Where did your name come from?
The story goes that there was an actress in 1965 that had named her daughter Karen. I believe there was some type of Scandinavian lineage involved which spoke to my half Norwegian born mother as she was about to give birth to her first born. And so I was named Karen on that sweltering Monday in August.
At the time it was not a very common name until I entered school and realized I was one of a handful of Karens. I loved my name and was proud of it. My mother would and still always calls me Ka in the best New York accent anyone can have.
Enter social media when the world began to thrive on memes, unsolicited comments, and rants. Women who complained..asked to speak to a manager for said complaints…had horrific haircuts…or just plain whined were now called “Karens”. My name became a thing. An object. I’ve even heard it used as a slur.
If you know me I am not anything like what these memes or slants portray yet the snickers and eye rolls I encounter when I give my name still amazes me.
Sometime during my college years I developed a nickname during a night of drinking. Kiki stuck and has become my go to name at times. It’s easy to remember and quite frankly not as laughable reactions I get when I introduce myself with my birth name.
What’s in a name? In my case pride except when used as a label which is miles away from who I truly am. Now I just smile and know that my name was given to me and that will never allow me to be anyone else in this world.
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