“Iris said that there was no such thing as a good Stanley. That the name is a curse that parents place upon a son to ensure the boy grows up to become a douche.”
-Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters
Over spring break, I had the pleasure of reading Torrey Peters’ Detransition, Baby, a novel that I wholeheartedly recommend. The quotation above is one of my favorites. Much like Iris here, I’ve always had a little theory about names. I’ve found that people who share names tend to share personality traits as well. I would never wish the curse of Stanley on any child, lest they risk becoming just as irritating as the finance bro of Torrey Peters’ writings or the macho meatloaf Stanley Kowalski from Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire. Yet, outside of fictional worlds, can one’s name truly be a curse?
It’s relatively common knowledge that the name on a resumé, regardless of the rest of its contents, has an impact on callback rates for job applications. A recent study confirmed that characteristically black names on resumés, whether traditionally masculine or feminine, result in lower callback rates than characteristically white names. A 2007 Swedish study found that this wasn’t merely an American phenomenon; applicants with Arabic or African-sounding names received fewer callbacks than those with Swedish names. Yet, this phenomenon isn’t so much about what one’s name is, but rather the group that one’s name typically belongs to. This begs the question: what impacts does one’s name on an individual level have on their life?
When I first asked myself this question, I was reminded of a character from JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series, Remus Lupin. Lupin is a werewolf, and it’s reflected rather revealingly in his name. Remus is the name of the twin of Romulus, the mythological founder of Rome. The twins, as babies, are said to have been suckled by a she-wolf in a cave. Rather ironic for a werewolf to be named for someone raised by a wolf, no? Lupin is even more direct. According to Etymonline, its root is the Latin word Lupus, literally meaning wolf. Remus Lupin’s wolf-ness is very clear from his name, yet he was made a werewolf, not born one. If one could speak to his parents, one would likely question their choice to tempt fate, naming him “wolf raised by wolves”. If one were to ignore Rowling’s role in no doubt selecting this name to fit a werewolf character, it almost seems like Lupin was fated to become a werewolf. Could a similar phenomenon—though more mundane, thankfully—exist outside of fiction?
Why yes, in fact. And we’ve known it for a while. A 2002 study found that people tend to prefer to live in places whose names resemble their own. People living in St. Louis are disproportionately likely to be named Louis, for example. Additionally, people tend to choose jobs that resemble their names. The study found that one is disproportionately likely to encounter a dentist named Dennis. Why is this? Why do our names determine such foundational aspects of our lives? Well, and some non-foundational aspects; as it turns out, people tend to prefer numbers similar to their own birthday. Still, why is this?
Well, researchers suggest that implicit egotism may be the cause. Implicit egotism refers to the unconscious tendency to prefer things associated with oneself due to positive self-image. One example of this might be observed in people’s pets often appearing similar to them. It’s a noted tendency that pet owners tend to bear a substantial resemblance to their pets, to the extent that UCSD researchers have been able to use facial resemblance to accurately match dogs to their owners. Could this be a consequence of implicit egotism as well? It’s very much possible.
Returning to names, though, while current research can’t confirm Iris’ hunch about insufferable Stanleys, it does indicate that people named Stanley may be more likely to work at Morgan Stanley, making them, according to a 2014 study, likely to be more dishonest than average in their personal lives. I always knew that Stanleys couldn’t be trusted. While this sort of logic relies on a number of rather unreasonable leaps, I can rest easy knowing that I was probably right that there’s more to a name than its mere etymology.
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