I got married a month ago and I am still confused about what to call myself. I did not change my name. I was Caroline Gick before the ceremony and I am Caroline Gick today, according to the law of the land. I didn’t keep my name for professional reasons or even for personal reasons, but because my husband uses his surname as his first and only name. “Like the Greek philosophers,” he says, “you know: Aristotle, Plato.” I tend to take a slightly different approach when sharing his name with others. “Like Madonna or Prince,” I explain. But you get the picture. In light of his name choice, however we each define it, we decided that it would be too confusing for his first name, legal or not, to double as our official couple name.
When it comes to deciding upon a name for our new family we have quite a few socially accepted options from which to choose. We can keep the status quo, each continuing to use our full birth name. I can take his surname, or he can take mine. We can hyphenate our surnames or blend them to create a new name that is a combination of the two. We can even create a new family surname, a name that is not derivative or in any way related to our current legal names.
Agreeing that we want a shared name—in truth, his agreement with my desire to have a shared name—we’ve surveyed these options. We’ve ruled out the use of one or the other of our current surnames. We are also passing on a hyphenated name or a blended name. If you saw the results of our name-blending exercise, you’d understand that decision. My husband is not attached to his surname in the “passing down the family name” way and I expected to change my name anyway, so creating a new name appears to be the most viable option. This also gives us a unique opportunity to define ourselves, individually and as a family, which feels empowering.
While this appears to be a growing trend, I did a little personal research to assure myself that we aren’t complete oddballs. I found articles in both the New York Times and at ABC News profiling couples that have created new surnames. My assessment: if it makes the national news at that level, we’re in good company. Such coverage indicates that more than a few couples must be choosing this naming option and, better yet, that there are a lot of “regular” people doing so; it is not an undertaking only for those on the fringe of society. I must admit, sheepishly, that I do feel better knowing this. The one downside of creating a new name, my mother cautions, is that it could pose a challenge for future generations doing genealogical research. I apologize in advance to our descendents.
Creating a new name, one that is not some combination of the two current surnames, is not an option on the marriage certificate in California; it must be done through a separate legal process. That being the case, there was no legal pressure to choose a name before the wedding. We had a small City Hall wedding with no formal reception, so there was no need to name ourselves in an announcement or program, on napkins or matchbooks or other favors, on our wedding day. As I am the one who is more interested in making the change—my husband would be just fine keeping things the way they are—there was no urgency or pressure from him. And so, I reasoned, since there were other to-do’s that were more time-sensitive, choosing a name could wait until later. I didn’t think it would matter much.
But now that we’re actually married, it does seem to matter. I am not sure how to introduce myself. Nor do I know how to explain why I don’t know how to introduce myself. Being a Mrs. followed by the same name I’ve always used has a disingenuous ring to it. Being Mrs. Caroline Gick makes it seem as though I’ve purchased a title for myself, a lá would-be- European aristocracy, or like I’m pretending. I did get married, I swear, I just don’t have the name to show for it! At best, it’s a bit anti-climatic.
