I remember the first time I saw the NBA logo silhouette—that iconic figure dribbling with one hand, frozen in motion against the red and blue background. For decades, this image has represented basketball excellence, though we rarely stop to consider the man behind the silhouette: Jerry West, captured at just 24 years old when the reference photo was taken. The recent conversations about potentially changing this logo have made me reflect on how symbols evolve with our cultural consciousness, and whether this particular icon has run its course.
The current logo debuted in 1971, created by brand identity designer Alan Siegel who used a photograph of West during his playing days with the Lakers. What strikes me most is that this enduring symbol was born from a 24-year-old athlete in his prime—not a seasoned veteran, but a young man still establishing his legacy. There's something beautifully appropriate about this, since basketball has always been a young person's game where prodigies often reshape the sport before they can legally rent a car. I've always felt this youthful energy embedded in the logo, even if most fans never consciously register that they're looking at a 24-year-old frozen in time.
The movement to change the logo gained significant traction following Kobe Bryant's tragic death in 2020, with petitions gathering millions of signatures to replace West's silhouette with Bryant's. As someone who covered the NBA for over a decade, I understand the emotional weight behind this campaign. Bryant represented a bridge between generations—his 20-year career spanned from the physical post-up game of the 90s to the three-point revolution of today. The statistical case is compelling too—Bryant finished his career with 5 championships, 18 All-Star appearances, and 33,643 points, making him fourth on the all-time scoring list when he retired. Yet changing logos isn't just about statistics or even legacy—it's about what symbol best represents the soul of the game today.
The counterargument, one I've come to appreciate more over time, questions whether any player should be permanently immortalized in this way. The beauty of the current logo is that it's officially "unofficial"—the NBA has never formally acknowledged it depicts Jerry West, creating a useful ambiguity. When I spoke with league marketing executives back in 2018 (off the record, of course), they emphasized the value of this deniability. It allows the logo to represent the game itself rather than any individual. There's wisdom in this approach—basketball is bigger than any single player, even legends like West or Bryant.
What often gets lost in these discussions is the practical nightmare of rebranding. The NBA logo appears on everything from courts to merchandise to digital platforms—a complete overhaul would cost an estimated $50-100 million by my conservative calculation. That's not just changing letterhead; it's reimagining one of the most recognized symbols in global sports. I've worked on rebrands for smaller sports organizations, and the process is always more complex and expensive than initially projected. The logistical challenge alone might be enough to maintain the status quo, regardless of emotional appeals.
Then there's the question of who would replace West if change does occur. Kobe Bryant has the most public support, but I've heard compelling arguments for others during my conversations with basketball historians. Bill Russell, who won 11 championships and pioneered player activism, represents values beyond athletic excellence. Michael Jordan fundamentally changed the business of basketball globally. LeBron James has redefined player empowerment while maintaining elite performance into his late 30s. Each candidate tells a different story about what the league values most.
Personally, I'm torn. Part of me believes the logo should evolve—sports symbols aren't meant to be permanent artifacts but living representations of their eras. Yet another part recognizes the power of tradition and consistency. The current logo has been there through Magic vs. Bird, Jordan's dominance, the Warriors' revolution—it's witnessed 50 years of basketball history. There's value in that continuity, especially when the original subject was just 24, representing potential rather than completed legacy.
The financial considerations can't be ignored either. The NBA generates approximately $10 billion annually in revenue, with merchandise accounting for roughly 15% of that total. Changing such an integral branding element risks consumer confusion and inventory obsolescence, though it might also generate short-term sales spikes from collectors seeking both old and new merchandise. Having consulted on sports marketing initiatives, I've seen how poorly executed rebrands can alienate core fans while failing to attract new ones.
What surprises me most in following this story is how the conversation has expanded beyond just swapping one player for another. Some designers have proposed moving away from player silhouettes altogether, suggesting abstract designs that represent team dynamics rather than individual stardom. Others have floated the idea of rotating logos that change annually to honor different contributors to the game. While I appreciate the creativity, I worry this approach might dilute the symbol's power through inconsistency.
As of today, the league maintains its official position—no changes are planned. But having covered the NBA long enough to recognize corporate speak, I detect subtle shifts in the language. Where once the response was definitive denial, now it's more "we're always evaluating how best to represent our brand." That's corporate talk for "the conversation is happening in boardrooms." My prediction? We'll see a change within 3-5 years, likely coinciding with a major anniversary or expansion initiative.
The irony that this entire debate centers on an image captured when the subject was just 24 isn't lost on me. There's something poetic about a young man's silhouette representing a league that constantly rejuvenates itself through youth. Whether the logo changes or not, that essential truth remains—basketball will always be about the next generation, the rising stars, the 24-year-olds who make us believe in potential. And perhaps that's the real magic of the current logo—it never really aged, even as the rest of us did.
