“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare famously asked—and he clearly never scrolled through a Bumble profile featuring a guy named Thor. Names are a first impression, a calling card, a badge of identity, and occasionally, material for an improv comedy routine when they spawn truly terrible date stories. (Remind me to tell you about the time I went out with someone named Paris who said, “I expect people to treat me like the city of Paris—timeless, expensive, and 100% worth it.” Reader, he ghosted me post-dinner.)

But names aren’t just icebreakers on a first date or something your mom yells when you’re in trouble. They’re deeply tied to how we see ourselves—and how others see us too. And for the purposes of today’s exploration, there’s one name I want to carve out and unfold like a road map (you know, the kind we used before GPS made spontaneity obsolete): Miles.

The Miles That Shapes You

Growing up in Beverly Hills—a cultural playground of first names designed to sound either artistic or absurd—Miles was an anomaly in my circle. There weren’t any “just Miles” among the Maxes and the Mias, the Avas and the Atticuses. Miles had mystery. Miles had charm. And Miles, unlike Tinsley or Wilder or another Brandon?, had depth.

Miles. Say it aloud. There’s something approachable yet sophisticated about the sound, right? It doesn’t demand attention the way certain aspirational Hollywood names do. (I’m looking at you, names ending in -ley, -ton, or -sley—but no hate, promise!) Instead, Miles is understated. Elegant. Like the name equivalent of wearing a linen blazer to a garden party without breaking a sweat.

And then there’s what it means. Sure, you can Google its Latin origins (“soldier” or “merciful”), and that’s all well and good, but Miles represents something else for me: distance. Motion. The idea that life is a journey—and identity is a road trip, not a fixed destination. Isn’t that what relationships and dating are, too? Unfolding who you are step by step, mile by mile, layer by layer.

It’s All in the Details

As someone with a name like Becca Goldstein (easy to wear, perpetually coffee-shop correct), I’ve spent a solid 72% of my conversations subtly interrogating people about theirs. I once dated a Miles for around three months, and naturally, I pried.

“So, Miles. Is it after someone? Something? Or just one of those, ‘It sounded nice’ situations?”

He shrugged, in that classic, this-feels-like-my-origin-story-but-it’s-really-not kind of way. “My parents liked jazz—Miles Davis, you know?”

Cue the image of a cool saxophone solo playing offstage as I swooned. I mean, what a quintessential answer! His name was steeped in culture and an art form my chatty, neurotic 28-year-old self could only pretend to understand. My playlist at the time had been an embarrassing loop of mid-2000s pop hits (“Hot N Cold” was on there unironically), so Miles felt like dating a walking jazz standard. Cooler than me. But in a way that made me want to catch up.

That’s when it hit me that a name might be just a name, but it’s also shorthand for expectation. Personality. Identity. I expected Miles to be artsy and mysterious, the kind of guy who probably owned hardcover books without ever dropping jam on the pages. And sometimes, the expectations lived up. Other times, they didn’t. Both versions taught me something—with each step, each unfolding mile.

Dating Someone Who’s Miles Ahead (Or Behind)

Here’s where names—and what they signal—get really fun: dating. When it comes to connection, names can evoke all kinds of assumptions before the relationship even hits cruising altitude.

Psychologists say a name has the power to influence how people perceive our intelligence, attractiveness, and even personality. For better or worse, a first name can subtly steer how we’re received in those early encounters. Miles, for instance, lends itself to qualities like curiosity, warmth, and, dare I say, emotional availability. Is it 100% foolproof? Of course not. I once knew a Miles who considered Coldplay the height of culture. But when we interact with someone new, we map out little pathways in our minds, relying on shorthand cues—like names—to fill in gaps until we really know the person.

Good relationships are the ones where those pathways grow tangled and complex, where the initial surface-level read gives way to depth, quirks, and surprises. That, my friends, is where the journey gets interesting. Like watching your GPS frantically scream “make a U-Turn” and realizing you’re actually happy you got lost because now, you’re experiencing something unexpected. That’s what true connection is: leaving space for detours.

The “Miles” in All of Us

You don’t have to be Miles—or date one—to get why the metaphor lands. We’re all navigating this big, messy map of connections, figuring out which roads to keep traveling and which to abandon altogether. And identity is the ultimate roadmap. Turns out, we all come preloaded with a topographical chart—family history, unique experiences, fluid traits—that launches us on our journey to self-discovery.

For Miles, his jazz-loving parents gave him both a start and a story. For me, it was shouting over brisket at weekly Shabbat dinners and feeling like the constant “funny friend” in a sea of starlets growing up. We all hitch our wagons to the words and names that define us at the outset. What happens next, though, is ours to shape.

So if there’s one takeaway here—whether you’re a Miles, a non-Miles, or a person perpetually frustrated by people spelling your name wrong on Starbucks cups (solidarity!)—it’s that identity isn’t a closed book. It’s an unfolding map with twists, turns, and sometimes a few potholes.

Next Time You Meet a Miles…

Here’s a fun challenge for your next date, coffee catch-up, or serendipitous run-in with a person you’re intrigued by: ask them about their name. Dive into the story. Because the way people talk about their name—its history, its quirks, the nicknames they allow or loathe—offers tiny breadcrumbs into how they see themselves.

And if you happen to be dating a West Coast-native Miles, let me know how it goes. Odds are, he owns at least one art print he bought at a Coachella tent and stans Miles Teller (don’t say I didn’t warn you).

In life, like in love, the secret’s in the journey: winding roads, unfolding moments, and, if you’re lucky, a Miles or two to share it with. Keep driving, and try not to sweat the potholes. Miles to go, after all.