Defining Moment: Prince's Transformation into an Unutterable Symbol

For nearly every musician, the ultimate aspiration is to achieve a globally recognized name capable of selling millions of albums and filling stadiums when displayed on a billboard. Only a fortunate handful reach such heights, often after years or even decades of relentless effort—while most never come close.

By 1993, Prince stood among the elite few with unparalleled name recognition. Yet, despite the years of hard work that brought him to this pinnacle, the artist decided to reject it entirely. He chose instead to adopt a name that defied pronunciation.

A Crisis of Identity

Born Prince Rogers Nelson on June 7, 1958, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, Prince rose to become one of the most iconic figures in music during the 1980s. Albums such as 1984’s Purple Rain and the 1989 Batman soundtrack showcased his diverse and multifaceted artistry. He was a masterful singer, instrumentalist, and performer, delivering electrifying live shows that were unmatched. Additionally, his relentless work ethic in music production led to a rumored 500 unreleased tracks stored in his legendary “vault.”

However, Warner Bros., Prince’s record label, viewed his prolific output as a potential issue. By the early 1990s, he was releasing an album annually, and the company feared that oversaturating the market could lead to listener fatigue. This reasoning mirrored Stephen King’s decision to adopt the Richard Bachman pseudonym to manage his creative output. Unlike King, Prince couldn’t conceal his identity on stage. He urged the label to release his backlog of music, even as they continued promoting his latest album.

“I explained to him that it was counterproductive, as fans can only consume so much music from a single artist at once,” Warner executive Marylou Badeaux remarked in 2016. “His response was, ‘What should I do? The music just pours out of me.’”

The tension between Prince and his record label was wearing him down. Warner Bros. had trademarked his birth name, making him feel increasingly like a product rather than an artist. The clash between commerce and creativity was suffocating, and even his lucrative $100 million contract failed to bring him fulfillment. The agreement stipulated one album annually, but Prince desired the freedom to release music whenever inspiration struck, whether it amounted to 12 tracks or 70.

In 1992, Prince thought he had found a way to address his frustrations. While working on music at his Paisley Park estate in Minnesota, he conceived the idea of designing a symbol that combined the astrological signs for male (Mars) and female (Venus). He tasked an intermediary with approaching HDMG, a design studio already handling his album artwork. HDMG designers Mitch Monson and Lizz Luce drafted multiple versions, and Prince selected one. (The Love Symbol, as it was later called, was intentionally asymmetrical at his request.)

The designers were unaware of Prince’s broader plans for the symbol beyond its use on his 14th studio album, titled The Love Symbol Album. However, in 1993, on his 35th birthday, Prince announced via a press release that he had adopted the symbol as his new name—a glyph that defied pronunciation, blending elements of Egyptian hieroglyphs and musical notation.

“It is an unpronounceable symbol whose meaning remains undefined,” Prince stated. “It’s about embracing new perspectives and tuning into a fresh, liberated mindset.”

A Symbolic Shift

The symbol didn’t serve as a legal remedy for Prince’s contractual disputes, though it may have been partially motivated by that intent.

“Prince believed that by adopting the symbol as his name, he could nullify his contract,” his attorney at the time, Londell McMillan, explained to 20/20 in 2016. “He thought that by no longer being Prince Rogers Nelson, he could escape the agreement. We now know that wasn’t possible, but it was a daring, bold, and ingenious move on his part.”

Prince didn’t legally alter his name—this was more about adopting a new artistic identity to express his frustration with the music industry, especially Warner Bros. While it didn’t free him from contractual obligations, he insisted on being referred to by the symbol moving forward.

“[He] demanded that we use the symbol to refer to him,” McMillan recalled. “At the time, we had to download a specific font for our computers to represent him. I even had to use that font whenever I mentioned Prince.” McMillan also avoided calling him “Prince” in person.

Warner Bros. still needed to promote their artist, who was under a highly profitable contract. To assist media outlets in representing the symbol, which couldn’t be typed using standard keyboards, the label distributed thousands of floppy disks containing the necessary font.

Unsurprisingly, fans and industry insiders found the unpronounceable and untypeable name change somewhat frustrating. MTV resorted to using a metallic sound effect to represent the singer’s name during broadcasts, and his album sales declined. Eventually, Warner and Prince reached a compromise, referring to him as the Artist Formerly Known As Prince. Despite this, Prince still felt constrained and, in 1995, famously appeared on stage with the word slave written on his face.

By 1996, Prince’s contract with Warner had ended, which seemed to ease his frustrations. He reclaimed his birth name and began releasing music independently, free from label constraints. Over time, his hostility toward Warner softened. In 2014, two years before his passing, he collaborated with the label to reissue Purple Rain for its 30th anniversary.

According to Rolling Stone journalist Neal Karlen, a detailed explanation of the name change was typed up and sealed inside a time capsule on Prince’s Minnesota estate, where it remains undiscovered. As with many aspects of Prince’s life, the reasoning behind the change mattered less than the boldness of the act itself.