The Secret Life of Mascots

To begin with, how would you introduce yourself?

I’ve been a graphic designer for nearly thirty years. I worked in the press, created several magazines, moved into the events industry, and later became Head of Design for Paris 2024. That led me to work on the Games’ visual identity, the medals, the torch, the cauldron, and of course the mascots.

Today, I run my own studio, Fantôme, which mainly works with brands. And naturally, since Paris 2024, sport has become an increasingly important part of my work.

You designed the Phryge. But first of all, what is a mascot?

A mascot is used to create a link between a brand, an event, or an institution and its audience. It humanizes something that is not necessarily human to begin with, and embodies values. One of the most famous examples is Bibendum, the Michelin Man. It’s a figure that represents the brand, but also exists as a character in its own right.

Today, mascots are often designed for children. It’s a way to build an emotional connection early on. But I think they are more than just marketing tools. They become characters people get attached to.

I clearly remember my first mascot. It was Sam the Eagle, for the 1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games. My mother brought me back the plush toy, and in a way, that’s probably how I became interested in the Olympics.

Mascot culture seems much more developed in the Anglo-Saxon world than in France.

Yes. In France, mascots are often seen as simple branding elements. In the United States, they exist more as independent characters.

In American sports in particular, mascots animate crowds, take part in the show, and almost have their own personality. It’s a culture we’ve developed less here.

How does a mascot like the Phryge come to life?

The process was much more complex than one might imagine. At first, Paris 2024 launched a call for proposals with many agencies. A lot of ideas revolved around the most obvious French symbols: roosters, Eiffel Towers, croissants, gargoyles from Notre-Dame…

Then the idea of the Phrygian cap emerged. We immediately felt there was something powerful there. It represented France, but also ideas of freedom and revolution. One phrase kept coming back in our discussions: “revolution through sport.” The concept was there. What remained was to create the character.

I spent a huge amount of time drawing, adjusting proportions, finding the right expression, the right smile, the right shade of red. Every detail mattered. Then we had to turn this shape into something real. A Phrygian cap is normally just a piece of fabric placed on a head. Here, we had to give it volume, structure, and imagine its existence in 360 degrees.

We worked with 3D specialists to understand how the form behaved from every angle. Then came the plush toys, the figurines, and finally the costumes. The costume was a huge challenge. We had to fit a human inside while preserving the character’s appearance. We made around fifteen prototypes before reaching something satisfying.

After working for years on a mascot, what is it like when it is finally revealed to the public?

You know it will be judged. A mascot is always compared to those that came before. Everyone has an opinion. Some will love it, others will hate it.

For the Phryge, the comparison to a clitoris came immediately. What’s funny is that we had already discussed it internally during the design process. I took it with humour. I replied that if it could at least help some men understand what a clitoris looks like, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

But in the end, that wasn’t what mattered most. The real question was: would children adopt it? And the answer was immediate. I spent a lot of time in schools presenting the mascot and teaching children how to draw it. Their enthusiasm was incredible. From that moment on, I knew it worked.

Why are mascots often rejected at first and then appreciated years later?

Because they eventually crystallize a collective memory. Take Footix. When it was launched in 1998, it was heavily criticized. Today, it has become iconic. But do we really love Footix itself? Or do we love the memory of France ’98, the victory, the emotions, and the atmosphere of that time?

I think a mascot becomes powerful when it absorbs the emotions of an event. When I look at Footix, I don’t just see a rooster. I see Zidane, the matches, the Champs-Élysées, the friends I watched the World Cup with. It has become a container for memories.

That is its real power.

So what makes a successful mascot?

I believe a successful mascot is often the reflection of a successful event. If the event is strong, sincere, and unifying, the mascot will eventually be loved. If the event fails, the mascot will be rejected with it.

A mascot never exists alone. It always walks alongside what it represents. And when it truly works, it becomes an object of transmission. Children who grow up with a mascot will one day pass that memory on to their own children, just as some people today talk about Footix or the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.

In the end, maybe that is the role of a mascot: to turn a fleeting event into a lasting memory.