The Problem
Seeing the Forest and the Trees
They stand there quietly, collecting our cigarette smoke and existential dread. Once you start seeing them, you can’t unsee them — tiny silver plates nailed into bark all over Berlin, each one pointing to a line in a municipal database: species, age, condition, coordinates. Number 147632. 147633. It’s impressive. It’s efficient. It’s German. And somehow, it’s inherently sad. Thousands of living things recorded perfectly, yet somehow invisible. Most people don’t notice — not because they don’t care, but because living in a big city can make anyone feel anonymous. Berlin moves fast; everything and everyone becomes background. That quiet sense of invisibility is what Name That Baum wants to address — playfully, but sincerely.
The Audience
For the Quietly Curious
But every city has its people who refuse to tune out — not because they’re better, but because they, too, feel a little unseen. My kind of Berliner might notice. The ones who stop to read stickers on lampposts. The ones who photograph weird graffiti and post it with no caption. They care about the city, but in their own way — curious, ironic, allergic to preachiness. They like when something mundane suddenly feels alive. In a city famous for its creativity, even the trees have started to feel like inventory.
The Question
A Thought Experiment
That’s where Name That Baum steps in — not as a mission or a movement, but as a question. It started as a joke — then it became a thought experiment. Could a small act of absurdity make people see the city differently? Could humor reconnect us with our environment better than earnestness ever did? Could a bit of civic mischief make people notice what’s been there all along — and maybe even care? The ambition isn’t to build another eco-project. It’s to test whether absurdity can generate affection, whether irony can lead to intimacy, whether play can make a city feel personal again.
The Plan
From Data to Delight
The idea is simple: a digital map where Berliners can find real trees and give them names. Not noble Latin ones, but human, ridiculous ones — Twiggy Stardust, Justin Treeber, Birch Reynolds, Treeyoncé. Because when you name something, you start to notice it. You remember it. And noticing is the first step to caring. For a small fee — two euros — you can claim the digital naming rights to a real Berlin tree. A portion supports the parks and public spaces those trees call home — a sort of gamified philanthropy, if you will. It’s a small gesture that combines fun and impact — a bit of civic mischief that actually gives back.
The Journey
A Living Archive
The project is still in its early stages, somewhere between a prototype and a daydream. But the ambition is clear: to test whether humor can grow into empathy, and play into quiet activism. Each name is both a joke and a contribution, a story stitched into the city. Over time, they’ll form a living archive — a forest of personalities rooted in Berlin soil. Name That Baum isn’t about saving trees. It’s about seeing them again — and maybe seeing yourself reflected in them. It’s about turning bureaucracy into connection. Because maybe caring for your city doesn’t have to feel noble. Maybe it can start with a laugh, a name, and two euros well spent.