The Baby Name Wizard

About nine months ago, I wrote about the hoax of a baby named Yahoo. At the time I suggested that such a name wouldn't remain fiction for long. Sure enough, in case you missed it, meet baby Google (a great name to say while tickling your baby's tummy).

After I wrote about the decline of consonant clusters in names, a reader noted that certain pairs like TR actually seem to be going up: TRavis, TRistan, TRevor. In fact, about 20% of consonant sound pairs have been significantly more common over the past 30 years vs. the previous 70.

What makes a cluster buck the trends and rise? There seem to be two main factors. First, clusters that stick to the start of names like BR (BRandon, BRooke, BRianna) do better than those that hang around in the middle. In fact, while TR is a trendy starter, it's on the outs as a center sound--think paTRicia and gerTRude. Second, a pair has a better shot if it leads with a strong unvoiced consonant, a sound made just by the passage of air through the mouth without vibrating vocal chords. Top letters include S (SPencer, SKye) and K (KRista, KRistopher).

And some more quick consonant hits...

• The separation of consonants isn't just an American trend. Take a look at the top names in Germany, traditionally the land of Ernst and Wolfgang, Bertha and Helga:

BOYSGIRLSMaximilianMarieAlexanderSophiePaulMariaLeonAnna/AnneLukas/LucasLeonieLucaLea/LeahFelixLauraJonasLenaTimKatharinaDavidJohanna • There is one trendy group of names where voiced consonant pairs are actually hot. It's the girl's names taken from old-fashioned boys names that were themselves adopted from surnames (which were usually borrowed from place names. Namers are good recyclers.) Try Sidney, Shelby, Lindsey, Courtney, Whitney, Aubrey.

It makes sense that those names would have more of the outmoded pairs, since they're selected from a field of outmoded names. And the very fustiness of the choices for men helps sharpen the style for girls--think of singer Avril Livigne tossing on a striped necktie.

A few more consonant-packed candidates that could follow the same path: Clancy, Murphy, Kirby, Arley, Finley and Tierney.

I often hear from readers about odd names they've come across. But seldom about odd fictional names.

As a rule, the most perfectly named people on Earth are fictional people. They have an unfair advantage, acquiring their names as fully formed adults with complete personalities and life stories. Whether mundane or fantastical, fictional names usually fit their characters so seamlessly you never even pause to consider why they were chosen.

But one current example is anything but seamless, as readers have been telling me. It's "Mackenzie Allen," the female U.S. president played by Geena Davis on the TV series "Commander in Chief." For a young girl, Mackenzie is a perfectly likely and fashionable name. But President Allen, at a fictional 45 years of age, is a good generation older than any real female Mackenzie...save one.

In November 1959, John Phillips named his new daughter Mackenzie after friend and fellow musician Scott McKenzie ("If you're going to San Francisco..."). Phillips later hit the big time with The Mamas and the Papas, but back in '59 he was still a little-known New York folk singer, not a name-fashion maker. The name Mackenzie wasn't launched into public circulation until 1975, when teenaged Mackenzie Phillips starred in the sitcom "One Day at a Time." Her name's popularity climbed slowly but steadily until the 1990s, when it really started to soar.

So the president Mackenzie doesn't ring true, and it makes you stop and ponder what the writers were reaching for with that choice of name. Some commentators have suggested a plot to boost a presidential run by one particular real-life woman. James Dobson, for instance, claimed that Mackenzie Allen "sounds remarkably, poetically like" Hillary Clinton. But that's some sketchy poetry--Mackenzie and Hillary are far apart in sound and style. (Besides, if you wanted to conjure up images of Hillary would you cast Geena Davis?)

The real key, I presume, is androgyny. "Commander in Chief" has roots in creator Rod Lurie's earlier film The Contender, about a female V.P. candidate. Her name was "Laine Hanson," another surname conversion with a masculine edge. Lurie's other female characters have conventially feminine names like Cynthia, Rebecca, and Amy. But it seems that when he wants to conjure up a woman who sounds strong, sounds like a leader...he makes her sound like a guy.

He's hardly alone in this quirk. Consider Alien-fighter Ripley, C.J. Cregg of "The West Wing," Dana Scully of "X Files," Murphy Brown, even "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman," otherwise known as Dr. Mike. When Hollywood wants to signal that a female character is tough and an authority figure, the quick shorthand is to give her an androgynous name. The real world may give us Margaret (Thatcher), Madeleine (Albright) and Condoleezza (Rice), but TV gives us Mackenzie.

The whole point of "Commander in Chief" is that the president is a woman. Mature, responsible, mother of teenagers, ruler of the free world. How curious, then, to give her a name so agressively coltish. Imagine for a moment the same character with a more realistically womanly name...say Dianne, or Susan, or Elizabeth (all names of current senators). Doesn't the whole scenario suddenly seem more real? But perhaps, in a political fantasy, it doesn't pay to get too close to reality.

The most common question about names is "what makes a name become popular"? (Actually that might be the third most common question, after "did you hear about the twins Oranjello and Lemonjello" and "what's up with Apple???," but indulge me anyway.) Today, for a change of pace, let's turn the question on its head. What makes a name unpopular? Why do we hear Myrtle and Gertrude and instantly say "no way"?

If you want a single rule of thumb for designing a 21st-century name, it's to make sure the consonants don't touch. Look at the middle of Myrtle, Mildred and Gertrude and you'll find three consonant sounds clustered together. Those tongue-challenging clusters were perfectly fashionable back in the 1890s, but today they're a rare breed. From Madison to Olivia, Emily to Alexis, we're sending our consonants out solo.

Can a single pair of sounds really be enough to sink a name? Right now yes, especially if the pair is heavy on the soft voiced letters L, M, N, R and W. (For all you linguists, that's the "liquids," "glides" and "nasals.")

Take a look at the usage of L* pairs:

And when you pair two of the demon sounds together, the effect is even stronger. It's fertile ground for the kind of names that are exclusively comic relief today: Merwin, Delmer, Durward.

So what is the single least fashionable sound of the moment? It's not enough for it to be unusual. It must be fallen from a great height, a once-common sound now relegated to the fashion cellar. There are many fine candidates, from FL at the start of names (Floyd) to RV in the center (Orville). But the nod goes to LM in the middle:

The only LM-centered name that stands much of a chance today is Alma, which clears out all other consonants from the vicinity. By the same token, Elden sounds more viable than Eldred, Flora more current than Florence. If you're using a consonant cluster today, you have to give it room to breathe.

After writing about country names and city names last week, I fielded a flood of requests for a "red-blue" analysis. For those of you not immersed in American politics, charting red vs. blue has become something of a national pastime since the 2004 presidential election. Just take a U.S. map, shade the areas favoring the Republican party in red, the Democratic party in blue...and a glance at the map will show you that politics isn't the only thing dividing those regions.

The Red states cut a vast swath through the middle of the country, occupying the majority of the geographic territory. The Blue states tend to be concentrated on the coasts, including major urban centers. Blue-staters are more likely to have college degrees and six-figure incomes, but red-staters have a much lower cost of living. And on it goes.

So naturally, the red and blue regions differ in their naming choices, too. The differences actually represent several underlying name cultures (look for a full U.S. naming map here soon), but some broad patterns emerge. I've tallied up a dozen of the reddest and bluest names in America--names with the biggest popularity gap between the top Republican states and the top Democratic states. First, the girls:

BLUE GIRLSRED GIRLSIsabellaHannahKaylaAlexisSophiaHaileyAshleyAbigailSarahAlyssaJuliaLaurenSamanthaTaylorOliviaElizabethJessicaEmilyLilyChloeKatherineAnnaCarolineEmma

Some of the differences reflect the racial diversity of blue states like California and New York. Kayla, for instance, owes its ranking largely to African-American and Latino families. (It's the #1 name for black girls in New York City.) Latino and Asian parents, meanwhile, tend to favor the girls' names that dominated the '80s, like Ashley and Jessica. White blue-state families (or is that blue white-state families?) lean heavily toward gentle antiques like Olivia, Lily and Caroline.

The red girls' list leads with Hannah, an Old Testament/Hebrew Bible name that was seldom heard until the '90s. (It's worth noting here that Hannah, like many of the names on the list, is popular in blue states too--but it averages #13 in blue, #5 in red.) The red list also features several names that started out as male names (Alexis) or surnames (Hailey, Taylor) and have emerged suddenly as girls' hits. Keep those two themes in mind as you look at the boys:

BLUE BOYSRED BOYSRyanEthanNicholasLoganAnthonyTylerMatthewSamuelDanielJacobChristopherHunterJohnJamesJosephAustinMichaelJacksonNoahNathanAlexanderIsaacKevinGabriel

The red boys' list is a marvel of consistency. Except for James, every name either is from the Old Testament or is a common surname. It's notable that Republican voters are more likely to strongly identify themselves as Christians, yet the strongly Christian-identified names--John, Christopher, Matthew--are stacked on the Democratic side. (Even the name Christian leans blue.)

Overall, the blue boys are varied in origin but steady and traditional. Unlike the blue girls, the boys' names are used relatively evenly across races. And unlike the red boys, almost all of the blue boys' names were as common 30 years ago as they are today.

The strength of tradition seems to be biggest theme dividing red and blue names. Red staters are more prone to neologize--to create new names from surnames (Tanner), place names (Brooklyn), or simply appealing sounds (Kaden). Blue staters are more likely to stick to traditional naming stock. Even when they seek fresh territory, it's among traditional first names: antiques (Ava) or foreign imports (Gianna). In other words, the political conservatives turn out to be the naming activists, and the political progressives are the naming conservatives.

National name statistics give us a portrait of changing fashions. But in a big, diverse country like the United States, the national numbers are the product of many interlocking microclimates of style.

For some names, the primary influences are obvious. The name José, for instance, generally tracks the Census Bureau's stats for percentage of "Hispanic origin persons" in a state. (Except for New Mexico, which is a story for another day.) But some cultural influences are subtler. Take, for instance, the cases of Logan and Nicholas.

Logan is a Scottish name which took the classic path of place name to surname to male forename to androgynous forename. (Names like Leslie and Lindsay took the same path earlier, but unlike those names Logan seems to be reasserting itself as primarily male.) Logan got a boost from the '70s film and tv series Logan's Run, and another big boost in the past generation with the trends toward Celtic names, surnames, and names ending with -n. Logan currently ranks #27 among all boy's names.

Nicholas is an old saint's name, Greek in origin, which has been used in many forms and languages for over 1000 years. In the U.S. it's especially associated with the Christmas holiday thanks to the modern image of "Jolly Old Saint Nick." Nicholas was used steadily but lightly in the U.S. until the late 1970s (the same time as Logan's Run), when it started rising alongside other multisyllabic classics like Nathaniel and Benjamin. Nicholas currently ranks #13 among all boy's names.

Both names are part of the sound of the times, examples of major trends that have defined the past generation of names. You're far more likely to meet a 5-year-old named Logan or Nicholas than a 50-year-old. Both names are also used predominantly by white families. But culturally, the names diverge: Logan is a country boy, Nicholas is a city boy.

Looking state by state, the popularity of these names correlates strongly with population density. Logan is the #3 name in Iowa, South Dakota and West Virginia, but doesn't break the top 50 in California, Massachusetts or New York. Nicholas, meanwhile, hits the top 5 in places like New Jersey and Pennsylvania, but doesn't come close in Alaska or Utah. And it's not just a matter of the coasts vs. the middle of the country--Logan is more popular in rural Maine and Vermont than in populous Illinois and Texas.

These names aren't individual anomalies, but representatives of distinct naming strains that define cultural regions. In general, names associated with surnames are far more common in low-population states. That includes boy's names like Parker and Tanner as well as girls like Mckenna and Riley. More densely packed areas tend to favor long New Testament and saint names (Nathaniel, Sebastian), and the "contemporary classics" (Matthew, Amanda).

The most interesting aspect of this, to me, is the cultural transmission of these differences. We hear so much about the homogenization of culture, and we tend to ascribe great power to mass media. But there's no media voice behind the Logan-Nicholas divide, nor any clear racial, religious or class distinction. By and large, Logan and Nicholas aren't names chosen as social signifiers. Parents choose the names because they "just like the sound," but that attraction is shaped by cultural forces we may barely recognize. So naming regions are more cultural than geographic: North Dakota and West Virginia may be far apart on the globe, but they're neighbors on the naming map.

Most name styles are open to parents' creative impulses. Flower names may start at Lily and Rose, but they extend out to Dahlia and Poppy--or Zinnia and Lotus. Even the Bible has some untrodden name territory like Jabez and Mehetabel.

But a few sets of names are locked down tight. There are only 12 months in the year, and the fair-weather months come at a premium. Springtime, naturally enough, is fertile ground for names, with April, May and June all popular selections over the past 150 years. Yet the months don't stick together in fashion the way they do on the calendar. Check out this extraordinary cycle:

By this every-50-years pattern, we're due for a new month to surge around the 2020s. The problem is, we've run out of Spring. One possibility is to start over at May, a name which seems due for a renaissance. Another is to branch out into more adventurous seasons. Sure, the symbolism of Spring is a natural for expectant parents: growth, promise, and fresh beginnings. Parents of girls in particular like the image of blossoms and tenderness. But you could make a case for Autumn, too. Any new mother can relate to the idea of welcoming a bountiful harvest after months of hard labor. The sounds of the Autumn months, though, are a hard sell. So my dark horse candidate is January, which is both the birth of a fresh new year and a lyrical name with a traditional nickname (Jan, as opposed to Sept or Oct.)

And there's one other possibility, which is already hitting its stride. In the past generation, parents have started to throw over the months in favor of whole seasons:

Summer and Autumn are still climbing, and Winter has time for a surprise strike by the '20s to come.

Take a look at these pairs of related names. How are the names in column A different from column B?

GIRLS
A / B
Afton / Ashton
Alina / Alida
Elle / Belle
Katlyn / Kathlyn
Nyla / Lyla
Dasia / Stasia
Stephany / Stephania
Willow / Willa

BOYS
A / B
Denzel / Denzil
Addison / Edison
Dorian / Florian
Garret / Garnet
Tanner / Turner

In terms of sound, each pair of names is close as close can be--only a single sound distinguishes between them. Yet in terms of popular usage, they're polar opposites. The names in the left column are all trendy new creations. Once rare or unheard of, they've emerged as common names over the past generation. The near-twins in the right column, meanwhile, are antique relics. They hit the top-1000 popularity charts consistently 80+ years ago but have since sunk into obscurity.

Each pair of names has its own story, why the old and new seem so close, yet culturally far apart. Kathlyn was a blend of Kathryn and Kathleen, while Katlyn is an offshoot of Kaitlyn. Denzil was a traditional Cornish name, whereas Denzel is African-American on the model of actor Denzel Washington.

As a group, though, the right-hand names could pass for a 21st-century classroom. The girls in particular seem positively voguish. ("Afton and Kathlyn, meet Lyla and Belle.") Yet even as parents rush to revive antiques like Isabelle and Ella, these names haven't been resurrected. Rather, they've been reinvented from scratch. There's a perfectly fine name sitting on the scrap heap, ready to be good as new with a little loving care. *Sniff*. Perhaps some thrifty--or rather, tradition-minded--parents could consider this an opportunity to reduce, reuse, recyle.

The standard length for an English boy's name is four to seven letters. That's the sweet spot for most of the popular classics, both old (John, Edward, Henry, Joseph) and new (David, Michael, Steven, Mark). As a group, these mid-length names maintain a very steady popularity over time and account for more than 90% of all boys. Styles change, but 4-7 remains a comfort zone where even new creations sound natural.

But name length does tell a tale. The effects of changing styles stand out most clearly at the ends of the length spectrum. Each generation has a distinctive pattern of very long and very short boys' names that speaks volumes about parents' tastes.

Take a look at the frequency of 2-3 letter boys' names since the 1880s:

And now the 8+ letter names:

In the early years of the graphs, pet forms like Joe, Sam and Gus show up strongly as given names. That's a window on an age when--despite our impression of stiff, buttoned-down ancestors--fun and informal names like Buster and Birdie were at their peaks. In the middle of the century you see parents withdrawing from both ends of the spectrum and sticking safely to the center. And the past generation shows a dramatic rise in long, multi-syllabic names...turf traditionally ceded to girls. (The girls' counterparts to Joseph, Henry and Edward, for instance, are Elizabeth, Catherine and Margaret.)

This "fancification" of boys' names is part of a general change in our approach to naming boys. Boys' names used to change slowly, but now they're just as subject to the whims of fashion as girls' names are. (Consider the case of Aidan.) So parents are turning to extra-long boys' names as part of the trend away from the average, toward names that stand out from the crowd.

Yet in one way, these long names seem to buck the trends. Parents today are inventing and importing new names at a furious clip, but the 8-letter-plus names look mighty traditional. It's hard to think of Benjamin, Alexander and Nathaniel as fashion-slave signs of the times. Even as parents strive for distinctive names, they try to keep one foot grounded. So we opt for the traditional, but bypass Bob and Jim for Nicholas and Sebastian. Or we get creative, but rein in the syllables with Cade and Tanner. Each style is a balancing act, inching away from the center without tipping into the land of the truly unfamiliar.

Pilot Inspektor. Moxie CrimeFighter. Tryumph, Whizdom, and ESPN. Each of these has made headlines as a baby name in the past few years. Call them creative or call them crazy, they seem to come out of left field, breaking all the naming rules.

But even the wildest names are products of their times. The most famous celebrity baby name of all, Moon Unit, now shines as a clear reflection of the psychedelic '60s. In the same way, Pilot and ESPN carry the sound of today. They just carry it to extremes.

What is Pilot Inspektor, after all, but a tradesman name? That's been one of the hottest name categories for the past decade, and Pilot fits nicely at the macho end of the style. Hunter, Gunnar and Ryder are all popular choices in the same vein, not to mention Jett for the aviation theme.

CrimeFighter ratchets the energy up a notch, past the mere trade names. (Top-1000 name kin might be Maverick, Cannon and Blaze.) The real surprise is that it's a girl's name -- the middle name of young Moxie Jillette. Moxie is an inspired creation at the intersection of two popular styles. First, it's what I call a "guys and dolls" name. You picture Moxie as a jazz-age dame, getting into scrapes with guys names Buster and Rocky. Ruby, Sadie and Lola are all "doll" names that have come back strong, and near-match Max is hugely popular for boys.

At the same time, Moxie is a word name (meaning gumption). It bursts with confidence, which puts in right in line with the bold style of new meaning names for girls. Destiny and Justice fit the theme...as do Whizdom and Tryumph, the daughters of Jayson Williams.

ESPN is a brand name, a jock counterpart to girls named Lexus and Chanel. It stands out chiefly because of its fanciful spelling. Spoken aloud as "Espen," it has a thoroughly mainstream sound. Easton and Aspen are close matches, and the ubiquitous -n ending dominates current boys' names.

No matter how far we go out on a limb, it seems that limb still grows from the same naming tree. When Moxie CrimeFighter Jillette is Moon Unit Zappa's age, her name will probably sound like a perfect souvenir of 2005.