Logos—Law Firms

Generally, I love logos. Wait a second—let me correct that: I love looking at logos. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.

Lately, because lawyers and medical firms and hospitals are promoting themselves so often on TV, it’s easy to see their logos in 1080p resolution.

And for the most part, their logos are not very good. There’s a big difference among what I’d refer to as corporate logos, brand names, and personal “monograms”. Sometime in the near future, I’ll do a column on the history of logos and what a “logo” is. But for today, we’ll just deal with law firm logos. I’ve collected a handful for examination and comparison.

The thing about this collection—any bunch of law firm logos—is that they’re dry. They’re unimaginative. They all have a very clean look, but they’re all sterile, too. And maybe that’s the thing about law firms: the practice is such a straight-laced, dignified, 1-2-3 profession. I’ll bet it’s twice as sterile as what Hollywood portrays it to be.

And being that, designers are probably handcuffed trying to make the firms look like just the happening place to take your lawsuit. Because these are lawyers, they’re very careful about their appearance. Buttoned up, as they say. But as designers, we’re always looking for ways to make our clients look their best while possibly making another design good enough for our portfolio.

The top row in this collection shows two examples of trite law firm design. I put them here to show what not to do. Forget you saw them, going forward. Classic architecture and scales of justice. Really?

Row 2 has two very different approaches of using the initials of the partners on the door.  They’re design examples of a ligature—a joining of letterforms—practically a “brand”. The “GR” is not bad—at least it’s a little different. The Hopgood-Ganim is OK (I can almost see the “hg” burned into a calf’s hide), but it’s a decent try at a logo, especially because it uses a font below that ligature that’s very similar in its design feel.

The 3rd row has two examples of poor design. The “ALF” is a weak attempt at a “monogram”. It isn’t a logo at all—it’s just three letterforms floating in a rectangle. It does nothing. To the right of that, also not so hot. The “G” in a box with a bar above the name—boring.

Then the bottom row. Here’s two examples using typographical brackets to “help” the designs. Not sure why either needs them. The Brown logo has this lacy filigree behind to make it look more dignified, I guess. Notice the off-center ampersand placement in the Morgan & Morgan design, a definite mistake.

Sometimes designing for a straight-laced client is just that. Low key and routine. But as designers, we try to be inventive, different, and somewhat showy. All we can do in an arena such as this is to try to have the client see themselves in a different light than the rest.

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Tenets of Good Design—a Primer, Part 3

Design is impact.

Impact is getting noticed. Anything that sets a design apart from the rest of the pack is impact. Even bad design has a certain impact, but impact of a negative kind is what any good designer has to avoid.

For a product to get noticed, it first has to be promoted. That promotion could be in several places all at the same time: TV advertising, magazine/newspaper ads, and the internet.

Once we see the product, we can see just how much impact it has. Any new product in the marketplace should look different than any that’s come previously in that category. If it does not look sufficiently unique, its impact will be diminished and the product will lose traction—sales—very soon afterward.

Unless something—possibly its performance—is shown to outstrip its otherwise bland appearance. Say, a new laundry detergent: it may have a rather ordinary bottle shape and label design, but it may also contain an ingredient (or an amalgam of ingredients) that removes stains far better and faster than any others available. That kind of differentiation would move this product faster than grocers could stock it.

Visual impact shows up in two primary areas: shape and color. Either could be branded. The shape of a Porsche automobile is distinctive; likewise, the orange color of a Tide bottle makes it very noticeable in the laundry aisle. Each has brand equity this way. Having that kind of equity for many years works toward recognizability and sales that the items practically promote themselves without advertising.

But companies can undermine their equity by making something that has little or no impact.

I’ve removed the branding—logos—from the above images to illustrate my point. The two cars shown are from the same manufacturer. In fact, they’re the same model. Can you tell me what brand of car this is? Toyota? Nissan? Honda?

It’s hard to tell. This car is among many, mostly from the Japanese market, that has lost its branding, and therefore, its impact. The market has become flooded with automobiles that look so much alike in size, features and materials. Even performance. Standard. Unintelligible. Things here have become blurred among brands, even models within those brands.

I can remember in 1976, Honda brought out its first edition of the Accord. It was a great seller. It was different in its shape and function from anything else. It had great impact.

Now look at it.

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