The name game
Does your given moniker affect your life? Let’s hope not with some of the names now out there
AN INTERNET survey of more than 200,000 American parents has found that the names Gouda, Almond, Cappuccino, Veal, and Bologna are proving to be big hits in the naming game. Believe it and weep. 298 girls have started life with the given name of Armani, while 100 boys have been stuck with the ‘retail’ moniker of Halston.
Reassuringly though, out of the two million male births and two and a half million females, the most common names were found to be Jacob and Emily.
But, along with those eminently sensible parents there were those who had obviously ingested several rain forests worth of Columbian nose talc by naming their offspring Viva Ventura.
Another dozen innocents will forever be stuck with the name Timberland, derived from the boot, five poor sods (of no specific background) will have to face the harsh world out there with the name of Coal (no, not Cole), with another 64 innocents being doomed to be Starsky forever in search of a Hutch.
Girls names were, to say the least, equally, if not exceedingly, bizarre. One batch of babies will now have to grow up and travel life’s rocky road dragging with them the name Dung, 29 little brats were named Whisper and another five new arrivals were generously given by their wacko parents the name of Rayon Unique.
72 kiddies were named Skye, while another 85 became the offspring of obviously dyslexic parents, either that or they had liberally imbibed a bit too much of Skye’s famous export in the form of a bottle of ten-year-old Talisker, as they went and spelt it Skyyi.
It gets worse. The pick of truly ghastly nomenclatures for kids is as follows; Reality, (she will no doubt become a dental hygienist), Sincere (destined for a Texas bordello), Sunshine (please God don’t let her marry my Godchild) and Vanity, who will no doubt end up as a chiropodist or a professional Tango dancer. It doesn’t stop there: a whole raft of egomaniacal parents have gone and named the fruit of their lions Unique. Boys fare no better with the Clints of this world now being firmly replaced by Atom (minus the bomb), Canon (minus the run) and Cashmere, who will no doubt prove in later life to be a right soft touch.
As if growing up wasn’t hard enough, these poor souls now face a huge struggle to survive against some pretty serious odds stacked against them. That is until they become of age and they can then change their name to good old Jim Bob. Until then they will have to suffer the absolute horrors that will be meted out to them on a daily basis in the school playground.
The big problem is that once you give a baby a name, society begins to treat it as if it has the type of personality the name implies and I seriously believe a child then grows up to fit the name. If, for example, I had been called Mary, I would no doubt be exceedingly fragrant, sweet, even-tempered and demure – with a flat chest.
Becoming a Susan puts one in the category of ex-captain of the hockey team, always band box neat and incredibly cute, but ultimately boring. As a Clare, I would sport hugging Lycra gear, marry three times and consider aerobics superior to sex.
Ever met a Margaret who is not some power behind the Women’s Institute or a fearless charity organiser? A Louise or a Helen would have done all the hard graft, but it’s the Margarets of this world who oversee all operations, clad in sensible Windsmoor two pieces. Maria’s have style, prefer geometric hairstyles have a tattoo on their bottom, wear lots of rings and can bite their own toenails if requested.
As for men’s names, whom would you select as your personal banker or lawyer – a man called John or one called Vince?
If we could easily change our name perhaps many would, at one stroke, be able to resolve some of their problems – good old George, for example, who subscribes to Caravan Monthly, may feel imposed upon and a little bit of a boring chap but if he popped into a ‘Namalyst’ for a new first name – Elliot. Now, no one is going to impose upon or give the bums’ rush to an Elliot. An Elliot will marry the lovely rich lady and become an executive in her father’s thriving sanitary ware company. The Elliots of this world will waste no time in ditching the caravan for a house in Umbria and he will then name his Irish Setter Sacha.
There again he could be re-named Ridge, Clint, Brett or Troy, thus establishing him as supremely qualified to become a famous American soap star. Me? From now on just call me by my proper name – Sweetness!
