“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare might’ve brushed it off, but let me tell you, Romeo never had to introduce himself at a barbecue in Beaumont, Texas, where everybody’s listening for the family tree behind your last name. Where are you from? Who’s your daddy? And wait a minute—are you kin to so-and-so? My name, Marc Devonte Prince, carries a weight, a rhythm, and a history I’m still learning how to unpack. But honestly, it’s a name that has shaped not just how the world sees me, but how I see myself. And if you’ve ever felt the tremor of expectations, cultural pride, or frankly, the side-eye that comes with your given name, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

The Grand Entrance: Names Always Speak First

No matter where you are—swiping a credit card, signing an email, or getting your Starbucks cup with "Mark-with-a-K" scrawled on the side—your name is often the first introduction people have to you. It sets the tone. And for me, Marc Devonte Prince? It’s a whole production. Marc, simple but sharp; Devonte, unmistakably Black and Southern; Prince—confident, probably too confident. Put it all together, and you might picture me walking around in a crown (which I’ve considered).

But growing up in Beaumont, this wasn’t just a roll call situation. From jump, names here are loaded with meaning. If you were a Johnson or a Carter? Folks already knew whose cousin you were and what kind of sweet potato pie your family brought to Thanksgiving. But my last name? Prince was… different. Fancy even. “Where’d that come from?” people would ask, as if a random European monarch slipped into the family tree. I didn’t have an answer at first, but I noticed how it made folks—especially older Black churchgoers—raise their eyebrows, intrigued. It wasn’t common, and trust me, it showed at every school assembly when teachers inevitably added too much drama to “Devonte” and butchered “Prince” into “Price.”

Names and the Danger of Expectations

For anyone who’s seen their name sit uncomfortably in someone else's mouth, you know the slight twinge of discomfort that comes with it. Growing up, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of "Devonte." It’s a name that announces itself, that tells a story even before you do. In interviews, resumes, or introductions at networking events, people could pinpoint I was Black before I even showed up. And let’s be real—sometimes, that story isn’t one we control. You either overthink it—am I reading too much into their pause on the phone?—or worse, you underthink it and wonder what doors opened or closed before you even got to knock.

It’s funny how names can both empower and unnerve us. There were days I carried Devonte like armor, proud of the culture stitched into those three syllables. Other days, I resented it, the assumptions it drew out in people who heard it before they knew me. “Marc Prince” might’ve been simple. Polished. Presentable. “Devonte,” though—it demanded something more, even when I wasn’t sure if I had it to give.

And that’s not just true for me. Ever feel like your name comes with a personality you don’t fully inhabit? Like when your mama named you Heavenly Joy, but you’re out here just trying to get through on spilled coffee and six hours of sleep? Yeah, that. A name can carry expectations that take years to grow into. Or, more importantly, to redefine.

Heritage, Identity, Beyoncé—Let’s Talk Legacy

If there’s one thing that growing up in a Black, working-class family taught me, it’s this: your name connects you to something bigger. Marc Prince links me back to a history of resilience and labor—my dad pulling hard shifts at the refinery, my mom nursing in the early hours before sunrise—all so I could pursue not just survival, but purpose. Devonte? That feels like its own tapestry; one threaded with the creativity of the Black Southern naming tradition, where names tell stories, hold dreams, and break molds. It doesn’t need to be conventional—it just has to feel like home.

And then there’s Prince. The irony isn’t lost on me. A last name so regal it could front a Netflix costume drama, yet grown from humble roots. I asked my Grandpa James once why we were Princes, thinking he’d drop some dashing story about lost royals or civil rights royalty. But he just shrugged and said, “Baby, it’s who we are.” And honestly, he was right. Whether it’s historical happenstance or a marker of ambition, there’s something about the confidence baked into that name that trickles down to me.

It’s like Beyoncé said (because Beyoncé always knows): “Your name is your power.” It’s what people call you, how they summon you, but also how you summon yourself. And these days? When I say “Marc Prince,” I’m calling up a narrative that’s mine to define.

The Dating Scene: “What’s Your Name Again?”

But y’all, can we talk about what happens when you drop a name like Marc Devonte Prince into modern romance? In the land of ruled notebooks and shared phone plans, it was simple. You meet someone cute in 10th grade chemistry, giggle over notes, and the rest is history. Now? Between awkward first date intros and Hinge bios, your name becomes an opening act in itself.

Trust me—I’ve heard it all. Cute nicknames (“M.Prince? Like a rapper?”). Earlier red flags (“Devonte? Oh, wow… that’s unique. How’s it spelled again?”). And when I led with my full name? Baby, they were expecting a walking runway. One date had the audacity to call me “regal” over margaritas, to which I replied, “Nothing regal about unpaid student loans.”

It’s a reminder that while names introduce us, ultimately, we’re the ones who define the story behind them. When it comes to dating, I’ve learned to use mine as a filter. If someone can’t handle the big, proud essence of Marc Devonte Prince, then they’re not ready for the kingdom I’m building. (And no, the kingdom doesn’t include pumpkin spice, Becky.)

Owning the Weight of Your Name

So here’s the thing: our names are an extension of us, but they don’t have the last word. You might share your name with a Grammy winner or the lady who doesn’t refill the office coffee pot, but you’ve got to find ways to let it feel like your own. Here’s how:

  • Unpack the Meaning: Names have history, and yours is no different. Take the time to learn where it came from—or go wild and invent your own origin story. What matters is that it empowers you.
  • Embrace the Laughs: Names will get mispronounced, and sometimes you’ll end up in an awkward exchange at Panera. Shake it off. Humor builds connection, not defenses.
  • Use It as a Tool: Whether it inflates expectations or lowers them, your name can be a secret advantage. Use it to surprise people, to educate them, and always to stand in your authenticity.

Signing Off

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized my name isn’t just a label or an accident of birth; it’s a character introduction, a legacy, and sometimes, a conversation starter. It might be heavy sometimes—like a suitcase you’re still figuring out how to pack—but it’s always worth carrying. And like every good name drop, it leaves a mark.

So, what’s in a name? Not everything, but maybe enough to help you remember who you are. And between Marc, Devonte, and Prince, I think I’m figuring that out.