As both brand builders and enthusiasts, we recognize greatness when we see it. And in the pantheon of brand mascots, our dear Bibendum, they don’t come much greater than you.

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Over the course of your century-plus career as Michelin’s rotund ambassador, you’ve achieved a level of renown that any brand would envy. Your presence is felt in 170 countries, and you’re recognized instantly by 90 percent of the world’s population. Not bad for someone born in 1892.

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But beyond fame, even more astounding to us is your sheer range as a brand avatar. Somehow, one humanoid stack of white tires has come to represent both a leading international tire manufacturer and a star-issuing arbiter of haute cuisine. While your ringed exterior telegraphs your primary product, your zaftig physique evokes the latter connection. Comme c'est extraordinaire!

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You managed to connect those unlikely dots over the span of the twentieth century, of course. Your parent company deepened its connection to the road from tires to maps to travel guides, and awarding the best in fine dining became a natural extension. You, dear Bib, have served as the face of it all, preserving Michelin’s narrative thread over the years.

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Sure, you’ve evolved across the decades—but always thoughtfully. Originally adapted from an advertisement for a German brewer, you first appeared hoisting a glass and uttering a Latin phrase that would ultimately provide your name. “Nunc est Bibendum,” you proclaimed: Now is the time to drink.

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To be fair, that initial incarnation of you looked a bit different than the Michelin Man we know today. You were full of vigor and avoirdupois, of course, but built from bicycle tires, wearing pre-Rooseveltian pince-nez spectacles on a lanyard, and smoking a cigar. 

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But over time, you tightened the connection between your character and the business you embodied. Rather than toasting alcohol—whose connection to driving, we’ll admit, creates a certain tension—you instead raised a glass full of nails and broken glass. The obstacles of the road would be no match for Michelin tires, you implied, for you would drink them in.

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In time, you took on the dimensions of proper auto tires and ditched the fancy eyewear and stogies, likely seeking to broaden your appeal to the masses. You took up running and even slimmed down a little—but never too much. All the while, though, you retained a distinctly French joie de vivre that could appreciate both a smooth ride and a three-star meal with aplomb.

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As Michelin’s business interests evolved, you provided continuity, embodying the virtues of protection and reliability alongside an appreciation for excellence. To this day, you maintain enough old school charm to retain your (quite literal) street cred. You’ve resisted the temptation to shrink to Ozempic-assisted dimensions, and you’ve asked no one to call you the Michelin Person.

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Mascots sometimes feel like a dying breed among modern brands, akin to the lost art of jingles and fax cover sheets. And a mascot can carry certain risks when not executed well. The Hamburglar has forever linked burgers with petty theft, for instance, and Joe Camel’s distinctive proboscis has sniffed more than its share of scandal.

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But you, old Bib, have risen above the fray and taken permanent residence where the rubber meets the road. You’ve demonstrated the lasting value of a powerful story, embodying an unlikely combination of excellence all the while. You are, at once, tireless and made of tires, and your enduring service as a brand ambassador has made you not just iconic, but indelible.

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So we echo your original call to action and raise our glasses in your honor. May the road rise up to meet you, and may you drink in its obstacles for further centuries to come. Long may you roll!

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Indelibly yours,

Matt, Thom, Mike and Jeff