse tribes. Altria's luminescent grid
represents Philip Morris's brand diversity, from its cigarette line (Marlboro,
Virginia Slims, English Ovals, L&M, Benson & Hedges, Parliament,
Chesterfield, and dozens of others in the U.S. and Europe) to Miller
Brewing Co. to Kraft Foods (Cheez Whiz, Kool-Aid, Maxwell House, Oscar Mayer,
Sanka, Tang, Velveeta, and more).
The logo is inspired (if one squints) by a display of varied packages. Nonetheless,
compared to the imperial lions framing Philip Morris's original monogram,
this contemporary symbol is fairly generic and applicable to scores of different
companies, which shows how graphic abstraction can make even the simplest
concept into a mark of authority. Yet this logo is more like one of those
vibrating-pixel distortions used on Court TV to obliterate a witness's face
than it is a national flag. It is therefore designed more to camouflage
than illuminate, which is not surprising because one of the jobs of corporate
identity is to hide or remove stains from questionable company images.
Since the Surgeon General deemed smoking hazardous and addictive, Philip
Morris's tobacco divisions have cast long dark shadows over both its more
benign product lines and its aggressive cultural philanthropy. According
to www.identityworks.com, a Web site that reviews new corporate identity
CI programs, this switch from emphasizing Philip Morris's more negative
possessions, regardless of how profitable, to its less controversial
corporate assets was overdue: "At long last, management accepted the
obvious need to distinguish the corporate brand from its tobacco businesses."
Or as the official corporate literature said, "The name 'Philip
Morris' is truly a tobacco name--a name associated with a remarkable history
as a leader in that industry both in the United States and around the world.
But we also have come to own a number of companies that are not tobacco-based....Altria
Group will clarify its identity as what it is: a parent company to both
tobacco and food companies that manage some of the world's most successful
brands." As articulate as the above may be, there is still something
disturbing about an identity intended to conceal one of society's most dreaded
health risks.
Incidentally the name Altria derives from the Latin word altus, meaning
"high," which the corporate literature states "connotes an
enterprise that aims for peak performance and constant improvement. Our
goal is that over time the name also will reflect the seven attributes
that we believe define who we are and how we grow our businesses: performance;
marketing excellence applied by our consumer packaged goods companies; commitment
to responsibility; financial strength; innovation; compliance and integrity;
and dedication to people." To distance itself from secondary smoke
and other related issues, ecclesiastical Latin is the language of choice
for repositioning this corporation because it is enigmatic and spiritual.
Other companies have also adopted Latin- or Greek-sounding names not only
because they are attempting to concoct new mythologies but because everyday
English words and names are becoming an endangered species. The diminishing
pool of common identifiers that are available for use as trademarks,
according to Frank Martinez, a trademark and intellectual property lawyer,
is the result of two trends: "First is the growing practice of filing
applications to federally register a trademark based upon a bona fide
intention to use the trademark sometime in the future. Corporations like
to know that they own the right to use the proposed trademark prior to devoting
valuable resources to building a brand." The second reason grows directly
out of the emphasis trademark law places on the "distinctiveness"
of a trademark: "The made-up business name is considered 'fanciful'
or 'arbitrary,' and is considered 'inherently distinctive‚' by the
U.S. Patent and Trademark Office." As competition gets fiercer
in a dwindling economy, Martinez predicts we should expect an increase in
unusual business and product names, "since the success of a new product
may be directly related to the novelty of its trademark."
This concept is not new. Almost a century ago Kodak was an invented "inherently
distinctive" name that still sounds and looks good. But the problem
with Altria is that its made-up-ness rings false. Today there are so many
strained product and business names. Some start with "A" and end
with "a"--like Acura, Altima, Achieva, Adapta, and Acela. Others,
such as Maxima and Previa, sound like supporting characters from the film
Gladiator. Consignia (the new title for England's Royal Mail that
was abandoned shortly after its introduction) suggests a medicine for stopping
flatulence. It turns out that Altria is not original either. Last year
a Denver venture-capital firm called Altira Group LLC tried to legally
enjoin Philip Morris from instituting the change but lost its case because
trademark law doesn't ban company names that sound alike unless the similar
names would cause confusion among consumers.
Made-up names are not a priori bad, notes Brian Collins, executive creative
director of the Brand Integration Group at Ogilvy & Mather. "I
truly hated Verizon at first," he says. "It sounded too desperate.
But at some point I started thinking the name was sorta OK--maybe even good."
Of course names get their real meaning from what they represent, and Verizon
has become a successful brand (despite an awful logo) because it efficiently
serves its clientele.
"I was originally suspicious of the Altria name," Collins says,
"but in all of the advertising they've done to launch it, they've gone
out of their way to say it represents the two divisions of the Phillip Morris
Company. They're not hiding behind anything. Phillip Morris remains the
name of their big flagship tobacco company. They've made that very
clear." He believes that the graphic identity is a fair representation
of a giant company with several different businesses. "The logo is
a distillation of the colors of their many varied brands. It's beautiful
and powerful--especially when it's animated."
Granted, the color grid is alluringly hypnotic when morphing on the computer
screen, but on the printed page is vague and clumsy because the Altria logotype
is not integrated into the mark and sits untethered to one side as if it
were a typographic afterthought. When used on four magazine ads, created
by Leo Burnett USA, that launched Altria--featuring pleasing though enigmatic
color photographs respectively of a tree, bridge, column, and waterfall--the
grid appeared like a misplaced scrap of paper, something a designer or printer
neglected to remove from the layout before sending it off to press.
But the copy was not ambiguous. The one with the tree reads, in part: "From
these branches grow many brands each worth a billion dollars or more, like
Marlboro, Nabisco, and Oscar Mayer. Along with hundreds of other household
names such as Altoids, Parliament, Post, and Ritz." The caginess of
the ad is the nonchalant inclusion of cigarettes with lunch meats and breath
mints. The logo blends the products together in one chromatic blur under
the inscrutable name. The ads are not aimed at the general public, which
certainly knows the difference between butts and bologna, but rather at
investors who need to feel comfortable about supporting a company that in
addition to processed food markets hazardous and addictive products. During
these times of raised health awareness, it is easier to feel ethically sanguine
about earning dividends from a company called Altria (which sounds curiously
like Altruist) than one named Philip Morris. That is the real inspiration
behind the name and logo change.
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