When Corporate Pressure Meets Community Power: The Cinnabuns Story
- Henry Mukhwana
- Nov 2
- 7 min read
Updated: Nov 3
The Cinnamon Roll That Started It All
I wasn't planning to get involved in a corporate trademark battle when I walked into a small bakery in Albion two weeks ago.
I was just hungry.
My sister and I had heard about the place from the A Current Affair story — you know, the one where a massive American corporation decides a family-run Melbourne bakery is too much of a threat to their empire. We figured we'd show some support, grab breakfast, and go about our day.
But something happened between that first bite and the last crumb on my plate.
I tasted discipline.
Not just sugar and cinnamon and butter (though there was plenty of that). I tasted a decade of refinement. French training applied to a single craft. The difference between a formula and a calling.
And I thought: This guy doesn't deserve to be erased by lawyers.
The David vs. Goliath Story You Probably Know
By now, you've likely seen the headlines:"Cinnabon Targets Small Melbourne Bakery Over Name Similarity"
The short version:
Mike Ying, a French-trained pastry chef, has been running his bakery in Albion for three years with over a decade of experience. He calls it "Cinnabuns" — straightforward, descriptive, honest.
Then Cinnabon Australia — the corporate chain with over 1,200 locations worldwide — sent him a cease-and-desist letter. Their claim? The name "Cinnabuns" is too similar to their trademarked "Cinnabon."
Never mind that Mike's place is a single-location artisan bakery. Never mind he's been operating under this name for years. Never mind his product is hand-crafted, not mass-produced from a corporate formula.
Trademarks don't care about nuance. And big corporations have bigger legal budgets than small bakeries.
Mike was given an ultimatum: change your name, or we'll take you to court.
What I Saw That Morning
When I walked into Mike's bakery that Saturday morning, I expected to find a defeated man running a struggling business under legal siege.
Instead, I found a line out the door.
The early rush was in full swing. Regulars called out orders before they reached the counter. Mike's team moved with the rhythm of people who've worked together for years — efficient, warm, no wasted motion.
My sister and I found a spot by the window. We bit into our rolls. And I understood immediately why the community was rallying.
You could taste the French training in every layer. The lamination, the proof-time, the glaze ratio — these weren't variables in a spreadsheet. They were decisions made by someone who'd spent decades learning why each detail mattered.
Cinnabon might have the name recognition. But Mike had something they could never replicate: Mastery.
Why I Couldn't Just Walk Away
I'm a creative by trade. I run Spacely Clothing here in Melbourne — a streetwear brand built on the belief that authenticity beats scale every time. I also DJ, strategize brands, and solve problems when they matter.
But I wasn't thinking about any of that when I finished my roll.
I was thinking about my own journey — what it's like to build something from scratch. To pour years into perfecting a craft. To face pressure from people with more money, more lawyers, more leverage.
And what it's like when your community shows up for you.
That's what was happening here. The line wasn't just customers. It was a statement: We see what you've built. We're not letting them erase you.
So I went home and did something I rarely do for free:
I started working.
Six Names, One Mission
Over the next few hours, I developed six complete re-brand concepts for Mike.
Not loose ideas. Not brainstorming bullet points. Six strategically-developed names — each
one legally defensible, each one rooted in his French training and Melbourne identity, each one telling a different story about who he is and what he's built.
Some leaned into French sophistication. Some centered his personal identity. Some struck a balance between accessibility and artisan craft.
But all of them shared one thing: They couldn't be touched by Cinnabon's lawyers.
I crafted an email. I explained who I was, what I'd seen that morning, and what I'd created. I made one thing clear: this costs nothing. Not because I'm running a charity, but because this is what creatives do when it matters.
We solve problems.
I hit send and went back to my day.
The Response
Mike replied within 24 hours.
"Thanks for reaching out. We're still deciding on the name."
Short. Measured. But not a no.
The man's trying to run a business, manage legal pressure, and now make a decision that will define the next decade of his life — all while baking perfect cinnamon rolls at 5am.
So I sent a follow-up with a different approach:
What if he didn't have to decide alone?
What if the people who'd been supporting him — lining up every morning, sharing his story, defending him on social media — what if they chose his new name?
The Community Competition Idea
A 2-week community-driven rebrand competition.
Week 1: Name Submissions Post on Instagram and Facebook asking customers to submit name ideas. Let them tell you why their suggestion works. Get everyone invested, engaged, talking.
Week 2: Visual Voting I design the top 5 finalists as full logo concepts — maintaining his current color palette, honoring his aesthetic, creating professional-grade options. Then post all the designs and let the community vote.
The winner becomes the new name.
Why This Works
For Mike: Takes the pressure off a solo decision. Builds massive social engagement (free marketing for two weeks). Creates community ownership — "I helped name this place" equals lifetime loyalty. Generates media follow-up stories. Provides professional logo designs before he commits to anything.
For the Community: Turns rage into action. Creates a shared victory story. Proves that people can beat corporations when they work together.
For Me: Portfolio work showcasing real-world problem-solving. Proof that design isn't just aesthetics — it's strategy, community-building, and cultural impact. A case study in turning legal pressure into brand power.
Where We Are Now
As I write this, Mike has two weeks left to finalize his new name.
We're in conversations. He's considering his options — both the traditional route (choosing from the concepts I developed) and the community competition approach.
My goal isn't to make Mike choose my idea. It's to make sure he has good options when he needs them most.
Whether he picks one of my six concepts, crowdsources from his community, or goes a completely different direction, I'm here to help however I can.
Because this isn't about me getting credit.
It's about Mike keeping his craft.
What This Story Is Really About
On the surface, this is a trademark dispute. A small bakery vs. a big corporation.
But dig deeper and it's about something bigger: Who gets to tell small business stories?
Cinnabon's lawyers see "Cinnabuns" and think: brand confusion, market dilution, intellectual property infringement.
But Mike's customers see "Cinnabuns" and think: That place Mike runs. The French-trained guy. Best cinnamon rolls in Melbourne.
One is a legal problem. The other is a human story.
Human stories always win — not in court, maybe. Not in trademark databases. But in the hearts and wallets of real people? In the lines that form at 6am? In the Instagram posts and word-of-mouth recommendations?
That's where the real brand lives.
Cinnabon can have their trademark. Mike will have something more valuable: A community that chose him.
The Bigger Question
Cinnabon is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. They have brand recognition across dozens of countries. They can afford expensive lawyers to protect their intellectual property.
Mike has one location in Albion. He bakes every roll by hand. He trained in France and spent a decade refining his craft.
Which one is more valuable?
The system says Cinnabon. The trademark law says Cinnabon. The legal leverage says Cinnabon.
But every person standing in that line on a Saturday morning?
Every customer who's watched Mike perfect his glaze ratio over the years?
They say Mike.
In a world where scale is worshipped and craft is undervalued, I'll always bet on the craftsman.
How You Can Help
1. Visit Mike 29B Perth Avenue, Albion, Melbourne. Go. Order. Taste what French training and Melbourne dedication creates.
2. Share the Story Post about it. Tag your friends. Tell people why small businesses built by real craftspeople matter.
3. Stay Tuned Mike's announcing his new name soon. When he does, show up. Support the re-brand. Prove that community beats corporate pressure.
4. Think About Your Local Businesses Mike's story isn't unique. Small businesses face pressure from bigger competitors every day. Who in your neighborhood is fighting to survive?
How can you show up for them?
What I've Learned
Two weeks ago, I walked into a bakery for breakfast. Today, I'm trying to help Mike navigate what might be the most important re-brand of his life.
Creativity isn't just about making things look good. It's about solving real problems for real people. It's about using your skills when they matter most — not just when you're getting paid.
Community is the most powerful brand asset. Cinnabon has billions in market cap. Mike has people who line up in the cold because they believe in what he does.
Sometimes the best work is pro bono. Not because you're desperate for portfolio pieces, but because you recognize a moment where your skills can change someone's story.
Small businesses are built by people, not logos. Mike could change his name ten times and his customers would still show up. Because they're not there for a brand. They're there for Mike.
The Next Chapter
In two weeks, Mike will have a new name.
Maybe it'll be one of the six concepts I developed. Maybe it'll be something his community suggested. Maybe it'll be something completely different that comes to him at 4am while prepping dough.
But whatever name he chooses, it'll be backed by a community that refused to let corporate pressure win.
It'll be designed (if I have anything to do with it) to honor his French training and Melbourne roots.
And it'll represent something that no trademark lawyer can quantify: A decade of waking up at dawn to bake the perfect cinnamon roll.
Not because a corporation told him to.
But because craft demands it.
Final Thought
When Cinnabon sent that cease-and-desist letter, they thought they were protecting their brand.
What they actually did was create a story.
A story about a small bakery in Albion that refused to disappear. About a community that showed up with their wallets and their voices. About a creative who walked in for breakfast and stayed to help fight.
This is the kind of story I want to be part of: not the one where big corporations crush small businesses, but the one where craftspeople, communities, and creatives prove that what we build together is stronger than what they can buy.
Mike's bakery will have a new name soon.
But the story? The story is just beginning.
Update: I'll be posting the final name reveal when Mike's ready to announce.
Follow along on Instagram @henryskillz to see how this story ends.
Or better yet: visit 29B Perth Avenue in Albion and taste it for yourself.
Because some things — craft, community, perfect cinnamon rolls — you have to experience to understand.
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