Someone once said, “People's fates are simplified by their names”. But what happens if that name is given to, used and exploited by someone much better known than you? What sort of fate are you resigned to then?
To be given a name that then goes on to be synonymous with someone, or something, else can be both a curse and a blessing. Depending on who, or what, the other owner is. For example, sharing a name with a pop star could be fun.
Sharing a name with a mass murderer who has a penchant for hurting puppies is probably less advantageous.
Either way, it impacts on how others see you, and more often than not, how you see yourself.
In my experience, it has proven to be both a great ice breaker and a perfect illustration of the pure stupidity of some people. Actually, a lot of people. People you think would know better.
When I meet someone for the first time, the conversation usually goes one of two ways.
First, there is the stock-standard funny guy: “Oh, do you have a diary?”
Really? You’re trying to be funny…right? And you actually think you are the first person to ever ask me that? Ever? Really? Ok.
Or the other option (and this is my personal favourite): “So, your parents named you after the movie then?”
What? Are you kidding me? You are joking. Wait, you actually think I was nameless for the first 15 years of my life, don’t you? Oh good god.
I know. I could have had it much worse.
Awkward introductions aside (and I am finally getting comfortable being introduced by my full name by friends who think it’s a selling point), I have got a lot of mileage out of my name. It sets me apart. In a pile of CVs, I know mine stands out. If people want to stalk me on Facebook or google, it’s quite tricky. People remember me (hopefully for good reasons).
And most of all, my mum thinks she is a genius. Or psychic. The joy on her face when she marvels at the fact her daughter, her Bridget Jones, is going to be a journalist. Pure gold.
Just keep me away from any firemen’s poles.
