By Said Hasheem
In 1993, basketball legend Michael Jordan stormed into a Chicago courtroom, fighting to reclaim his name.
A local store had slapped “Michael Jordan’s Restaurant” on ads to hawk steaks and wings, without his consent. To them, it was savvy marketing. To Jordan, it was a violation of his empire.
“It’s not just about my name,” he told reporters. “It’s about people being misled into thinking I endorsed something I didn’t touch.”
The court sided with him, awarding millions in damages. His reputation, carefully crafted on and off the court, wasn’t just fame. It was a goldmine; one he’d protect at all costs.
Jordan turned his name into a billion-dollar brand, with his sneakers still ruling the market decades after his last game.
Forbes pegs his endorsement earnings at a staggering $2.4 billion, dwarfing his basketball paychecks.
In the West, celebrities like Jordan know fame is currency, and reputation is intellectual property. But in Kenya, stars are bleeding millions, their names exploited while their wallets stay empty.
Take Kikuyu gospel singer Hellen Muthoni. In January 2024, she found herself in a battle she never chose.
Solpia Kenya Limited, trading as Sistar Kenya, plastered her face across their hair product campaigns without her permission or a single shilling paid.
The Data Protection Commissioner slapped the company with a Sh500,000 fine, but Muthoni wasn’t impressed: “That’s pocket change compared to the reputation I’ve built,” she fumed through her lawyer. “This risks diluting my brand and killing my shot at real endorsement deals.”
Actor Paul Ogola knows the sting too. Last year, Shalina Healthcare Kenya Limited kept using his image to push Pharmasal, a pharmaceutical product, long after his six-month contract expired in August 2022. Billboards, calendars, websites, posters – his face was everywhere, without his consent.
The Data Commissioner hit the company with a Sh1.45 million fine: Sh500,000 for billboards, another Sh500,000 for calendars, Sh200,000 for online ads, and Sh250,000 for violating his rights. A win, sure, but a drop in the bucket compared to the value of his goodwill.
These aren’t isolated cases. They expose a harsh truth about Kenya’s creative economy. Celebrities are losing control of their names, their images, and the millions tied to their reputations.
Intellectual property expert Dave Muli puts it bluntly: “Kenyan stars are missing out on fortunes. Can any of them keep cashing in on their brand long after their prime or even after they’re gone?”
In the West, the estates of icons like Charlie Chaplin rake in millions yearly. Even in Kenya, Charlie Bistro pays licensing fees to use Chaplin’s likeness. “Which Kenyan artist has that kind of goodwill?” Muli challenges.
Goodwill, the invisible currency of trust, style, and influence, is fragile but powerful. A scandal can torch it overnight, but when nurtured, it can outlive the star.
“A celebrity is someone widely recognized for their achievements. When that recognition is cultivated over time, it creates goodwill that can be monetized. But it has to be protected,” says Muli.
Babe Ruth, dead since 1948, still endorses products 75 years later, making him one of the top-earning deceased athletes. In Kenya? “When our celebrities die, they’re forgotten almost instantly,” Muli laments.
The roots of celebrity power trace back to early Hollywood, when studios tried to keep actors nameless to curb their influence. They failed.
Fans fell hard for faces like Mary Pickford, who by 1916 was Hollywood’s first millionaire, earning $1 million a year. Her goodwill was so potent that fans mimicked her hairstyles and mannerisms.
Pickford cashed in, endorsing banks to beauty products, turning her fame into a business empire.
So why are Kenyan stars lagging? Muli points to shaky laws and low awareness. Kenya lacks clear “celebrity rights” statutes, forcing stars to lean on patchwork protections like privacy, defamation, and copyright.
These stop misuse but don’t unlock long-term wealth. “Our celebrities are stuck using negative rights,” Muli explains. “They can block exploitation, but they’re not building brands that endure.” His fix? Get proactive: trademark names, catchphrases, and logos; copyright creative works; leverage consumer protection laws against deceptive endorsements. “Trademarks and copyrights aren’t just shields. They are tools to turn goodwill into generational wealth.”
For now, Kenyan celebrities scrape by on gigs and fleeting endorsements, rarely transforming their fame into lasting empires.
Muli’s question lingers: “Are our stars there yet? Not even close. Can they build that kind of goodwill? Absolutely, if they start treating their brand like the asset it is.” For now the clock is ticking, and millions are slipping away.