What's in a (sur)name?

Why we leave, take or hyphenate...and what it means

“What's in a name?” The line, delivered by Juliet Capulet, is one burned into the brains of any student who took high school English. Continuing on, the star-crossed 14-year-old laments how her lover’s last name (or, more accurately, his family) means they cannot be together.

For some, the answer to Juliet’s question is: nothing. Surnames, for them, are arbitrary labels, words that simply distinguish one person from another. Pragmatic types, these people think nothing of changing one’s name upon marriage. “Simply take the one that is easier to spell or sounds better,” they say.

Most, however, believe names are significant but differ on why. They see surnames as legacies that connect us to the past or identities that reflect our present. Others see them as chips to be traded in the game of politics; something you sacrifice or take depending on the cultural climate.

Like a well-functioning body part, one doesn’t pay their surname much attention unless it’s unusual, irritating or about to be amputated and while the constant misspelling of Pollok has kept mine top of mind for most of my life, the obsession with surnames in general (what they mean, why we give them up in marriage and why ‘we’ is typically female) is recent.

Because, for all the battles we fight for equal pay, medical care, rights and bodily autonomy, there seems little attention or pushback around the fact that most women today erase their surname the day they say ‘I do’.

Since the Department of Internal Affairs does not record marital name changes (for long and boring administrative reasons) we don’t know exact statistics for Aotearoa. Across the ditch, more than 80 per cent of women take their husband’s name and in Britain, the latest study (2016) had it at 90 per cent. Obviously, a lot has changed in the last six years, but anecdotal chat with friends and family bears this trend out.

Like most age-old customs, this one has misogynistic roots (shocker).

Centuries ago, the fraternal practice simply reflected the accepted view of women as property. As an asset handed (quite literally during the wedding) from father to husband, it made sense women were renamed “wife of (husband’s surname) after marriage.

Depending on the place and era, this custom was enforced by law, but even when it wasn’t, the practice continued. Partly due to social pressures and partly because other laws made life damn difficult for those who didn’t conform. In certain US states, keeping your surname cost women their driver’s license and voter registration, credit card and even the ability to collect their children from school.

It wasn’t until 1855 that the first American woman was recorded as keeping her last name. As a leading abolitionist and suffragist, Lucy Stone had dedicated her life to fighting for equality and that wasn’t going to change when she met Henry Blackwell.

So, even after marriage, she stayed ‘Stone’. The decision was so ground-breaking that a generation later, in 1921, when feminists created an organisation dedicated to challenging the penalties women faced for keeping their surnames, it was called the Lucy Stone League.

The league continued Stone’s work of challenging laws, processes and traditions that limited the rights of women, particularly those who kept their surnames.

Decades on, we’ve come, if not a long way, a way. Women in western countries are largely free from legal punishments but the default assumption stubbornly remains. Just last week, a friend told me about an irritated call from the DIA who accused her of incorrectly completing a passport application.

“Ma’am, you’ve written your married name,” they said, with a sigh of theatrical proportions. After explaining, twice, that yes, her maiden name was the same as her husband’s surname (because he’d taken it when they got married), she firmly suggested they call her husband, to ask him instead.

Assumptions aside, women can now choose to keep, hyphenate, or recreate their surname in marriage without facing political, financial or legal repercussions. Freeing? Definitely. But confusing too. That’s what happens when you throw out the old rules; you’re faced with creating your own.

Curious to know what friends and family thought, I undertook an extensive study that involved posting a question sticker on Instagram asking people for their thoughts and experiences.

The conclusion? The motivation for changing or keeping a surname can be surprisingly varied but most people agree it’s a decision that has meaning.

For people like Sam, practicality is the most influential factor. “I don’t care that much either way”, she said, adding that changing seemed like a hassle and had many friends who changed their name on social media but “couldn’t be bothered” paying to legally change it. 

Even for those who think sharing a last name is meaningful, like Morgan, these kinds of logistics have been a hurdle. “I took [my husband’s] name publicly with the intention to eventually change my name legally but haven’t been able to bring myself to do it,” she said. “Then got a new passport, so it looks like going to keep my name for at least the next 10 years.”

For those who did endure the paperwork, the reasons varied.

Unsurprisingly, culture and ethnicity played a strong role. Since changing one’s surname isn’t common practice in Asia, Isaac said he didn’t really mind.

To honour his partner’s Peruvian roots, Michael said they planned to double-barrel their names. As an approach, this is often presented as a win-win option, but Michael said it wasn’t so straightforward.

“We agreed on double-barrelled but the order of the names we preferred stirred some controversy,” he said, as the man’s name traditionally comes first, but the couple preferred the sound of the reverse order.

Then, they wondered what would happen if they had kids. “It got quite complex the more we thought about it and more people’s views we consulted”.

For others, surnames were a representation of their lineage or legacy.

Grace said it was why her mother (one of three girls), held onto her family name, while Keshni said it linked her to family. “It was a way of keeping that connection to my father,” she said, adding that it was a ‘huge’ part of her identity. Plus, it was a far more interesting last name than her partner’s.

Two women said they loved changing their names, but for slightly different reasons. Emily said she liked following the tradition and uniting with her husband in name, while Mikayla saw it was a chance for a “fresh start”.

“My surname was/is a huge part of my identity,” she said. “It felt like a whole new chapter, and I almost feel like the change happened in me when I changed my name.”

Beneath this, and many of the other responses is an implicit idea that names have power. That, to contradict Shakespeare, a rose by any other name might not actually smell that sweet. Or at least, would smell different.

This was how Hayley initially felt after deciding to take her husband’s surname. 

“I maybe had 24 hours of ‘holy sh*t my whole identity and achievements up to this point has been under my maiden name,” she said. A new name felt, at first, like ‘starting from scratch’ but this soon faded.

“In the same way that my given name doesn’t dictate my identity or chances in life, I don’t believe anymore (thankfully) my last name does either.”

Like Sam, Hayley said the main deciding factor for couples today seemed to simply be practicality. Who’s name sounds better or is easier to spell? Is there a special connection or career-related reason to choose one over the other?

As stances go, the one of pure practicality is supremely tempting. Who wouldn’t want the personal to not be political, to make choices as if the complex, historical baggage doesn’t exist?

Yet, it does. And while this doesn’t mean following custom is actively anti-feminist, it does promote the status quo, at least on paper.

Which gets to the heart of the tension. I truly believe you can be ‘in’ the system and not ‘of’ it. A choice made lovingly, intentionally and without political/social coercion, is different to a mindless submission to tradition or one pressured by external forces. But the result looks identical.

This isn’t to say one should actively keep their surname just because the alternative isn’t a flag-in-the-ground for feminism. But it does make you realise how, even when it’s a free, intentional decision, we still assume those who conform to the practice, also prescribe to the old ways of thinking. 

Ironically, despite obsessing over this topic, I was still prone to assume. Just last month I heard an old friend had taken her husband’s name and assumed it was an outworking of conventional morals. Only after talking to her, I realised how much deliberation was involved between the couple; mutually-respectful discussions that looked critically at unspoken assumptions without ceding to external pressures.

Which, at the end of the day, was what Mrs Stone was fighting for all along.

SP.