Worst car names ever

Let's start with the legendary example of misinformed international branding. The Chevrolet Nova, which began life as the Chevy II, was produced from 1962 through 1988, but it sold poorly in Mexico and Venezuela because nobody in General Motors marketing noticed that the literal Spanish translation of Nova is "no go." The problem with this legendary misstep is that it isn't true. According to Snopes.com, a website dedicated to debunking urban legends, there is no evidence that the Nova sold poorly in Spanish-speaking countries. Nevertheless, the English word "nova" suggests an exploding star — and car manufacturers really shouldn't sell cars based on that suggestion.

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The name of this junior Chevy El Camino rip-off was an acronym for Bi-drive Recreational All-terrain Transporter, but it suggested a petulant, stubborn child. This popular 4-wheel-drive mini pickup was sold from 1978 to 1993. The Subaru Brat had seating for two in the cabin and two plastic, rear-facing jump seats in the bed that were often deathtraps during accidents.

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Sometimes a name dooms a car; sometimes a car ruins a name — both happened with the Edsel, Ford's famous flop from the late 1950s. Edsel wasn't just one car, it was an entire division launched in 1957, with four cars spinning the badge in honor of Edsel Ford, son of the company's founder. Ironically, Henry Ford II, Edsel's son, objected to naming the division after his father, but the company board overruled him. As it happened, the rest of the country objected to the Edsel name as well, the division tanked, and it was closed down by 1959.

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This little subcompact, was known by many names around the world, but in North America it seemed to be begging for respect with its name. Read one way, the name is aspirational and deserving of respect. Read another way, the Suzuki Esteem sounds like a Japanese self-help program for drivers with low self-worth.

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In French, the definition of charade is "a riddle." The Merriam-Webster's English Dictionary description of a charade is "an empty or deceptive act or pretense." So Japanese executives who had been selling two generations of this slow-as-molasses compact in Europe should be excused for not realizing how it might come across when they introduced it to the United States. Wait, no they shouldn't.

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When they picked out the name Cavalier, Chevrolet marketers probably meant the elaborately dressed English mounted soldiers from the era of Charles I, not the modern-day definition of arrogant disregard and lack of respect. Regardless, the latter definition was definitely more fitting for this compact car. From the start of its production in the early '80s through the last model in 2005, the Cavalier evinced no cohesive design logic; it was at times a coupe, a sedan, a wagon, a hatchback, a convertible, etc. The Cavalier looked, felt and drove like cheap transportation, designed and built with just enough effort to get it out the showroom door.

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We know, we know, the name is derived from HMMWV (High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle), the go-anywhere military truck from AM General that became popular with certain alpha males during the 1990s. Soldiers referred to these vehicles as Hummers. But do you think for one second that when GM bought the brand in 1998 and brought a line of these trucks into mass production, the executives were not aware of the other definition of the term?

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The Dart is a legendary car with roots back to the early 1960s. The new version for 2013 looks promising, too. But what kind of a wink-wink, nudge-nudge gesture was Chrysler attempting in 1969, two years after the Summer of Love, when the company added the Swinger moniker to the 2-door hardtop version? Even more puzzling, two years later it toyed with naming a fastback version of the car Beaver before learning what the slang term meant.

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Again with the dueling definitions. The term "citation" could refer to an award or recognition of merit, or a traffic summons. Neither seemed likely in this terrible early '80s compact car, which had a poor reputation for reliability and barely enough performance capability to get a speeding ticket.

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Were Ford marketers kidnapped by space aliens before they released this front-wheel-drive sport compact in 1989? What else can explain the oddly intrusive-sounding name? No Probe was complete, however, without the optional endoscopic seats.

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Believe it or not, there was a time when being a dictator seemed like a good thing. When Studebaker introduced the car in 1927, the company intended that it would "dictate" a standard for excellence to the auto industry. A couple of years later, along came a guy named Adolf Hitler, and, well, nobody names a car Dictator anymore.

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It's a funny thing about the Ford Escort. If you're driving one of these bargain-basement, front-wheel-drive sedans or coupes produced from 1981 to 2003, you can't afford an escort — you're trolling for a hooker. (Apologies to fishers everywhere for the ichthyological metaphors.)

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The Ford Festiva wins the trifecta of terrible naming. The Festiva was designed for Ford by Mazda and launched in 1986. But one look at this cramped compact revealed there was nothing festive about it. Ford also partnered with South Korean automaker Kia, before Kia knew how to make decent cars, and badged a version of the Festiva with the moniker Pride — another sad exercise in wishful thinking. Finally, Ford replaced the Festiva with the Aspire in 1994, which limped along for another three years before crumbling under the weight of its own meager aspirations.

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We were conflicted here, since we actually like this superlightweight German military vehicle. It was known in its homeland as the Type 181, but it sold in the U.S. in the early 1970s as the Thing, a curiously nondescript name that still manages to nail this vehicle's innate weirdness.

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Known as the Tough Almighty Fourwheeldrive Transport, the Taft manages to evoke God, create a new compound word and allude to our most obese president all at the same time. But that's not even the best naming fault of Daihatsu's mini jeepster. In some markets, it was referred to by the fecal-friendly name Scat.

Sam Foley is a Connecticut-based automotive journalist who has written for GQ, Forbes, USA Today, the New York Post and various other publications.