Confessions of a Name Nerd and Poor Fashion Choices from My Youth

As a word-nerdy book-obsessed child, I started collecting possible handles for my Hypothetical Future Children early. I had a list. I had some boy names sprinkled in, but girl names were much more fun. Looking back at my choices, I’m really glad I didn’t become a teenage mother, because I would have given my daughter a name only a stripper could comfortably wear.

Baby Names I Have Planned on Using at Various Stages of My Life

1.  Khrystyne Nychole, age 10:  This one was clearly rooted in the midwestern belief that the letter Y in the middle of a word is unimaginably exotic, with the notable exception of Wyoming. I was also heavily influenced by this Head of the Class actress, whose titian curls I covet still.

2. Cecelia Rose, age 12: This was an attempt to curry hypothetical favor with my father’s family, the Catholic side, where both names are featured.  Twelve was also the year I made my mother take me to Mass every Sunday–she dropped me off and I attended alone.  I often told people that I was thinking of becoming a nun, because they didn’t pay taxes and had lots of free time for reading.

I would have made a really terrible nun, what with the poverty and chastity requirements, though I do still envy their reading time.

3. Alannah Shaughnessy or any version of Alexandra, age 13:  Is Shaughnessy a family name, you ask?  No, I just liked that it had a lot of letters.  From age 11-13, I babysat frequently for my three cousins.  Their house was a disaster area, the only house I’d ever been in that wasn’t tidy, and the boys were wild.  Their parents would go out all day and evening, or for the weekend, leaving me in charge. This is where I taught myself to cook, like a bachelor, based on vague hunches and available canned goods. (Note: tomato paste + dried oregano + water does NOT add up to a tasty marinara.)

But the saving grace of this house was the stacks and stacks of bodice-rippers my aunt had stashed everywhere.  I tore through dozens of them; LaVyrle Spencer was a particular favorite (“Now she knew what it must feel like for a man to have an erection, because that’s how she felt on the inside.”)  I was terrified of being in their house alone at night, so after the boys went to bed I would sit in the hallway near their bedrooms and read these dirty books in the glow of the nightlight, running like hell to put them back and act nonchalant when I heard my aunt and uncle returning.

Alannah and Alexandra would have loved to have been speared on some rogue’s throbbing manhood, and at 13, I was starting to think I might, too. Bye-bye, convent.

4. Ryan, Riley, Shaun, Toby, age 14-15: Oh, how I wanted to be one of those sporty, pony-tailed girls, with straight white orthodontia-less teeth and Umbros. Right up until I started smoking in the school parking lot and discovered the other kind of girl boys liked–the kind with big boobs and low self-esteem!

5. Storm, Raine, Rio, Blue, age 16: Every year or so, the Grateful Dead came to an outdoor music venue near my house. I knew nothing about them except that they did Touch of Grey, which kind of sucked, and I never had a ticket, but the parking lot scene was awesome. I bought a harmony bells anklet there that made me jingle like a janitor cat, and a fimo/hemp bracelet, and wore them for years.  I reeked of patchouli. I never did like Phish though.

I think we can all picture what a hot baby Rio Blue would have been in that parking lot, with her wee tie-dyed onesie and dirty knees.

As long as I am confessing awful things about what a poseur I have been at various times in my life, i’s time I told you that I used to own this t-shirt (well, “own” in the sense that I co-opted it from a roommate and carefully concealed it from her when she moved out.)

I used to wear it all the time. It has lyrics from Redemption Song on the back (Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery/None but ourselves can free our minds) and I thought it was BAD. ASS. Then one day I realized that I was a chubby 22-year-old quasi-middle-class white girl from central Ohio who barely even smoked pot walking around with a giant Bob Marley/Jamaican flag on my chest and I was suddenly mortified. I scurried home with my arms crossed over my shirt and tore it off, never to be worn again.

You can pry my Legend CD out of my cold, dead hands, though.

6. Aoife, Niamh, Caoimhe, Aiobhinn, age 23-28: I was obsessed with all things Irish for a while there, starting with Irish boys and ending with…Irish boys. (Pro tip: Great conversationalists until a certain point in the evening, terrible at everything–EVERYTHING–after that point.)  For a while I was sure that my Hypothetical Future Daughter needed a name with many, many vowels that no one in Central Ohio would ever be able to pronounce, thereby ensuring that a) everyone could tell how worldly I was, and b) we would always have to live in a city or in Ireland (preferably Galway.)

I still have not ruled this out.

7. Ellery, present day: I TOTALLY thought this up and told ONE person about it and now every suburban hipster in America is using it. Damn you, hive mind. (See also every name on this list. Annabelle! Clementine! Goddammit. I hate finding out that I am nothing more than a clearly defined demographic.)

I just saw my first name listed in a group of “New American Classics” and I was thrilled. I always liked my name, right up until I arrived for my freshman year of college and discovered that there were four other girls on my floor who shared it. In Ohio, I’d only ever met one other person with the same moniker (1975 was heavy on the Stacy, Amy, Jennifer front.)

My family names are so-so.  The Catholic side is heavy on Marys and Mary knock-offs (Marian, Mary Beth, etc.) and Patricks and Francises. The other side is more American gothic (Floyd, Ray, Helen, Bart) with a healthy dose of random (Oscie Ola, anyone?)  My generation has so far produced a Jayden, Braeden, and Caden, all born within a year of each other. And a Madison, of course.

(Side note: You know what’s awkward? Talking about names and why you don’t like them to people you don’t know. I read an article years ago that I thought was fascinating about how one’s socioeconomic status and educational background influence the names they give their kids, and I tried to tell a group of coworkers about it and nearly bit my tongue off, remembering mid-sentence that their siblings and boyfriends’ names were some of the ones the article cites as examples of names poorer, less educated people might use.  No, I’m not citing them here, because I love you, and also because I grew up working class and am pretty uneducated so please don’t hate me.)

(Side note again: Have you ever seen this internet oldie-but-goody, Baby’s Named a Bad, Bad Thing?  It is, I humbly submit, THE funniest thing on the internet.  It will suck your whole day away, though–beware!

Sample:

I once met a lady named Rodana. I think she runs a successful internet business.

In her spare time she destroys Tokyo.

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brayden,makynzi,or karsyn
tyler, preston, or mason

Makynzi: Name or vanity license plate? Type of blade or rogue Japanese crime outifit?

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I like the name Aynslie for a girl and Beckley for a boy.

Weren’t they the leaders of the snooty frat in Animal House?