A crisis of trust, a search for public figures, fragmented audiences: to rebuild a strong connection with their readers, many media outlets have bet on "embodiment," by showcasing journalists on camera, adopting the codes of content creators. But this path has its limits: not everyone wants to be in the spotlight, the necessary skills aren't always available in-house, and journalists who become stars sometimes end up leaving their newsroom to launch their own venture. So newsrooms come to dream of an ideal spokesperson: always available, flexible, loyal. What if it were a mascot?
This is in any case the path being seriously explored in various sectors such as tech, publishing, and even politics, where fictional characters are making a remarkable comeback in marketing strategies and visual identities. Yet marginal in the press, could the mascot also win over media given its contemporary challenges?
The Return of the Mascots
In the press, mascots are not particularly popular. Media outlets favor sober graphic identities, developed through color and typography. When they are used, they are mainly confined to satirical press — like the webfoot of Canard enchaîné or the British magazine Private Eye and its knight Gnitty — and to children's press, where they can take on an almost editorial role, conveying information themselves: Bonnemine in J'aime lire, Scoupe and Tourbillon of the Petit Quotidien or even La Hulotte (far from being reserved for children) and its famous eponymous owl.
In mainstream press, these embodiments remain rare, often deemed too childish or incompatible with credibility requirements… with a few exceptions. Since its creation in 1925, the very serious New Yorker has made Eustace Tilley an iconic figure, regularly reinterpreted on the occasion of its anniversaries. For its part, Mediapart introduced the figure of the "Newsboy" in its logo from its creation, conceived as a symbolic extension of its editorial mission, as Edwy Plenel recounted in 2008 in this blog post.
Could these reservations evolve? In tech, in any case, recent examples abound: in March 2026, Apple unveiled its Finder Guy, a 3D character inspired by the Finder icon, the file management tool for Macs. A few months earlier, Mozilla introduced its fox Kit, the new face of Firefox browser, while Duolingo, considered a pioneer in the use of mascots, continues to make its emblematic owl "Duo" a true celebrity.
These launches are no accident: the tech sector faces multifaceted distrust, proximity to the Trump administration, criticized environmental impacts, widespread AI adoption… In this context, the mascot acts as an image buffer, humanizing brands that have become impersonal, even unsettling, particularly among younger audiences.
Restore trust
Microsoft Word users from the 1990s remember Clippy, an animated paperclip with big eyes meant to guide first steps in software considered revolutionary at the time. Dismissed as intrusive, unhelpful, and downright unbearable, it disappeared in 2001, replaced by tips delivered through more restrained, polished, and disembodied messages—stripped of any soul, you might say. In recent years, with the rise of generative AI, the trend has reversed. Companies are once again trying to make technologies perceived as complex more accessible by relying on familiar and reassuring figures.
It was with this same objective in mind that the figure of Eustace Tilley was born, drawn to appear on the very first issue of The New Yorker at the request of its founder, Harold Ross, who considered it essential to offer a cover that would give readers the feeling of "dealing with a publication that knows where it's going". A use of visual codes and illustration techniques to reassure that we find in youth press, tasked with guiding an audience through new practices and codes, and which relies on its characters to facilitate learning.
This need for reassurance also spans generations. Mascots are not confined to childhood: they resonate with teenagers and young adults as well. Having grown up with voice assistants like Siri, Generation Z reportedly maintains stronger familiarity with anthropomorphized tools and interfaces. A study published in 2025 in the International Journal on Advanced Science, Engineering and Information Technology found stronger emotional attachment to AI among younger generations, along with a greater tendency to attribute human characteristics to them. Companies are thus looking to turn this emotional connection between young people and virtual characters into a loyalty driver: it's no coincidence that the launch of Finder Guy coincides with that of a computer range aimed at students and young professionals, nor that the character is primarily used on TikTok and Instagram.
This shift is also driving the rise of conversational interfaces, where speech gradually replaces menus and clicks. Microsoft recently unveiled Mico, the spiritual successor to Clippy: a glowing, smiling character designed to embody the American tech giant's AI assistant. As newsrooms offering chatbots to their readers multiply — such as Climate Answers at the Washington Post or FT Answers at the Financial Times — will we need to give them a true identity, a name, even a face tomorrow? At Forbes, the AI has been named… Adélaïde.
A versatile identity
The return of mascots is also part of a transformation in audience and revenue strategies. Long dependent on passive traffic from Google or social media, some organizations are now seeking to take back control through more direct and more tangible approaches. The mascot thus becomes a tool for brand continuity on multiple levels: strengthening engagement, building community connection, and opening up new revenue streams.
The Wikimedia Foundation, for example, unveiled its mascot Baby Globe on the occasion of Wikipedia's 25th anniversary, as part of a strengthened marketing strategy aimed at attracting and retaining a younger audience that is increasingly consuming the encyclopedia's information through AI rather than on its own website.
Owen Huchon
This logic of reclaiming symbols is also observed in older or more established organizations. Penguin Random House, for instance, reinvested in its iconic penguin, Alan, by developing it into a series of contemporary illustrations commissioned from illustrator Matt Blease, to adapt a century-old symbol to the diversity of the group's activities (social media, events, audio, etc.), while honoring its heritage.
In the press, Mediapart uses the figure of the Crier to embody visually (and even in its name) the journal cocreated with La Découverte publishing. Eustace Tilley, meanwhile, trades in his monocle for a telephone in the New Yorker's mobile app, or appears equipped with a headphone in the logo for its radio show. Beyond trust, the mascot offers something invaluable: a living visual identity, capable of evolving naturally across platforms, uses, and moments.
So, gimmick or genuine lead?
In a landscape where media outlets seek to build loyal audiences amid fragmentation, humanize their digital relationship and stand against the rise of AI, a mascot is not a magic answer. But it crystallizes real stakes: embodiment, trust, adaptability. The real question, then, is not "do we need a mascot?", but "what do we want our identity to tell, and to whom?".
To go further
- Journalist biographies, an underrated pathway to strengthen trust and engagement: how Mediapart and the New York Times are harnessing them.
- Why graphic choices are more than just decoration: tips from Christelle Perrin (Médianes) and Thomas Steffen (Le Monde).
