Emily Atkin dismantles a familiar corporate defense with a single, stinging legal observation: Patagonia™ claims its own name is a "fanciful" invention, like Xerox or Rolex. This isn't just a semantic quibble; it exposes the erasure of an entire continent's history to protect a brand identity. Atkin forces us to confront why a clothing company feels entitled to police the use of a geographical region that was never its creation, weaving together trademark law and colonial violence in a way few environmental reporters dare.
The Legal Fiction of Ownership
Atkin begins by consulting Alexandra Roberts, a trademark professor who calls the company's legal filing "shocking and obnoxious." The core of the dispute rests on paragraph 19 of the lawsuit, where Patagonia™ describes its mark as completely made up. As Atkin notes, this is factually false; the region spans parts of Argentina and Chile, home to Indigenous peoples for millennia. Roberts explains that while geographic names can be trademarked if they function as a brand rather than a location descriptor, the company's insistence on calling it "fanciful" reveals a deeper arrogance.
"It's definitely disingenuous," Roberts says regarding the claim that Patagonia is a made-up term. "And that kind of mark gets the broadest protection."
Atkin argues that this legal maneuver isn't just about protecting intellectual property; it's about constructing a reality where the brand exists in a vacuum, detached from the land it borrows its name from. The comparison to Amazon or Andes candy is apt—companies often co-opt place names—but Atkin points out the crucial difference: those brands don't claim their names are fictional inventions of their own making.
The Myth of "No Choice"
Perhaps the most damning section of Atkin's analysis targets Patagonia™'s moral alibi. The company framed its lawsuit against drag queen and activist Pattie Gonia as a reluctant necessity, claiming trademark law forced them to sue or risk losing their rights entirely. Atkin dismantles this narrative using Roberts' expertise, revealing it to be a strategic myth.
"That is BS," Roberts states bluntly about the claim that Patagonia had no choice but to litigate. "I think that is dramatically overblown."
Atkin highlights how corporations often use this "duty to police" argument to silence criticism or competition, even when they are aligned in purpose. The author notes that a company can selectively enforce its trademark—ignoring small fan artists while crushing a drag queen's attempt at the same name—without losing legal standing. This reframes the lawsuit not as a defensive legal obligation, but as an affirmative choice to wield power.
"Litigants like to say that it matters... But there's not good evidence that it does matter," Roberts adds, exposing the corporate bluff.
Critics might argue that trademark law is indeed complex and that companies must be vigilant to prevent brand dilution. However, Atkin's sourcing suggests this vigilance is often performative when applied to non-commercial or activist contexts, serving more as a tool of intimidation than legal necessity.
The Colonial Echo
The piece shifts from the courtroom to the history books, where Atkin brings in anthropologist Dr. Claudia Briones and scholar Lucas Savino. Here, the argument transcends trademark law and enters the realm of historical accountability. Atkin connects the brand's marketing strategy to the 19th-century "Conquest of the Desert," a military campaign that justified genocide by painting Patagonia as an empty wilderness.
"For the states of Chile and Argentina to dominate Patagonia, they needed to first make it a desert," Savino explains. "So they had to imagine it as a desert, as a place of wilderness that needed the forces of civilization."
Atkin draws a sharp parallel between this state-sponsored erasure and the corporation's current actions. By branding itself on the myth of an untouched paradise, Patagonia™ participates in the same logic that displaced Mapuche and Tehuelche communities. The brand profits from a "fantasy" that obscures the very people who still live there.
"No company or individual could ever ethically claim exclusive commercial rights over a regional name like Patagonia," Briones asserts. "Capitalism... can neither transform everything into merchandise nor swallow up and benefit from everything in its own exclusive benefit."
The author points out the hypocrisy of an environmental brand that funds conservation but ignores the sovereignty of Indigenous residents who cannot afford the very gear sold under their region's name.
"Patagonia has been always interpreted by outsiders in ways that serve their interests," Savino says, linking the lawsuit to a century-long pattern of external control. "This particular lawsuit, it's almost another episode of that long story of Patagonia being up for grabs."
Atkin suggests that while Pattie Gonia's use of the name is artistic and ironic, the corporation's use is literal and extractive. The difference lies in who gets to define the narrative.
"The story is more than the name," Savino concludes. "It has to do with who also gets to control the narrative of what Patagonia is."
Bottom Line
Atkin's strongest move is refusing to let the legal technicalities obscure the moral theft at play; she successfully reframes a trademark dispute as a continuation of colonial land grabs. The argument's vulnerability lies in its practical application—there is no clear legal mechanism for a corporation to "return" a name it legally owns, leaving the critique as a powerful indictment rather than an actionable policy solution. Readers should watch for how Indigenous communities in Argentina and Chile respond to this specific framing, as their voices remain the missing piece in the corporate narrative.
No company or individual could ever ethically claim exclusive commercial rights over a regional name like Patagonia.