If in the United States they have Apple, Brooklyn and Harper Seven. To Blue Ivy, Rumi and Sir Carter (Beyoncé’s children). To North, to Chicago and to Dakota, here we also have national examples of unusual names: such as Manón, Gaia, Selva, Blau, Indigo, Blu and Azul. Or Capri, Rome and Cairo. Without forgetting Fauna, Kala and Naila.
Some of these names—which began to be heard in the last decade—are so rare that they still do not appear in the database of the National Statistics Institute. When typing “Manón”, “Fauna” or “Blu”, for example, the following note appears: “There are no inhabitants with the name consulted or its frequency is less than 20 for the national total.” Yes, there are more than twenty Blaus (374 girls, all Catalan and with an average age of 8.5 years) and Kalas (in total, 223, with an average age of 4.2 years). In León, Teruel and Murcia there are several boys called Arán, but their sum does not even reach a tenth of the 1,839 Aran (without accent), registered only in Barcelona (with an average age of 10.2 years). Roma (average age: 8.2 years) is a name that is gaining ground: there are 465 girls throughout the country, although there are still not enough Capris to enter the statistics.
This factor, being unique, original, is one of the reasons why more and more unusual names are given to babies. Names respond to social moments and, in times of individualism and in which children are increasingly rare and special to their parents, the uniqueness factor is something highly sought after. As Albert Turull i Rubinat observes: “Today the trend is to give very original names. This is detected in the statistics: numerically, the most placed names are placed least.” That is to say, while in the middle of the last century the most common names – such as María del Carmen or Antonio – could reach 2% of the population: “Today, the number ones in the ranking only reach two… per thousand. “There is more variety, because originality is sought.”
Albert Turull is a member of the Societat d’Onomastica, an entity founded in 1980 whose objective is “the inventory, study and protection of proper names (onomastics), names of persons (anthroponymy) and places (toponymy)”, in Catalan language. Names, says Turull, are important because, in addition to identifying us, they serve to understand our society and our past.
“In history, its study is key, especially in times when there are hardly any sources. Names are tools to know where people came from, they give a lot of information,” adds Ana Zabalza Seguín, professor of Modern History at the University of Navarra and another lover of name days. I ask her what her future colleagues would say about the current names of Spanish children: “To begin with, there has been a rupture, because we came from a long European, Christian tradition of names linked to this faith. For centuries, European languages ??shared a common, very powerful trunk of names like Juan and María.” In Spain, adds Zabalza, there was a distinctive feature: “Those from the Old Testament, like David and Sara, were avoided because they indicated Jewish origin.”
“Although there are people who are very clear about it, it is normal to give a lot of thought to a child’s name: it will be something with which they will identify for their entire life. It is a very social and very personal element, but it is also very subject to the dictates of fashion,” observes Joan Anton Rabella, head of the Onomastics Office of the Institut d’Estudis Catalans. Fashions, let us not forget, that already existed when the saints’ books practically dictated the names of newborns. However, as Professor Zabalza points out, this custom came later than is believed: “It was not until the 19th century, practically, when saints began to be available to anyone.” Consequently, for centuries, the list of names in Europe: “It was very small and traditional: people were named after their godfather or godmother, like their parents or grandparents.”
In Spain, trends in first names began to change in the middle of the last century: “In the 60s there was a first change, not very radical or very original, but interesting,” says Albert Turull: “The Eves, the Cristinas, the Marthas, the Daniels and Davides. Names that are almost classic today, but that sounded modern then: they represented a break with post-war families.”
After the Franco regime, the transformations accelerated: “With the end of the prohibition on using languages ??other than Spanish, there was a boom in names in Galician, Basque and Catalan,” says Ana Zabalza. That, she adds, was combined with a gradual abandonment of Catholicism and tradition. “And now people want to give their child—normally only one—a unique name: one that is neither like the grandfather nor like the godfather. Partly, because there are no godfathers anymore!
Still, the classic names survive. Especially among the higher classes: “It is evident that names vary according to social status, and that families that have more assets tend to be more conservative. Above all, in male names: with female names there is more creativity,” explains Zabalza.
For Albert Turull, “the great revolution” in anthroponymy began at the end of the 90s and continues in the current century. It is based, he says, on two phenomena: “First, on the aforementioned search for originality. And, especially in places like Catalonia, in the trend of short names, if they can be a single syllable, the better (like Nil, Pol, Jan, Roc…), today there are very few names with three syllables.” Without forgetting the acceptance of “the hypocristics”, the familiar diminutives: “Before you could not call a creature ‘Lola’ or ‘Max’. Now it is allowed and has been a huge way of entry for short names.”
The journalist Berenguer Costa Fernández has one of those three-syllable names, which are increasingly rare. “I was going to be called Manel, like everyone else in my family, but my mother wasn’t convinced,” he says. They opted for Berenguer, in honor of the counts of medieval Catalonia. Although his name has not caused her great trauma, for his son, who is now four years old, they looked for something shorter, but also unique. “His name is Macià. We wanted something different,” he emphasizes. He points out that it is not an honor to President Francesc Macià: “We are Catalanists, but it is not a political name, but an old one. It is a way of preserving the country’s cultural heritage and I hope he lives it as I did, with pride.”
Do the names reflect the political situation? With the process, were they given names that were more Catalan than ever? Alghero, Izard or Aran are heard more and more. “Everything influences, but it would be very difficult to know in what percentage,” responds Joan Anton Rabella. “What perhaps increased, due to the political situation, were the cases of people who, administratively, Catalanize their first or last name,” he suggests. What this expert has no doubt about: “There are vindictive names, related to Catalan culture or geography, as well as markedly Castilian names. There is a will to reaffirm itself, in one sense or another.”
Rabella highlights other phenomena in current nomenclature: the emergence of global names—which can be understood in several languages—and, especially, the boom in media names. “If for centuries names of saints or important figures were named, because it was seen as a gesture of good omen, these positive aspects are repeated today, but reformed.” The best example: Leo, the most common boy’s name in Catalonia for years (also very popular throughout Spain). “It became very fashionable after Leo Messi, someone who, from the perspective of our society, has prestige. It would be the update of the “good omen” names that I mentioned.”
But the Leos go to Miami and the names go out of fashion, more and more quickly. The three interviewees emphasize this phenomenon: “There are fewer and fewer Leos in the rankings. I think that, in five years, it will hardly be maintained and, perhaps, in a decade, it will be a residual name,” predicts Rabella. “Today, even names that indicate social status are devalued more quickly,” adds Professor Zabalza. He gives Martina, Lucía or Sofía as an example: “Names that began to be placed in higher social groups and are prestigious.” But, since the name is also a type of social elevator: “Other social groups, let’s say lower ones, have copied them , and there has been wear and tear.”
“The names are becoming saturated more and more quickly,” agrees Albert Turull. In part, due to this frenetic search for originality, which means that when there are too many Liams, Jans, Izanes, Lias or Lunas in the class, other options are sought. “When a name becomes very famous or very typical, it slows down or burns out: “The Vanessas and Jessicas, from the end of the previous century, are very out of fashion,” says Turull, who reveals that Vanessa became fashionable because the daughter of the singer Manolo Escobar. And, for better or worse, showbiz impacts how we call ourselves: “Ramona was a very common name and her diminutive Ramoneta, too, but in the 70s that song by La Ramona Pechugona came out and… They ended abruptly! ! The name is not to blame, but social circumstances influence it.”
“Today people want to be original, definitely, but the name can be a stigma,” summarizes Ana Zabalza. What may be unusual, prestigious, or fun (like calling a girl Maria-María), can become a problem. Although in countries like Spain, he explains, there are rules to prevent the name from being offensive: “It has to be decent, decorous, it has to distinguish the sex and it has to be politically neutral: it cannot be a pamphlet, because the children will not They are the property of the parents.”
