After I described a trend toward long, lacy names, some thoughtful readers wrote in...
"Lillie" noted that in practice, the long-and-lacy often turns into the short-and-sassy: "Melissa gets called Mel, Jessica becomes Jess, Samantha is Sam and Alexandra is Alex. Often these stick enough to become the person's day-to-day name." "Melissa" agreed with that point, but added "I also see a bit of a trend towards using the full versions of names."
Nicknames can definitely turn a name's style inside out -- there's a world of difference between Gertrude and Trudy. And sure enough, many parents today are rejecting traditional nicknames. (See "The new formality.") But some parents are taking advantage of the style contrast to let them have it both ways. Alexandra/Alex is sumptuous and boyish. You get two names in one, which part of the name's soaring appeal.
The 2-in-1 hook is even more popular in the other direction. Consider two classic presidential surnames: why are there thousands of little girl Madisons, and no Jeffersons? Is it the ultimate triumph of Federalism? What it really shows, of course, is that even adventurous parents would rather call their daughters Maddie than Jeff. We embrace androgyny gently, with an escape valve.
This is perhaps the single hottest sub-genre of names in America -- agressively modern, androgynous surnames that contract to cute girlish nicknames. That 2-in-1 allure has turned some unlikely candidates into hit girls' names. Here are some from the current top-1000 chart:
Using the same formula, here are some rare choices which could be contenders for the same crown:
Carlsen, Carlin (Carly)
Emery, Embry (Emmy)
Over the next several years, I expect to find a few of these adding their half-dose of androgyny to our name pool. Which brings me to another reader, "Maria," who said in dismay: "I hope you don't have anything against frilly and feminine things Laura"! Nope, I certainly don't. I appreciate the lush romance of Anastasia and Arabella as much as anyone. In fact, I don't think there is such a thing as a bad name style. But that's a tale for another day.
I've talked in the past about the trend toward androgynous names, and how it's a one-way street. We like girls who sound like boys, but not vice versa. And it is a powerful trend -- over the past decade a tenth of all American girls have received androgynous/boyish names, which is an all-time high by a mile.
Yet at the same time, there is an opposite trend at work. Lacy, ultra-feminine names have also risen dramatically over the past generation. Names ending in -a are a traditional marker of femininity. (With occasional exceptions, I admit in deference to all you manly Joshuas out there.) Today, almost four out of every ten American girls get names ending in -a , which is also an all-time high. When you focus in on the longest and laciest of those names, the trend is even clearer. Take a look at the rate of -a names with more than six letters over the past century:
Not only has the use of these names shot up, but so has the variety. Back in the '40s, Barbara and Patricia accounted for the majority of the long, lacy girls' names. By 2003 there were more than twice as many of these names on the charts, none especially dominant. It's the lacy style itself that's in vogue.
It seems that when it comes to femininity, parents are going to extremes: it's either Parker or Anastasia. Left out in the cold are the traditional names that are unquestionably womanly, but no-frills. A perfect example is the timeless classic Ann. Look at what's happened to Ann over the past generation:
Add an extra feminizing -a, though, and it's a whole different story. New young Annas outnumber Anns 19 to 1.
Extremes naturally make an impact. Yet as parents race to the ends of the femininity spectrum, they're leaving a hole in the middle. Right now, the most creative name ideas might be actually the plainest. Think plain Jane, or Alice, Ruth, Ellen or Sue.
For the past few weeks, bedtime for my five-year-old has meant My Father's Dragon time. Ruth Stiles Gannett's trilogy follows the adventures of a boy, Elmer, and a dragon, known simply as "the dragon" until the final volume reveals:
"Boris! Is that your name?"It is an admirably silly roster of names for dragons, making my daughter giggle as intended -- even though the book was written back in 1951.
"Yes, said Boris uncomfortably. "I was embarrassed to tell you before."
"It's no worse than Elmer," said Elmer.
"I suppose not, and it's certainly not so bad as some in my family. I might as well tell you the rest. My sisters are Ingeborg, Eustacia, Gertrude, Bertha, Mildred and Hildegarde. And my brothers are Emil, Horatio, Conrad, Jerome, Wilhelm, Dagobert and Egmont. Can you imagine!"
The passage of time usually blunts the impact of names in fiction. Authors fret over character names, trying to project just the right social cues, but a few generations later the subtlety is wasted on us. Yet names in children's books tend to hold up remarkably well, especially when the intent is on the silly side. A similar example from Virginia Kahl's marvelous 1955 rhymer, The Duchess Bakes a Cake:
A long time ago there lived over the watersPerhaps the reason these names still work is that their social cues aren't subtle. Names like Egmont and Willibald are the name equivalents of a pie in the face. Yet it's not all Egmonts. Anybody could slap together a collection of ridiculous names, but these authors are better than that. It's the counterpoint of "Jane and Clothilde" that makes all the difference.
A Duchess, a Duke and their family of daughters --
Madeleine, Gwendolyn, Jane and Clothilde,
Caroline, Genevieve, Maude and Mathilde,
Willibald, Guinevere, Joan and Brunhilde,
And the youngest of all was the baby, Gunhilde.
Looking closer, each name list includes 3 general types as seen from the 1950s: the exotica (Dagobert, Gunhilde), the recently fallen fashion victims (Mildred, Maude), and the mundanely common (Conrad, Joan). From today's perspective, the recently fallen are no longer recent and the mundane are now fallen. But the three types still contrast cleanly and leave the whole group off-kilter. It's a robust formula that updates easily. Try it yourself. Imagine, say, a band of mischievous elves named:
Ethelbert, Erlafrid, Ludolph and Duane,It's also worth noting a type of name the authors didn't use: trendy new hits. That's the name terrain with the most uncertain footing. Back when Gannett and Kahl were writing, the names Rhonda, Melanie and Jennifer were all at the same level of newness and popularity. As it turned out, Rhonda peaked in the '60s and quickly fizzled. Melanie became a quiet, steady new classic. And Jennifer exploded into the defining name of a generation. Looking to the future, authors just can't project what will happen to new hit names. (Neither, for that matter, can parents.)
Regimbald, Fymbert, Jim, Kevin, Gawain.
For some types of fiction, timelessness is beside the point. If a writer's goal is to capture an instantly recognizable "now," girls named Madison and Sydney may be just the ticket. But children's books tend to take place outside of regular space and time, in a self-contained world where cats wear hats and bunnies are tucked to sleep in great green rooms. On that plane a trendy name can be a jarring intruder, grounding the book in the fleeting real world. The silly may stay silly, but the new never stay new.