An open letter to the terrible logo
Dear Terrible Logo,
In the beginning, your life was full of potential. Joyfully made in an early version of Microsoft Paint, you stood for the big things to come.
You were the pride and joy of the CEO, back when calling himself CEO was just an exercise in self-important posturing, since he was really the only full time employee. You were his symbol of hope. A sign that, despite having an office sandwiched between the plasma donation center and MeeMaw’s Lil’ ‘Uns Daycare, this business was 100% legit.
Through all these years, you’ve worked for it. You’ve made appearances on countless cheap pens, water bottles, stress balls, and those key chains that people threw straight into the garbage. You were screen-printed on Ts and embroidered onto golf shirts. Your likeness was even impressed into chocolate and given as tasteful gifts to the clients that weren’t good enough to send the wine and cheese baskets to. And when the well-meaning folks in HR launched their work/life balance campaign, “Swat Stress,” you were right there, front and center on a couple hundred lime green fly swatters.
You held your head high while you were stretched almost beyond recognition, and when they placed you on backgrounds so busy you were barely discernible. You maintained your dignity as you found yourself dressed for the holidays, year after year, on the company greeting card. And though you’ve appeared in every color of the rainbow, you’re not bitter.
But now, betrayal. Now, the business has hired a CMO, and he has brought the professionals in. They’re curling their mustachioed lips in disdain at your amateur execution. They want a new logo. One with retro icons and script fonts and pretentious round lockups.
Well, I for one am sad to see you go (even though we’ll still see you for a while on those padfolios because those were $6 a piece and way too expensive to just trash).
Here’s to you, Terrible Logo. Maybe you don’t have the elegance of the swoosh, the beautiful breast-like curvature of the Golden Arches, or any kind of hidden symbol like that FedEx arrow that you can’t even believe was there this entire time. But you’ve been with us through thick and thin, and you deserve better.
I have a shirt with you on the back, which I promise to treasure forever. I’ll wear it with pride as I wash my car, attend Zumba class, and climb into bed to cry when things are too difficult.
Sleep well, sweet logo.
PS. Maybe don’t get too worried. The sales director thinks that the cost to replace you is “as ridiculous as putting gas in a wrecked car” and he’s “doing just fine without any of this branding shit anyway.” So fingers crossed!