A new YouGov survey of 2,567 U.S. adults found:
42 percent of people “love” their first name
31 percent of people “like” it
19 percent of people are neutral on it.
4 percent of adults who dislike their first names
2 percent who outright hate their names
2 percent of respondents said “not sure.”
Not sure? Who can’t make up their mind about their own damn name?
People make no sense to me.
I love my first name. It fits me, I think. I feel like a Matt.
I’m also never asked how to spell my name, which is lovely.
My mother told me that my father wanted to name me Barthalomeau, so I dodged a bullet.
I’m sure Barthaloameau is a fine name, and Bart Simpson has certainly done it proud, but that would’ve meant a lifetime of spelling my first name, and “Bart Dicks” doesn’t sound great.
So my mother did me a solid, and I am forever grateful.
Matthew is also a versatile name.
Most people call me “Matt.”
Friends who have known me for more than two decades often call me “Matty” — a name my friend, Bengi, assigned me back in 1990 when we were living together in a place we affectionately called “The Heavy Metal Playhouse.”
I played golf yesterday with three friends. Two refer to me as Matt, and the third calls me Matty.
Some people call me Matthew, including some clients and people who have read my books or watched me perform, but I don’t feel like we are on friendly terms yet. Additionally, some people, including my mother-in-law and principal, call me “Matthew” when they are annoyed with me or when I’ve broken a stupid rule or failed to complete a meaningless task.
So it’s three names in one.
I love it.
My middle name is “John,” which I don’t like because it’s boring. It has been one of the most common male names for over 100 years. I feel like my mother and father punted when choosing my middle name, simply grabbing the name of another one of the Bible’s Gospels rather than trying for something better.
But a middle name is a place to be creative. Give your kid something interesting or unique—a show-stopper.
Something like Ace, Rocket, Wyatt, Ambush, Knuckles, or Elroy would’ve been nice.
John is a nothingburger.
I made the mistake of sharing my feelings about my middle name with my students last year, and one of them, named John, said, “Hey!”
Oops.
He reported “liking but not loving” his first name.
Elysha loves her first name, although it wasn’t originally Elysha.
When she was born, her parents named her “Jordan,” but a doctor told them that “Jordan” was a boy’s name and that she shouldn’t be burdened with such a problematic and misgendered name.
Can you imagine this happening today? The parents would probably sue the doctor for a Civil Rights violation.
But that was 50 years ago, so, bending to his will, her parents decided to choose another name, but spent three days in indecision.
They liked the name “Alicia” but had someone in their life named Alicia who they didn’t like, so they didn’t want her name to conjure thoughts of this other rotten person.
So finally, on day three, when the nurses threatened to write “Baby” on her birth certificate, her parents found an original way to spell Alicia, thus eliminating the stigma associated with the traditional spelling, and thus Elysha finally had a name.
See?
That’s how you choose a name.
That’s a story.
If my parents had put just a bit of thought into it, I could’ve been named “Matthew Steelbender Dicks” or “Matthew Ironhorse Dicks.”
If I had a name like that, I’d require all emcees to introduce me by my full name.
