Girl, Untitled: On Changing My Name (Again)
“What's in a name? … A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
– Romeo & Juliet
Three years into my transition, I want to change my name. I’ve been Tomi for a long time, and I’m ready for something more “traditionally” feminine. Personally, I don’t believe in the inherent femininity or masculinity of any name, but out in the world, other people do. I’m tired of feeling awkward when people ask me my name. I find myself spelling it out for them so they know it’s not “Tommy,” as if that makes a big difference (my mom says it does – thanks Mom). I’m tired of people mistaking my name for “Tammy.” If your name is Tammy, I’m sorry, but that’s not the vibe I am going for. I’ve done a lot to get to where I am with my gender expression, and I feel like my name is one of the only things still holding me back.
Men hit on me when I go out, and they ask my name. I get scared to share it. What will they think? Will they feel “tricked” by my feminine appearance and take it out on me? Will they question my womanhood? Both have happened. I feel silly for not changing it earlier on, but I didn’t know I’d get to a point where strangers assume I am female.
Photo by Lucy Shen.
I’ve always liked the name Mia, but my cousin’s cousin’s name is Mia, so that would be weird. I hate when someone has the same name as me. Internally, I react to the situation with the same vitriol as a vain socialite who spots a rival wearing the same dress as her: “One of us is going to have to change.” My friend Lucy suggested the name Misha. I think it’s adorable, but it’s quite common among Eastern European men. Romy is cute. Natalia’s cunt. I don’t know. I feel myself slipping into obsession, scanning lists of baby names like a stressed-out expectant mother about to birth an overly critical 27-year-old.
I’m avoiding names associated with flowers or gemstones or meanings I disagree with. I ask people for input, then find myself insulted by their suggestions. I want it to feel like me: cute and direct and strong and special (but not trying too hard to be special) and thoughtful and kinda Jewish and fun and, and, and…
Maybe I’ll extend my name to Tomila, then I can go by Tomi or Mila depending on how I feel. I like that. A Google search for the name “Tomila” reveals an ambiguous history:
Possibly from Slavic tomiti meaning "to torment." In some cases communist parents may have derived it from the phrase торжество Маркса и Ленина (torzhestvo Marksa i Lenina) meaning "victory of Marx and Lenin."
Okay, not a dealbreaker.
When I search “Tomila” on Instagram, the first result is Tomi Lahren, the right-wing news pundit. I don’t like having the same name as her, though sometimes I wonder how she’d feel sharing a first name with someone like me, and that thought brings me joy. Does Tomila bring me closer to or further from her?
I don’t know what I want my name to be any more than I know who I want to be. That is to say, very little. My friend recently spoke to me about the magic in everyday things, coincidences and forces of the Universe that we will never understand. “I choose to believe that the world runs on magic,” she said. I like that a lot. Maybe divine inspiration will strike, and I will be reborn, with a new name gifted from the Great Beyond. Most of my trans milestones have unfolded through a carefully developed system of research and winging it, so maybe this will work out the same way.
Tomi Baby and baby Tomi.
Photo by Lucy Shen.
I can picture it now. A wise friend conjures the perfect suggestion. A family member reveals the name they almost chose for me, and it fits just right. I’m walking through a quaint used book store when a glossary of baby names falls from a high shelf, landing face up, open, with my new name printed right there on the page. A miracle in ink. Realistically though, knowing me, I will just impulsively change it one night. Until then, I’ll cherish the rest of my time as Tomi, reflecting on friendships made, dreams fulfilled, and the woman I’ve become.