PoundsPunch Periodical 2024.04: "Orforglipron??" Why Weight-Loss Drugs Names Sound Like Wi-Fi Passwords

From semaglutide to Orforglipron, here’s why these weight-loss drug names names sound like encryption codes — and who’s to blame

Let’s get one thing out of the way: Orforglipron is not a keyboard smash. It’s Eli Lilly’s next big oral weight-loss drug, currently in Phase 3 trials. Designed to work like Ozempic or Wegovy — but in pill form — it promises convenience, effectiveness, and zero needles.

But it also sounds like a Wi-Fi password your IT guy made up at 3 a.m.

Which brings us to today’s question: Why are weight-loss drug names so weird? Not just Orforglipron — all of them. This month, we’re digging into the system behind the syllables, and yes, there is a system.

These Names Are Weird for a Reason

Drug naming isn’t a creative free-for-all. It’s a regulatory game of Twister, managed by two powerful and deeply unfun organizations:

• The United States Adopted Names (USAN) Council

• The World Health Organization’s INN Program

Their job? Assign each new drug a generic name that reflects its molecular family, avoids confusion with other drugs, and won’t translate to “flatulence” in Hungarian.

These names must:

• Signal the drug’s function or class

• Be pronounceable in multiple languages

• Avoid sounding like any other medication on the market

• Not accidentally mean something offensive (true story: one proposed name was rejected for sounding like a racial slur in Swahili)

So… What Is “Orforglipron”?

Let’s unpack the name.

The “-glipron” part is key. It’s a new naming stem for non-peptide GLP-1 receptor agonists — small, synthetic molecules that activate the same receptors as injectable GLP-1 drugs but can be taken as pills. These don’t mimic the structure of the natural hormone — they just get the job done by chemically “flipping the same switch.”

Now compare that to drugs ending in “-glutide” — like semaglutide, liraglutide, and tirzepatide. Those are GLP-1 analogs, meaning they’re peptide-based and built to resemble the body’s own GLP-1 hormone. They’re fragile, complex, and usually need to be injected (or taken with absorption enhancers, like in Rybelsus).

Put simply:

• “-glutide” = built to look like the real hormone

• “-glipron” = doesn’t look like GLP-1 at all, but still activates the receptor

Same target, totally different construction.

As for the “Orfor-” part? It’s just filler. Handpicked nonsense that passed trademark screenings and doesn’t accidentally translate to “moldy cheese” in Czech.

When Names Go Wrong...

And believe it or not, naming mix-ups happen — and they can be dangerous.

• Brintellix (an antidepressant) had to be rebranded as Trintellix in the U.S. because it was too easily confused with Brilinta, a heart medication.

• Luvox (fluvoxamine) and Lasix (furosemide) caused enough pharmacy confusion that both were flagged by the Institute for Safe Medication Practices (ISMP)

So even if a name looks ridiculous, the intent is very serious: avoid confusion, reduce error, and make sure your pharmacist doesn’t reach for the wrong bottle.

Don’t Worry, the Brand Name Will Be Ridiculous in a Different Way

Orforglipron is just the generic name. If Lilly gets FDA approval, it’ll get a full brand makeover — probably something vague and luxurious, like:

• Trimora (sounds like a Scandinavian diet coach)

• Velvexa (also possibly a mattress)

• Silquix (okay, definitely a skincare line)

Case in point:

• Semaglutide became Wegovy for weight loss and Ozempic for diabetes

• Tirzepatide became Zepbound for weight loss and Mounjaro for diabetes

• Oral semaglutide? That’s Rybelsus, which honestly still sounds like a Wi-Fi router, but at least you can say it without spraining your tongue

These brand names are built for memorability, not molecular accuracy. And yes, they cost millions to develop and test. So by the time you hear the final brand name in a Super Bowl ad, know that somewhere, a team of lawyers and marketers has cried over it.

Final Punch

Orforglipron might be mouthful, but it’s not careless. It’s the product of a meticulous, multilingual, risk-averse naming process designed to keep you from mixing it up with eye drops or blood thinners. It signals its scientific category, passes safety screens, and — let’s face it — was never meant to go on a billboard.

But if the drug works? You’ll be hearing a lot more about it. Probably under a name that sounds like it belongs on a high-end probiotic bottle. But until then, we’ll practice pronouncing Or. For. Gli. Pron.

And no, it’s not your new password. But maybe it should be.

Reference: International nonproprietary names for monoclonal antibodies: an evolving nomenclature system   https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/35584276/