I’ve kept an eye on everything surrounding the recent Fender lawsuit, but I wanted to wait before speaking on it. I wanted to make sure I had the right end of the stick before jumping into the noise. Now enough people have spoken about it that I feel comfortable sharing my own perspective.
To begin with, the thing that’s interesting to me is that this entire situation has unintentionally forced people to look more critically at Fender themselves.
As Rett Shull points out in his video (https://youtube.com/watch?v=BOv8HD4LklY), Fender are going after companies replicating their products whilst struggling to consistently maintain quality control on their own instruments. And honestly, many of us have seen it ourselves. Uneven string spacing near the fretboard edges. Finishing flaws. Fret sprout. Buzzing caused by inconsistent fret heights forcing the use of high action. Setup issues straight out of the box. These aren’t isolated stories anymore.
That’s where the conversation becomes uncomfortable.
Because Fender aren’t just defending a legacy — they’re defending a standard people increasingly question.
The irony is that Fender were once the innovators. When the Stratocaster first appeared, it was revolutionary. It changed everything. The double cutaway solid body design became one of the most influential guitar silhouettes ever created. But over decades, that shape became part of the language of electric guitar design itself. Not because it lacked originality — but because it inspired generations of builders to adapt, refine, and improve upon it.
And that’s what innovation is supposed to do.
Inspiration creates evolution.
Thomas Blug said something incredibly important in his discussion on the situation (https://youtube.com/watch?v=DqNU9J_x6gw). Smaller companies often exist because they’re willing to take risks larger corporations won’t. They try things the bigger companies either can’t, or refuse to do. They improve ergonomics. Hardware. Playability. Reliability. They chase ideas rather than preserve nostalgia.
That isn’t theft. That’s progression.
Thomas has spoken publicly about being threatened with penalties back in 2014 reportedly exceeding €500,000, alongside thousands more in legal fees, whilst still a fledgling entrepreneur trying to establish his own ideas in the market.
If we’re honest, Fender themselves have altered and reinterpreted their own body shapes countless times over the years. The shape has never been as rigidly consistent as they now want people to believe.
And that’s where the issue starts to unravel.
Because for decades, Fender did not successfully secure exclusive trademark protection over those body shapes. By 2009, Fender had lost the ability to exclusively trademark those shapes in the US. The headstock? Completely different story. That’s the recognisable trademark. That’s identifiable branding. But the body shape itself became part of the wider culture of guitar building.
At a certain point, something stops being exclusively owned and starts becoming historically influential.
What concerns me most is the timing and the optics of all this. When companies suddenly begin aggressively targeting smaller builders after decades of coexistence, people naturally start asking questions. Questions about relevance. Questions about confidence. Questions about why this approach is happening now.
Tim Pierce said it bluntly in his video discussing the issue (https://youtube.com/watch?v=FXdGYqlLugE):
“If Fender made better guitars, they wouldn’t have to do things like this.”
And harsh as that sounds, there’s a deeper truth underneath it.
Rabea Massaad also raises an important point in his own discussion on the lawsuit (https://youtube.com/watch?v=okBYTPZQReA). If someone creates something original, of course they would want to protect it. Anyone would. The problem Fender faces, however, is that they waited decades before trying to aggressively enforce ownership over body shapes that had already become deeply embedded within wider guitar culture and design.
People are incredibly forgiving of Fender because of what the brand represents historically. I know I am. I romanticise these instruments. I love the connection to the past. I love owning guitars that echo the spirit of the ‘60s, even if they’re modern recreations. I love imagining the challenges players faced back then, and how those limitations inspired innovation that pushed instruments forward.
That history matters to me.
But history alone cannot carry a company forever.
If any company — or person — stands still while time moves forward, they’re effectively moving backwards.
And that’s why this whole situation feels so self-destructive. Instead of inspiring confidence, it has encouraged people to scrutinise Fender more closely than ever before. Players are now looking at their own instruments and asking difficult questions about quality, value, consistency, and innovation.
Monopoly only ever leads to one place: stagnation.
And the saddest part is that the people most affected by situations like this are rarely the executives making the decisions. It’s the workers. The builders. The designers. The passionate people inside these companies who genuinely care about guitars.
Those people deserve better than public relations disasters caused by fear and corporate panic.
Fender changed music forever. Nobody can take that away from them.
But legacy means very little if it becomes something you protect more aggressively than you evolve.
