Product Placement

There are several sites online devoted to laughing at foreign products with funny names, and at the hapless foreigners valiantly failing to master the English language. However, personally I think I take more enjoyment from some of the names that are bafflingly given to products sold in my own country, so I thought I would share with you some of my favourites.

There is something intrinsically funny and satisfying about the word 'vag', and this product seems to harness this unique quality in a slightly inappropriate context. The euphemistic term 'feminine itching' is also a great example of a euphemism failing to really fulfil the basic requirements of a euphemism. They could have called the cream 'Fanny Scratch' and I don't think anyone would feel any less embarrassed asking for it at the chemist. It does always amuse me when a product for treating a sensitive personal hygiene or health issue is given such an unambiguous, unsubtle name, though Vagisil pales in comparison with this:

It literally has the word 'anus' in its name.

Like 'feminine itching', the concept of 'feminine wipes' is again at odds with our general perception of what constitutes femininity. The name Femfresh evokes images neither of freshness nor of femininity. Also, it reminds me a little of the word 'femidom'.

Moving on to a different kind of cleaning, I find Cillit Bang interesting because the branding seems wilfully European and naff, and yet by welding this with the quintessentially British activity of shouting, as personified by Barry Scott, the brand has managed to acquire a certain degree of ironic cool. Cillit Bang is probably the first domestic cleaning product to have gone viral, to the extent where I almost wonder whether Jakazid was commissioned by the company in a very clever piece of marketing. The brand has certainly taken the UK market by storm.

In contrast, I can't help feeling that Cif is an example of a branding strategy that has lost its way. While the reasons for the change in name were well documented at the time, changing the name of a familiar product to cater to foreign markets is not something that sits well with the British consumer. The name Jif was reassuringly evocative of classic British cultural concepts, such as doing things in a jiffy, or jiffy bags. Cif is basically a straight banana.

I don't find Garnier Nutrisse funny so much as incredibly irritating, specifically the advert with Davina McCall where she tells her mother that "Nutrisse means 'nourish'". The clear implication is that it means this in French, but it doesn't. The French word for 'nourish' is the verb 'nourrir'. Among its derivatives in French are the word 'nourriture', meaning 'nourishment' or 'food', and the word 'nutrition', which means the same as it does in English. There is no word 'nutrisse'. The nearest would be the subjunctive form of the verb, 'nourrisse', but this word would not have the same connotation of 'nutrition' to most English speakers, so Garnier have just made up a word and pretended it means something. It doesn't. It means nothing, Davina. Nothing.

Based on the packaging and branding, Benecol looks and sounds like something you would smear on yourself if you were suffering from feminine itching. Its whole aesthetic just seems medical, clinical, and in no way suitable for something you're supposed to spread on your sandwiches. I can see what they were aiming for, incorporating the Latin word 'bene' into the name to communicate the idea that this is something that's good for you. But sometimes brands can try a bit too hard, sometimes it's better to keep things simple:

Natch. Sweet, delicious Natch. It sounds like 'snatch', and it looks like what it is: paint stripper for the guts. The complete opposite, in fact, to Benecol.