Why do women take their husband’s surnames?
I’m always amazed – in a nice way – by the amount of Christmas cards we receive each year. I like sending them too. It’s a lovely way to let people know you’re thinking about them over the festive period.
It’s also great of course to get birthday cards. But one thing I’ve found is, whether they’re for me or for the both of us, the different ways cards are addressed reveal one prevailing assumption: that because I’m married I must have the same surname as my husband.
I don’t (it happens with cold callers too. If they call hoping to speak to a Mr Jordan, I get called Mrs Jordan just because I’m a woman. I hate that). We’ve been married for twelve years and after all that time I still find myself explaining that we both retain our own separate surnames as if we weren’t married.
I say 'we', although of course the question does not apply to my husband. It is I who retains my surname (I refuse to use the barfingly twee and archaic term 'maiden name' – shudder).
The issue of whether or not to change her name is one that every woman must ponder when she gets married, and for me the question seemed obvious: why on earth would I want to?
Marriage aside, there are many good reasons why people – men and women – decide to change their names: perhaps because they dislike the one they’ve already got, or are embarrassed by it. Perhaps they wish to make it easier to pronounce, or to fit in with a change of circumstances – a new job, or move to another country – or to reinvent or individuate themselves.
Writers and performers, too, often choose stage names or noms de plume. People have always done it, showing that you don’t need to be a monarch or a pontiff to get a new name, and neither do you need to get married. For me at least, marriage never seemed to be a logical precursor.
Perhaps it depends on your definition of marriage. For some, name change is part of the point of getting married; being whisked away, name and all, by a fairytale prince is part of the romance, part of the commitment. Certainly, when a marriage occurs, a whole load of tradition and convention sets in. Marital name change is so much a part of our culture most people don’t question it. Its presence is so insidious people barely even notice.
Yet, given all the advances in women’s lives, it’s surprising that this should be so. After all, the act of changing one’s name upon marriage has its roots in the traditions that require women to give up rights to property and financial independence – a bank account and a credit card – in short, to exist as a separate entity, without her husband’s permission.
In addition, the assumption that it’s OK for a man to keep his name but a woman has to change hers is riddled with serious questions regarding identity, ownership and equality. While men are rocks, solid, erect and implacable, a woman’s identity is transmutable and unfixed, nebulous and dependent on society’s expectations and assumptions. She is at the mercy of others, and defined by others, most of all by the man she is married to.
It’s there in the marriage ceremony. Symbolically given away by her father, the connotation is clear: the woman is property, an object or package waiting to be opened and re-labelled. Meanwhile, the groom waits at the altar, about to take possession, having found his own way there. An independent individual – i.e. male - he does not need his dad to escort him.
Don’t get me wrong, I like weddings (we had ours in a registry office, so I walked myself into the room – and any excuse to consume cake and fizzy wine is always fine by me), but they represent the murkiness of the issue, one which is never fully resolved. By choosing to stick with my 'maiden' name, I am of course continuing to use my father’s surname. In other words, whichever way I slice it, I’m still merely choosing one man’s name over another.
Except, there is one important point: choice. When we got married, no one asked me whether I was going to change my name, they presumed I would. By 'they', I mean everybody – society - tradition, convention, expectation. But it’s that presumption I object to. My husband, bless him, didn’t mind either way. He even considered changing his name to mine.
He didn’t though, because I wouldn’t expect it of him any more than he’d expect it of me, and neither of us saw name swappage as a declaration of love. What’s in a name? Despite what Juliet said, it’s important to get a name right and we’re both happy with the ones we’ve got (the fact that he’s called Michael Jordan often proves a valuable ice-breaker and helps him in his work).
I do wonder, though, how many women end up sacrificing their perfectly fine names for something hideous. I was once proposed to by someone called Belcher, and the prospect of taking on that name did not appeal. Through work I’ve met married women called Cumming and Hiscock, which seems to me to be taking the idea of two becoming one a little bit too far. But hey, whatever floats your boat.
It can work both ways. Marriage can be an opportunity for positive name change, while for many it’s merely a matter of convenience. It’s simpler and easier to adopt your husband’s name, especially if you have children. And who cares? It’s just a name after all. Get a life, get over it. It’s just semantics.
Yet its symbolism is powerful, as seen in the number of women who revert back to their original name when they get divorced. The close identification and association with another person can prove either to be a blessing, or a curse as connotations of ownership and dependence linger. Changing a name back can be a strong gesture of self-assertion, a new start.
These days, when a woman I know gets married, I ask her if she will be taking her husband’s name, what she would like to be called. Given that marital name change is an act loaded with significance, I would ultimately prefer there to be a presumption of no change, rather than the other way round. That way, the decision would always be the individual’s, rather than the world’s assumption.
It’s also great of course to get birthday cards. But one thing I’ve found is, whether they’re for me or for the both of us, the different ways cards are addressed reveal one prevailing assumption: that because I’m married I must have the same surname as my husband.
I don’t (it happens with cold callers too. If they call hoping to speak to a Mr Jordan, I get called Mrs Jordan just because I’m a woman. I hate that). We’ve been married for twelve years and after all that time I still find myself explaining that we both retain our own separate surnames as if we weren’t married.
I say 'we', although of course the question does not apply to my husband. It is I who retains my surname (I refuse to use the barfingly twee and archaic term 'maiden name' – shudder).
The issue of whether or not to change her name is one that every woman must ponder when she gets married, and for me the question seemed obvious: why on earth would I want to?
Marriage aside, there are many good reasons why people – men and women – decide to change their names: perhaps because they dislike the one they’ve already got, or are embarrassed by it. Perhaps they wish to make it easier to pronounce, or to fit in with a change of circumstances – a new job, or move to another country – or to reinvent or individuate themselves.
Writers and performers, too, often choose stage names or noms de plume. People have always done it, showing that you don’t need to be a monarch or a pontiff to get a new name, and neither do you need to get married. For me at least, marriage never seemed to be a logical precursor.
Perhaps it depends on your definition of marriage. For some, name change is part of the point of getting married; being whisked away, name and all, by a fairytale prince is part of the romance, part of the commitment. Certainly, when a marriage occurs, a whole load of tradition and convention sets in. Marital name change is so much a part of our culture most people don’t question it. Its presence is so insidious people barely even notice.
Yet, given all the advances in women’s lives, it’s surprising that this should be so. After all, the act of changing one’s name upon marriage has its roots in the traditions that require women to give up rights to property and financial independence – a bank account and a credit card – in short, to exist as a separate entity, without her husband’s permission.
In addition, the assumption that it’s OK for a man to keep his name but a woman has to change hers is riddled with serious questions regarding identity, ownership and equality. While men are rocks, solid, erect and implacable, a woman’s identity is transmutable and unfixed, nebulous and dependent on society’s expectations and assumptions. She is at the mercy of others, and defined by others, most of all by the man she is married to.
It’s there in the marriage ceremony. Symbolically given away by her father, the connotation is clear: the woman is property, an object or package waiting to be opened and re-labelled. Meanwhile, the groom waits at the altar, about to take possession, having found his own way there. An independent individual – i.e. male - he does not need his dad to escort him.
Don’t get me wrong, I like weddings (we had ours in a registry office, so I walked myself into the room – and any excuse to consume cake and fizzy wine is always fine by me), but they represent the murkiness of the issue, one which is never fully resolved. By choosing to stick with my 'maiden' name, I am of course continuing to use my father’s surname. In other words, whichever way I slice it, I’m still merely choosing one man’s name over another.
Except, there is one important point: choice. When we got married, no one asked me whether I was going to change my name, they presumed I would. By 'they', I mean everybody – society - tradition, convention, expectation. But it’s that presumption I object to. My husband, bless him, didn’t mind either way. He even considered changing his name to mine.
He didn’t though, because I wouldn’t expect it of him any more than he’d expect it of me, and neither of us saw name swappage as a declaration of love. What’s in a name? Despite what Juliet said, it’s important to get a name right and we’re both happy with the ones we’ve got (the fact that he’s called Michael Jordan often proves a valuable ice-breaker and helps him in his work).
I do wonder, though, how many women end up sacrificing their perfectly fine names for something hideous. I was once proposed to by someone called Belcher, and the prospect of taking on that name did not appeal. Through work I’ve met married women called Cumming and Hiscock, which seems to me to be taking the idea of two becoming one a little bit too far. But hey, whatever floats your boat.
It can work both ways. Marriage can be an opportunity for positive name change, while for many it’s merely a matter of convenience. It’s simpler and easier to adopt your husband’s name, especially if you have children. And who cares? It’s just a name after all. Get a life, get over it. It’s just semantics.
Yet its symbolism is powerful, as seen in the number of women who revert back to their original name when they get divorced. The close identification and association with another person can prove either to be a blessing, or a curse as connotations of ownership and dependence linger. Changing a name back can be a strong gesture of self-assertion, a new start.
These days, when a woman I know gets married, I ask her if she will be taking her husband’s name, what she would like to be called. Given that marital name change is an act loaded with significance, I would ultimately prefer there to be a presumption of no change, rather than the other way round. That way, the decision would always be the individual’s, rather than the world’s assumption.
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