Another essay tonight. This one is on a topic that has been nettling me for some time. There are many feminists out there who believe it is up to them to determine what other feminists can or can’t do. Here is my response.

MY CHOICES, YOUR CHOICES, HER CHOICES

I read. A lot. Some of the books I read are feminist books, and I’ve noticed something, especially among the younger feminists. There is a tendency to say that no woman should have to be perfectly feminist all the time; she can make some choices that are not, in fact, feminist, some choices that might even be stereotypes of what a woman is. I agree. I have noticed another thing, however. They are always willing to carve out an exception for whatever it is they like…lipstick, high heels, perfume…but they are quick to condemn other women’s choices of where they prefer to be, shall we say, traditional?

Say, for instance, a feminist woman chooses to change her name when she gets married. Should she be criticized, ostracized, shamed, or mocked for her choice? Well, that’s…complicated. Not for many feminists. It’s simple. Never change your name. Not ever. Keep the name you had at birth, because taking a man’s name is the same as admitting he owns you.

Okay, so I have no beef with women who don’t change their names, and I agree, in part. I think there are a lot of reasons to keep whatever name you prefer, and for a lot of women, that is the name they had before marriage, the “maiden” name (oh, how I hate that term!) I support that, I understand that, I cheer them on. I chose to change my name. Why? Again, there are a lot of reasons.

Suppose a woman had a shitty childhood. Abuse, maybe. Incest. Rape by a family member. Embarrassment over the nature of a truly weird family. (Addams Family, anyone? Actually, if I were in the Addams Family, I might not see them as weird.) Sometimes continuing to bear a name all your life can be painful, so painful it’s hard to write it to sign the check, the contract, the autograph book. That is a good, non-patriarchal reason to change the name.

Perhaps…whimsy. Some of us are alphabetically obsessed, and we might prefer a different part of the alphabet. For me, I was always at the back of the alphabetical line. Now I’m near the first…or I was until people started alphabetizing by first name (DO NOT get me started on that…it’s a rant you’re probably not ready for). It can be a nice change. It gives you new scenery, in the sense of being in the middle of a different group of people, the people you never got to know except the backs of their heads.

Other reasons might include avoiding a crime you committed – hardly a noble reason, but a reason. Perhaps inheritance issues. You marry a man who will be rich when his parents die, unless you keep your name. (I’m not sure I’d want to marry into a family like that, but for some women, that might be important, especially if they are living in poverty). A lot of women want to have the same last name as their children, and standard convention is to give them the father’s last name. Of course, you could insist on your last name…but the father might prefer otherwise. It could avoid fights and hostile feelings.

Oh, yes, some of those are good reasons, you argue. Sure, change your name. Just don’t change it to his. Because…patriarchy. It shows you belong to a man! Okay, I buy that. Historically, that is exactly what it has meant. So we keep the name we already have. For most of us, that name is the one we received from…our father. A name denoting possession. Our father owns us, we have his name. He ‘gives us away’ on our wedding day, to another possessor. Our last name really is a marker of who has the right to sell us, give us away, or otherwise dispose of us.

Modern women claim ownership over themselves. We do not believe we are owned by our father, nor by our husband, child, or life partner. Our father can’t give away what isn’t his to give. Most modern western women will not allow their father to select their mate; we reserve the right to select a mate, or no mate, for ourselves. Most of us don’t realize our name is a sign of ownership. I’ve had long discussions with people who deny that, but think about it. It becomes more obvious in countries where your name will be something like Anderson or Andersdotter. You are the son or the daughter of Anders, and he has put his brand on you, so to speak.

So why did I change my name? Why, alphabet, of course. No, I’m kidding…sort of. Once upon a time, about 21 years ago, I met a family that welcomed me. They were warm to me. They showed love and understanding. I was wanted in their family. It was a feeling that went right through me and left me feeling warmer (even in an Iowa winter) than I usually felt. I did what seemed the only thing for me. I joined their family.

Go ahead. Carve out exceptions. Do what makes you feel good, even if it is high heels which could deform your feet forever, or make up which can change your skin. Lie on a tanning bed and get cancer. All of these are unfeminist choices a feminist can make, as long as she makes them freely. But…don’t tell me I can’t change my name and be a feminist. No, changing my name was not a feminist choice…any more than a woman wearing high heels, or make up, or lying on a tanning bed is a feminist choice. But if you get to carve out an exception for a choice that is meaningful to you, then I claim the same privilege. I don’t wear high heels, or make up, or go to tanning salons. I don’t make a lot of concessions to so-called “womanly virtues”. I am a scientist, an artist, a strong woman, an independent woman. And…I decided to change my name when I married.