Why Do So Many Modern Cultivars Have Stupid Names?

Once upon a time, in Classical Antiquity and the Middle Ages, the garden rose repertoire consisted of various species, like R. gallica and R. moschata, as well as some hybrids between the species, and some slightly-double forms. They all had generic names: Theophrastus, in his Inquiry Into Plants (~350 B.C. to ~287 B.C.) lists garden roses by their location of origin. For instance, "hundred-petalled" roses are given no other moniker and are listed as being found naturalized on Mount Pangaeus; the "sweetest-scented" roses are those grown in Cyrene. No snappy cultivar names!

This situation started to change as humanity approached the Early Modern period; although initially nurserymen still did not understand the principles of plant genetics, they knew that by gathering seed from good garden cultivars, planted in the vicinity of other good parents, they could obtain new novel varieties. The development of new cultivars was vastly accelerated, and vague descriptive names would no longer do. One of the first examples of this new rose production system involves the Dutch and the centifolia class of roses; the oldest centifolia simply had the name 'Old Cabbage,' while the newer roses 'Alain Blanchard' and 'Anais Segalas,' both introduced by dedicated rose purveyors, were named for a Medieval crossbowman and poet, respectively. Catalogs linked specifically-named varieties to the nurserymen that produced them: the new norm still religiously enforced today.

A lot of those cultivar names were historical; many were literary, and others were poetic descriptions of the plants or some cultural association they brought to mind.

David Austin's deliciously soap-scented 'Cymbeline,' from 1983, bears the name of the Shakespearean king.

'Greenmantle,' bred by Lord Penzance in 1895, is named for a character in Sir Walter Scott's Redgauntlet.

The development of "landscape roses," as a semi-distinct class of shrub roses, began relatively recently, with 'Knock Out' and compatriots, along with shifting gardening tastes and trends to specially denote roses that could perform well with minimal fuss ("Earth Kind," "Easy to Love," "Carefree," etc.). Not all of these have stupid names:

'Pretty Lady,' bred by Len Scrivens ~1991. Definitely not a stupid name, and very fitting for such a lovely cultivar.

But the marketing trend for rose "series" makes for some nomenclatural awkwardness. First we must remember that usually it is not the breeders themselves responsible for this, but rather the result of various nursery firms' marketing teams.

There's the 'Knock Out' series from Star/ Conard Pyle, which began with 'Knock Out' and its close derivatives, but also includes less related varieties. I don't think the names of these roses are "stupid," but to be frank they don't quite have the charm of historical/ literary/ poetic names.

'Rainbow Knock Out'

'Sunny Knock Out'

Now we move from "perhaps not pretty, but reasonable and understandable" territory to the decidedly weird and punny cultivar names.

First up is the exciting group of hybrid hulthemias from James Sproul, which feature the characteristic red eye. I love that this bizarre trait derived from a middle-eastern briar on the very fringe of the genus is available to gardeners in growable cultivars.

'Eyeconic Lemonade.' Hopefully you don't have a tendency to groan or cringe when you see puns like this!

While my fascination with hybrid hulthemias and my awe at Mr. Sproul's accomplishments prevents me from calling the name "Eyeconic" stupid (I'm not sure if Sproul created the name himself; perhaps it was whipped up by the marketers), it's not very charming.

Next is the "Oso Easy" and "Oso Happy" roses marketed by Proven Winners. The roses "Oso Easy Lemon Zest" and "Oso Happy Petit Pink" are very good varieties on the dwarfish side... but the names!

'Oso Happy Petit Pink,' commencing a heavy bloom flush.

Now for the most odious, punny names I've come across-- there is a series called "Look a Likes," featuring three roses that (ostensibly) bear a resemblance to other garden plants: 'Look a Likes Phloxy Baby,' 'Look a Likes Hydrangealicious,' and 'Look a Likes BougainFeelYa.' Unfortunately I haven't grown any of these, but I think the ridiculous-- and, dare I say it-- stupid names would make the roses a good conversation piece!

There are quite a few other rose series with similar naming schemes, but this sample, I think, is adequately representative. Similar names are also quite common in other genera used for landscaping.

But I am a bit skeptical of marketers' logic in their choice of "stupid" names. We get it, your company sells roses in a "series," and you stick a prefix in front of each name. However, I don't see how naming roses in this way actually encourages people to purchase them; I'd much rather have roses with interesting, independent names, instead of a moniker that has an industrial- and institutional-sounding prefix attached. The use of series names also implies homogeneity among the included cultivars, and in many cases the roses are not related but rather just have a semi-similar growth habit. I can see how someone expecting 'Sunny Knock Out' to be just like 'Knock Out,' only yellow, could be disappointed.

Landscape roses are a move in the right direction, as long as the older varieties and species are not relegated to oblivion. They are great choices where low-maintenance repeat bloom is desired. But cultivar names are an important part of the enjoyment I derive from plants; I like knowing their history, and the cultural connections associated with the name. Industrial "series" names deprive me of this pleasure, and I look forward to a wholesale return to the independent, older-style names.