N.B.: This post was inspired by this man’s reflection on his name.
When I was five–I believe this was before the picket described in the “about me” section on the right-hand side of this page, but I can’t be sure–I decided that my first name wasn’t nearly glamorous enough, and I needed to change it.
Even at such a tender age, I was aware that “Daisy” (after my favorite character on The Dukes of Hazzard) wasn’t a realistic option. But, after a day or two of careful consideration, I was able to narrow the list down to two choices, both of which seemed eminently suitable to me.
I then spent three days trying to figure out whether I should change my name to “Rainbow” or “Jehovah.”
It was agonizing. “Rainbow” was certainly colorful and bright and joyous–all qualities I felt I possessed in spades–but it lacked the grandeur of “Jehovah.” At the same time, “Jehovah,” while it satisfied my secret feelings of omnipotence and superiority, might distance people from me in ways that “Rainbow” wouldn’t. I briefly considered changing both my first and last names and becoming “Rainbow Jehovah,” but somehow that seemed to be crossing a line.
In the end, unable to decide, I gave up and stuck with the name my parents had chosen.
I guess I could always use “Rainbow Jehovah” as a drag name, but, to be honest, I do really bad drag. So perhaps it’s best to leave well enough alone.