For the first 25 years of my life, did everyone call meMandy? My Jamaican mother didn't like the name. She thought the name sounded too serious and upper-class. She was correct. Growing up in the 70s and 80s, there weren't many people knocking on the door of the council estates. The names of my friends were simple. They were called by that name. They were easy to grasp. Their names were culturally appropriate. But who is it? It might have been the name on my birth certificate, but my mother had other ideas. She had a plan. It was hatched in the months after my birth.
There were some conditions. The new name had to be popular and have at least two syllables. She drew up a list of potentials. She came up with the name:Mandy. Not, butMandy. It was plain. Simple. It's easy on the ear. My unofficial name was seeped into everyday life after the deed poll. The register at primary and secondary school, university and around the water cooler was embedded with Mandy. At Christmas, the family joke was that the name was a relic of the past.
What about my middle name? My middle name is not my middle name. My middle name joined my first name in the trash bin after my mother divorced the man who messed with my first name. She said my middle name was Adebisi, and if I wrote it on future job applications, it would be thrown into the trash. I was told by my mother that I should initialise Adebisi. She thought the letter A gave choices. My middle names could be Alice and Annie. The names are plain. The names are not foreign-sounding.
The names matter. A good name is appreciated. They have a strange fascination. When we meet someone, we can help ourselves, we don't want to, but we form judgments because of all the juicy information. According to Dr Rebecca Gregory from the Institute for Name- Studies, names in the UK were drawn from an onomasticon, which came from the writings of Socrates and Plato.
Our naming conventions have changed as we have become culturally and linguistically diverse. They have become varied and complex. We have seen the rise of the wacky name. There is a penchant for creating names from words or places. Nature-inspired names include Sky, River. The influence of television on names is a big deal. In 1996, there were no baby girls named Arya in England and Wales, but in the year of 2019, it peaked at 427.
There are names that fall out of fashion. Although my mother-in-law was born in the 1930s, she is outdated for our modern naming tastes because she has a whiff of a royal name. According to the Office for National Statistics, the name Archie moved up into the upper tiers of baby-name popularity thanks to the birth of Harry.
Why was the reaction so extreme? Why didn't my mother shorten it to Milla? And why did she do it? When I hit the gobby, hormonal, arms-folded-across-the-chest teens, I asked my mother why she didn't call me Molly, Maureen or Mary. They had to have two syllables. Why did she do it? If it's good enough for Barry Manilow, it's good enough for you, my mother said. You're alsoMandy. It means lovable. It's a great name.
How could I tell the truth after that? I liked the name. It was beautiful. Cool. The name wasn't right. I felt like I squeezed into a pair of jeans that were too small and the zip broke. It felt dishonest when I said my name. I wanted to tell you that I'm notMandy. This might sound crazy to you. I persevered. Everyone knew that I wasMandy. I was called "Mandy", goddamit.
I made a huge effort to like the name. It is not a terrible name. When I was in my teens, I searched for otherMandys and only found two of them, one of which was Marilyn. I went through a phase of experimentation at 18. I added a double ee combo at the end; Mandee. I tried shortening it, but Mand didn't cut it.
By the time I got to college, my first names were serious. Students with long names were hung around lecture halls. I thought I would join them. I decided to take the plunge. I asked what a Camilla looked like, but was told I didn't look like one. They said they were red-haired. Pale-skinned. Freckles. Celtic-looking. Wears a dress. Likes Enya. I kept my real name to myself after that. I didn't reveal my first name to anyone else except my husband. On our first date, I blurted out my real first name, but he said that she was beautiful.
But how could I get back at him? Everyone knew that I wasMandy. My sense of self was intertwined with the name. Was it? Gregory says that people change their names to fit their personality. I used a name that fit their sense of identity. I reclaimed my name in the mid-20s. There was no fanfare. There was no stars in their eyes. I told a few people. I took a deep breath, explained my complicated name history and said, "Can you call me Camilla, notMandy?" My name was fitted for the first time in a long time.
The effects of changing your name can be hugely empowering. My friends had to adapt to my new name, but they often forgot. Sometimes I forgot as well. For a while, confusion reigned as I introduced myself as Mandy, then Camilla. A long bedding-in process took place. It was easier to say "Call me whatever you feel comfortable with" for the first few years.
But not my mother. She has ex-husband baggage with her name. There is a more significant reason for her reluctance to call me Camilla. She finds the name synonymous with Charles' other woman, as Princess Diana's number one super-fan. My mother's anti-Camilla sentiment was sealed by this. No more bullets are required.
Over the years, I tried to soothe her anxiety by using my real name. On a few occasions, my mother calls me by my maiden name. My name sounds like she caught a rotten oyster in her throat when she put on her faux posh voice. I might be a little different to most people, but for her, I will always be simple and easy to understand.
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