What’s In a Name?

Most of us educated in the U.S. (and many beyond) have at one time or another been subjected to William Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet, and Juliet’s (in)famous query, “What’s In a Name?”

I’ve been asking myself the very same question for quite some time now. Like many other transmen, I’ve come to find that the name my parents gave me at birth is no longer an adequate signifier.

Some transmen have negotiated this situation by changing the spelling of their birth name while retaining its phonetic pronunciation. Others have chosen names which have little resemblance to their birth names, but resonate loudly with their self-identities. Many of us use initials and/or middle names. There is no one right method of negotiation, and in fact, there are as many methods as there are men out there in this situation (and more new ones created all the time).

Still, I’ve found myself continuing to grapple with the question, and more so, to resent Juliet’s answer.

Yes, she does put it out there that she’ll “no longer be a Capulet,” suggesting that she’d refuse her name, but all in all, it seems to me that she instead stresses Romeo’s relinquishment of his name.

She says to Romeo, “refuse thy name,” recognizing that doing so means that he must deny his father. And still, she plays it off as if it’s a small request. (In her world, love is tantamount, after all.)

Later she asserts that, “'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:/ Thou art thyself, though not a Montague,” making clear that his family name is of no significance, not only to her personally, but even to who he is.

It’s true, “that which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet,” and similarly other aspects of ourselves would remain the same regardless of our name.

But, for some of us, our names are not mere labels. They reflect familial relations, cultural histories and heritages, and community belonging.

My birth name is one such name—-given to me by my grandmother, a reflection of my culture, race, and religion, including but not limited to the history of Spanish colonization of the Philippines.

Unlike Romeo, whose name becomes hateful to himself, I cannot imagine giving up my birth name, inadequate a signifier as it may be for me currently. I wish I could explain to others that this isn’t a reflection of not being “trans enough,” but rather of needing to not give up important parts of myself in order to be recognized as my self.

Sounds good, right?

Well, as with many other things, easier said than done. Using initials has (not surprisingly) led to the question of what they stand for and/or simply been unintelligible to others.

Perhaps if I wore a name tag all the time…or, maybe it’s just time for a new tattoo…

Romeo and Juliet

Act 2, Scene 2

Juliet.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, (35)
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Romeo.
[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Juliet.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy:
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, (40)
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name.
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, (45)
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Romeo.
I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptis'd; (50)
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Juliet.
What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?

Romeo.
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, (55)
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word.