Mascots: it’s a 'love to hate' game

People dressed up in oversized animal suits cheering on their team.

That's a "crazy box of spiders" type of madness. And yet, mascots are a massive income generator; drawing young sports fans into "the game" and generally designed to inspire sound moral values too.

But how did mascots come into being and why, on the main, are their designs so predictable?

The term mascot derives from a 1880s French Opera La Mascotte (meaning lucky charm) featuring an Italian farmer who was having no luck growing crops until he was visited by Bettina – Lady Luck. And with her, the term was born.

As sporting events have grown exponentially in production value, a pretty rigid winning mascot formula has emerged – which this year's FIFA Women's World Cup mascot, Tazuni has stuck to. However, luck is born on the belief of uncertainty and chance so perhaps it's time for a rewriting of this rule book.

An instinct for animals

The first official World Cup mascot was a lion called Willie for England '66 (pictured left, credit: GettyImages/Mirropix). Willie, the creation of Reg Hoye, a renowned illustrator of Enid Blyton's books – was a lion adorned in a Union Jack stripe. A true to script mascot – think country, think animal associated with country – placed in a football kit. Job done. As you can imagine, Willie was plastered all over merchandise from tea towels to dinner sets, and with it, he became the Godfather of the World Cup merchandise machine.

Ever since, animals have overwhelmingly become the first port of call for mascot designers. But some have been brave enough to experiment beyond the  boundaries. The 1974 Tip and Tap football playing boys were among the first to utilise mascots to progress a social cause. Designed to show unity between east and west Germany, Tip and Tap embodied how powerful sport can be as a vehicle for progression in society.

Innovating narratives

My personal favourite, the big hat and 'tache of Jalapeno, Pique, the Mexico '86 mascot was route one thinking (pictured right, credit: GettyImages/Future Publishing). Not Fauna but Flora. A 10-year old me wrote a match report for every game and I still love that classic Mexico '86 logo.

But amongst all this expectedness, there are some that go off script. Ciao, the Italia '90 stickman mascot broke the mould (pictured left, credit: GettyImages/Mondadori Portfolio). The kids may not have found him cuddly but it was distinctive and memorable, standing head and shoulders above the rest as an iconic piece of design.

France '19 kept it in the family with a chicken named Ettie, the daughter of France '98s' rooster Footix (pictured below right, credit GettyImages/Alexander Hassenstein). Ettie and Footix are the only example of the crossover between both tournaments – a powerful tool in encouraging fans of the men's game to indulge in the women's game too.

Footix is well loved in France just as World Cup Willie is in England. In both cases, the success of the home nation on the pitch played a large part of the affection that both mascots were, and still are, showered with – a factor far beyond the creatives control.

What of the latest two mascots? Qatar's La'eeb (pictured left, credit: GettyImages/China News Service) is based on a white floating ghutrah, a traditional headdress from the region. The name translates as super skilled player. But it didn't stop the internet taking great delight in comparing it to Casper the friendly ghost.

With a name derived from the combination of Tasmin Sea and the word Unity, Tazuni (pictured right, credit: GettyImages/Hanna Lassen – FIFA) is this year's Women's World Cup mascot and is supposedly an Eudyptula penguin which according to FIFA is endemic to both host countries (New Zealand and Australia). Much like La'eeb's story, it didn't take long before light-hearted banter swept across social media after an eagle-eyed Australian journalist fact checked, finding that Eudyptula penguins aren't inhabitants of Oz. It appeared they did not learn their lesson from the NZ exports like Russell Crowe and Crowded House that Oz wrongly claimed.

Get kids on side

The mascot design is a path well-trodden with very little deviation from the safety of the trail. Maybe it's because of fear of criticism. "Mascot bashing" from the "adults" has become somewhat of a tradition in the media – which we experienced first hand when designing the London 2012 Olympic & Paralympic mascots. But Wenlock and Mandeville (pictured left, credit: GettyImages/Tom Dulat/Stringer) broke the mould of Olympic and Paralympic games mascots, becoming the second-best selling merchandise at the London Games. They celebrated the melting pot of the diversity of the UK and for the first time in history allowed everyone to create their own mascot.

At their best, mascots evoke a message for audiences to consider – such as France '19's father daughter duo subtly enticing fans of the men's game to watch the women too or Tip and Tap embodying a message of unification for its divided host nation. Ultimately, what underlies any serious messaging is what the kids think. If they love them, the merch will fly off the shelves.

But just as the modern game is developing creatively on the pitch, it would be great to see that translate into more ambitious designs and narratives. Less saccharine sweet. More entertaining. Or maybe that's why mascots are the ones we will always love to hate?

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Grant Hunter is global executive creative director at Iris