Every time a celebrity gives
their child an unusual name, people have opinions.
When a famous family like the
Kardashian-Wests (with North, Chicago and Saint), the Olivers (with Poppy
Honey Rosie, Daisy Boo Pamela, Petal Blossom Rainbow, Buddy Bear Maurice and
River Rocket Blue Dallas) the Beckhams (Brooklyn, Romeo, Cruz and Harper) or
the Jolie-Pitts (Maddox, Pax, Zahara, Shiloh, Knox and Vivienne) add to their
brood, there’s a bit of head-shaking.
“Bear Payne?” people mutter,
looking at pictures of Liam Payne and Cheryl’s offspring, “Whatever happened to
normal names?”
Firstly, Bear Payne is an
incredibly cool name and everyone involved in its choosing should be very proud
of themselves. Secondly, it raises the question – what do we mean by “a normal
name”? There’s a tendency in this country to use the word “normal” to mean
“white, Anglo-Saxon”, which is not cool.
We live in a
multicultural society. Not everyone’s going to be called Ian, and that is a
wonderful thing. Parents are more likely to have travelled, to have been
exposed to (and influenced by) other cultures, than their parents, and as such
might not make the same choices when choosing names.
I have a “normal” name,
Michael, a good old-fashioned British name, one that gets a nod of approval
from the type of people who splutter when the Olivers give another cheerfully
bonkers name to a kid. Except it’s not British, is it? It’s a Hebrew name that,
due to a saint and archangel in the Bible, became popular in Ireland – popular
enough to occasionally be used, in a shortened form, as an anti-Irish slur –
and ended up being the name of about a fifth of English boys born in the 1980s.
It’s not British in the slightest.
RAZYPH
VIA GETTY IMAGES
When I was very young, there
were only 10 different boys’ names in my (very white, very Anglo-Saxon) school.
Michaels, Stephens, Williams and Davids constituted half the male population.
At one point I was one of four Michaels in my class. Spare a thought for
the thousands of Fat Daves around the country who aren’t even fat, just
slightly more heavy-set than their friend Dave. I know a Little Nick who is
6’1” – tiny compared to his 6’3” pal, Big Nick
Names are more trend-based than
we realise. Jakes exploded in the 2000s, and what was once a name given
only to pirates and cowboys was everywhere. “Old lady names” became massive a
decade ago. If you meet a Kylie you pretty much know exactly how old she is. In
my daughter’s nursery there is one girl with a traditional, evergreen,
‘British’ name, the type everyone can spell.
More Auroras were
born in 2018 than Victorias. There were more Willows than Lucys. There are
more baby boys under one named Jaxon than David. For
every Michael, there’s at least one Mason. Garys are close to extinct.
There are so many things
to consider when naming a child. Will their initials spell out something
hideous? Will their first and last name together form a silly word, like in
those wacky author jokes kids never tire of (you might want to avoid Anna if
your surname is Conda, Log or Notherthing, for instance, and those with the
surname King might wish to steer clear of Joe, Lee and Juan)?
Maybe there’s a name you always
imagined giving your baby, but your partner briefly dated someone with it or
someone you know on Facebook gives it to their weird-looking
child. Everyone who wrongs you takes away an option. You don’t want your
little bundle of joy to share a name with the dick who used to take your lunch
money.
There are things in my life I regret, but I
won’t lie on my deathbed wishing I’d named my kid Oberon.
When my wife and I were
awaiting the arrival of our child, we knew we wanted to go for something at
least slightly unusual. There’s nothing wrong with a traditional name. Scoffing
at someone for calling their child Chris rather than Zephyr is exactly as
stupid and prickish as the other way around. We just didn’t fancy one.
Looking through endless lists
trying to find something you both like is a brain-melting exercise. Names begin
to lose all meaning. I distinctly remember the 30-second period, nine pages
deep into a big stupid PDF of every name under the sun, when I became totally
convinced Oberon was a good shout. There are things in my life I regret,
but I won’t lie on my deathbed wishing I’d named my kid Oberon. Especially
as we had a girl.
We ended up choosing something
we’re still happy with, which I won’t share here – it’s her name, not mine, and
she should be in charge of where it goes. Some people were less impressed, but
she suits it, it’s badass and so is she.
There are potential disadvantages
of an unusual pick, of course. Endlessly spelling out your name on the phone,
Starbucks making total guestimates on your drinks, having the “Yes, that is my
real name” conversation a 1000 times.
But they all apply to loads of
“normal” names too. Are you Anne with or without an e? Eddie with an ie or a y?
Lisa, Liza or Leeza? Is your surname Cole, like Ashley, or Coel, like Michaela,
or Kohl, like Helmut, or Coal like the stuff?
At least with an off-piste
name, you’re the only one that has it, a pretty valuable thing in the age of
Google. I have a friend who works in films and has a very common first name and
surname. He is the eighth person on IMDb with his name. England’s 1986 World
Cup squad had two players with the same name, leading to the chant “Two Gary
Stevens, there’s only two Gary Stevens”.
On the other hand, Shannyn
Sossamon’s son Audio Science Clayton might run into a few problems with his
name, but nobody’s ever going to ask: “Which Audio Science Clayton do you
mean?”
JAMIE
GRILL VIA GETTY IMAGES
Some of the discomfort
around unusual names seems to come from the British obsession with class. You
don’t expect your patio to be laid by a Horatio (even though the words look
like they rhyme), and it would be a big surprise if Prince Harry and Meghan
Markle introduced us later this year to Prince Darren. When the rich and
famous name their children, they do so in the knowledge those names probably
won’t end up written on a McDonald’s badge.
Exactly the same name
can be seen as tacky if chosen by someone off ‘TOWIE’ and elegant if chosen by,
well, someone off ‘Made In Chelsea’. There are many reasons to be filled with
rage at the thought of Jacob Rees-Mogg – the fact he named his sixth child Sixtus,
having never changed a nappy in his decade of fatherhood and needing a reminder
of how many he has, is a minor one.
But the birth of Sixtus
was treated with much more of a “Ho ho, look how posh this eccentric chap is”
approach than the contemptuous way the parents of Hashtag Jameson were
treated, even though both names are equally silly.
Ultimately, having an
interesting name isn’t going to make someone interesting. But, since they mean
nothing anyway, and are pretty much an admin tool to help us keep track of one
another, isn’t it worth having some fun?
And if, down the line,
my daughter – or Ashlee Simpson and Pete Wentz’s son Bronx Mowgli, or Nicole
Richie and Joel Madden’s son Sparrow Midnight, or Alice Kim and Nicolas Cage’s
son Kal-El, or Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale’s kids Apollo Bowie Flynn,
Kingston James McGregor, and Zuma Nesta Rock – decides she doesn’t like her
name, she can change it.
She might choose
something very mundane, or she could go for something incredibly exotic and
unusual, like Gary.
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