One of my favourite things to do, apart from rambling, is to put the world to rights. Whether it is with my partner, my family, or my best friend of one million years (if you include past lives and you are into that sort of thing), I can talk for Britain. So on today’s ramble, I wanted to thrash it out and talk about the importance of people’s names. Whether it is a first name, middle name, surname, or going the whole hog with a double barrelled extravaganza of a name. I was thinking in proper Shakespearean style: “What’s in a name?”
Well, apparently, quite a lot.
For something that is only a handful of letters and a tiny puff of breath, names carry weight. Real weight. And yet people still love to ridicule them. Sometimes it is “harmless banter”, sometimes it is a not so subtle power move. Mock someone’s name enough and they shrink a little, like someone quietly pinched a bit of their energy while they were distracted.
Now do not get me wrong. As a Scouser, I am all for taking the mickey. It is basically our second language. But there is a huge difference between affectionate teasing and tearing someone’s identity down. Names matter. They root us. They whisper where we belong, who we came from, and what strange combination of ancestors eventually created us.
Take old English surnames like “Taylor”. Strong and notorious in the UK. It literally comes from someone who stitched and snipped cloth. A tiny history lesson tucked neatly into six letters. Generations of fabric, thread, graft and probably a bit of juicy sewing gossip.
Then jump all the way to Ghana, where names carry entire stories. A name like Akahoho, or its non Westernised form Ekahoho, might reveal ancestry, personality traits, or the unique circumstances around someone’s birth. It is never just a label. It is a chapter of family history wrapped in syllables. A personal epic. A true declaration of who you are and who came before you.
Which is why I will never understand why celebrities love changing their names for showbiz. Why swap out the name your mum yelled up the stairs when you were late for school? Take Elton John. Iconic stage name, fair enough. But he started life as Reginald Kenneth Dwight. REGINALD. KENNETH. DWIGHT. That is not a name. That is three Victorian librarians sharing a biscuit.
Your name is not just something people butcher at on a a grande latte at that famous coffee chain. It is a breadcrumb trail back to your origin story. And honestly, we should all be a little prouder of that.
So here is your Mimi style dare. Go and look up where your name comes from. Hunt it down. Chase it through time. You might discover your great great great someone was a warrior, a potter, a healer, or a professional bringer of family drama. You might even find out your surname has travelled more than you have. And who knows, you might even end up creating a new holiday plan out of it.
“Sorry I cannot come to work next week. I have just discovered my ancestors were from a tiny seaside village and I absolutely must go and stand on the beach to absorb my heritage.”
Let your name take you somewhere. Literally or spiritually. Your choice.
And now, in the spirit of pure sass, let us add a Breaking Bad moment. Remember when Walter White stood there all dramatic and said, “Say my name”, like he was auditioning for the Most Intense Man Award? Next time someone makes fun of your name, channel that energy. Give them the full Heisenberg stare. Then instead of saying “You are goddamn right”, hit them with a one hour lecture on the history of your name. Migration patterns, spelling variations, cultural symbolism, family tree if you are feeling extra spicy. Trust me, they will think twice before trying to take the mick again.
Because what is in a name?
Everything. Absolutely everything.