Sunrise Periods That Didn’t Protect Brands

When ICANN launched the new gTLD program in 2012, one of its most important safeguards for intellectual property owners was the concept of the Sunrise period. Sunrise was designed as a protective mechanism: a limited-time window, before the general public could register domains in a new extension, during which trademark holders would have first rights to secure names matching their registered marks. In theory, this would prevent cybersquatting, brand dilution, and consumer confusion by giving legitimate owners priority access to their brand names across the new namespace. For corporations that had fought bitter battles against squatters during the early days of .com, the Sunrise process was marketed as a solution, a way to avoid repeating history. Yet in practice, Sunrise periods often fell short of their protective promise, leaving brands frustrated, investors opportunistic, and the entire system open to criticism.

The first problem with Sunrise was cost. To even participate, brand owners had to submit their marks to the Trademark Clearinghouse (TMCH), a centralized database created specifically for the new gTLD program. This required legal documentation, verification, and ongoing fees. For large corporations with global portfolios of trademarks, the expense quickly multiplied, as every variation, jurisdiction, and product line needed separate coverage. Smaller companies, nonprofits, and regional brands were often priced out, unable to justify the ongoing costs for marks they might never use in domain names. What was framed as a protective mechanism felt to many like a revenue generator for registries and ICANN, creating a perception that brand owners were being forced to pay simply to defend themselves.

Even when companies participated, Sunrise protections were limited. Sunrise eligibility was strictly tied to exact trademark matches, meaning that creative variations, misspellings, or brand-related terms could still slip through. A company like Coca-Cola could secure cocacola.brand during Sunrise, but domains like coke.brand or cocacolaonline.brand might still be up for grabs. This created loopholes that opportunists could exploit, registering confusingly similar names once general availability began. For industries already plagued by phishing and typosquatting, Sunrise did little to prevent the most likely vectors of abuse.

Registry practices further complicated matters. While ICANN mandated Sunrise periods, registries had wide latitude in how they priced domains during these phases. Some charged exorbitant premiums for exact matches, knowing that brand owners would feel compelled to pay whatever was necessary to avoid reputational harm. Instead of being a protective grace period, Sunrise often felt like a shakedown. Corporations found themselves in bidding wars or faced with “premium pricing” that forced them to spend heavily to secure names they already owned as trademarks. This dynamic bred resentment, as many felt registries were profiting from the very risks they were supposed to mitigate.

Another issue was the sheer scale of the new gTLD rollout. With more than a thousand new extensions delegated, brand owners were overwhelmed by the task of monitoring and securing their marks across so many namespaces. Even with Sunrise access, the logistical and financial burden of participating in every launch was impossible. Companies had to make strategic decisions about which TLDs mattered, but this left gaps. Opportunists quickly filled those gaps, registering brand-related names in extensions that corporations had skipped. The burden shifted back to defensive registrations and enforcement, the very problem Sunrise was supposed to alleviate.

The TMCH itself became a source of frustration. While it offered a centralized database for trademark validation, it provided limited benefits beyond Sunrise eligibility. One of its functions was to notify trademark owners when a third party registered a domain matching their mark in any new gTLD. Yet these notices often generated overwhelming volumes of alerts, many of which were irrelevant or unenforceable. Companies found themselves inundated with notices they could do little about, turning the TMCH into a noise machine rather than an effective enforcement tool. Worse still, the notifications did not prevent registrations—they merely warned owners after the fact, forcing them into reactive legal battles instead of offering meaningful protection.

High-profile cases exposed the weaknesses of the Sunrise system. Well-known brands discovered their marks had been registered by third parties in certain gTLDs despite participating in the TMCH. Some disputes ended up in arbitration under the Uniform Rapid Suspension (URS) system, but even these remedies were imperfect. URS allowed for swift suspension of infringing domains but not for their transfer, meaning the brand owner still had to pursue further action if they wanted to control the name. In other cases, opportunists priced domains at such high resale rates that corporations were effectively held hostage, paying inflated sums to acquire names that should have been theirs from the start.

Meanwhile, smaller brands fared even worse. Without the resources to participate in Sunrise across hundreds of TLDs, they were left exposed to cybersquatting and phishing attacks. Fraudsters targeted recognizable but less well-defended companies, registering domains in obscure extensions and using them for scams. Consumers, unfamiliar with the nuances of new gTLDs, were often fooled, associating these domains with legitimate businesses. The protective intent of Sunrise collapsed under the weight of asymmetry, protecting only the wealthiest and most vigilant players while leaving everyone else vulnerable.

Even for those who successfully secured names in Sunrise, the long-term value was questionable. Many corporations registered hundreds of domains defensively, locking them down without ever developing them. These defensive registrations cost millions of dollars annually in renewals, yet added little strategic value. Over time, some companies scaled back their efforts, deciding that the return on investment was not worth the expense. Sunrise had not eliminated the arms race of defensive registrations; it had merely institutionalized it, embedding it into the rollout process of every new extension.

The disappointment of Sunrise periods was compounded by the perception that ICANN and registries benefited disproportionately. Registries collected revenue from brand owners who felt compelled to participate, while ICANN gained credibility by claiming it had implemented safeguards. In practice, the burden fell on the brands themselves, who were forced to spend heavily for minimal protection. The entire system seemed designed to shift responsibility away from policy and onto those most at risk of abuse.

As the domain industry looks toward the possibility of another gTLD application round, Sunrise remains a controversial subject. Many stakeholders argue that the model needs significant reform to be effective. Suggestions include expanding eligibility to cover variations, lowering fees, or introducing stronger preemptive protections for well-established marks. Others question whether Sunrise should even exist in its current form, given its limited effectiveness and the resentment it generated.

The legacy of Sunrise periods is one of noble intentions undermined by flawed execution. The idea of giving trademark holders a head start was sound, but the implementation created new burdens without eliminating old problems. Instead of being a shield, Sunrise often felt like another battlefield where brands had to fight to protect themselves. For many in the domain industry, it stands as one of the great disappointments of the new gTLD era: a safeguard that promised protection but delivered frustration, expense, and only partial security.

When ICANN launched the new gTLD program in 2012, one of its most important safeguards for intellectual property owners was the concept of the Sunrise period. Sunrise was designed as a protective mechanism: a limited-time window, before the general public could register domains in a new extension, during which trademark holders would have first rights…