What’s In a Name?

The first time I introduced myself as Oliver, it was to a Starbucks barista. I was trying the name on for size, not because I had any issues with Julian (shout-out to my parents for picking a solid one), but because I’d been curious about Oliver for years. It had this crisp elasticity to it, like the snap of an autumn branch underfoot. It was playful yet timeless—a name that evoked nineteenth-century Dickensian charm but could easily show up in a Netflix rom-com starring someone with excellent hair.

“Oliver,” I said confidently, locking eyes with the barista. “Tall Americano, please.”

When she called it out five minutes later, I didn’t turn around right away. It wasn’t instinctively me yet, but for a moment, it felt like trying on a well-tailored jacket. Slightly unfamiliar but undeniably sharp.

Name Games: What’s in the Swap?

Let’s face it—names carry weight. They’re the first handshake, the opening line in our story. In dating, they’re a flashing neon sign on the digital marquee of who you are. But what happens when your name doesn’t feel like the full picture? Maybe it’s too formal, too plain, or too “Hi, I’m the fourth generation of this family business.” Or maybe, like me, you’re just curious—what if you were someone else?

Here’s the thing about names: they’re as much about perception as they are about identity. Some names radiate confidence, others whisper mystery. And then there are names—like Oliver—that traverse multiple archetypes, effortlessly flexing between slick lawyer, starving artist, and next-door nice guy who inexplicably knows how to fix a sink.

So, why Oliver? Frankly, it’s safer than Vincent or Maximus (both fleeting considerations) and a step up from 2010-me briefly entertaining “Jules” because it “sounded European” (spoiler alert: it did not). Oliver feels balanced, adaptable—someone who could hold their own at a table debate about Murakami novels but also crack jokes about the perils of mediocre craft beer.

The Brooklyn Roots Riddle

Naturally, my Brooklyn upbringing plays into this Oliver obsession. Brooklynites are nothing if not reinvention artists. We’re the kids who grew up in the shadow of brownstones and graffiti murals, blending the old with the new like it’s second nature. My parents, ever the practical entrepreneurs, drilled into me the importance of brand identity—how you’re presented can dictate how you’re seen.

“Julian,” as my given name, has always done the heavy lifting. It’s academic and dreamy, perfect for a kid devouring Baldwin and Morrison under a canopy of Brooklyn maples. But “Oliver” feels cosmopolitan, someone who might text you a selfie from Berlin with the caption, “Found the DJ. Thoughts?” As much as I adore Brooklyn, this Oliver heartstrings game might just tie back to my love of travel, where I get to take pieces of global culture and re-weave them into my identity.

But wait, here’s the twist: Brooklyn Julian is as real as it comes. He’s rooted in jazz bars, indie bookstores, and that obnoxiously long brunch queue at place-that-charges-$22-for-eggs. So does Oliver erase him, or merely enrich him?

Names & Dating: Are You a Beatrice or a Beyoncé?

Here’s where this hits relationships, too. Names are a vibe. Think about that moment when you’re saying goodbye after drinks and debating whether to save their name in your phone as “Shane Bumble-DJ” or something serious like "Shane 🐝🍸.” There’s a reason that someone reacting to your name feels like an immediate litmus test for chemistry. Have you ever introduced yourself and watched someone smile just too wide—not because they’re charmed, but because your name pulls up a memory of their weird cousin?

Let's bring it back personal. Trying out Oliver taught me something—and it wasn’t just that baristas are exceedingly patient. It was that names allow some room for play, and that exploration, like flirting itself, is inherently generous. Names invite curiosity, accidentally breaking ice and creating openings for connection.

In one scenario, introducing myself as Oliver led to an impromptu conversation about Oliver Twist and how villain names (“Bill Sikes is up there for me!” she said) also influence emotional vibes. That tangent wouldn’t have happened if I’d stuck with Julian—a perfectly fine name, but not one with a “hey, let’s overanalyze Dickens” Easter egg. A small moment? Sure. But those littles moments stack up.

What’s in Your Name? An Exercise in Identity

If you’ve ever felt a pang of curiosity about tweaking your name—whether it’s shifting from Katherine to Kate or trying something wholly new—I say go for it. Because here’s what I’ve discovered: By playing with “Oliver,” I wasn’t rejecting my given name. I wasn’t denying Julian’s history, his quirks, or even his overuse of semicolons. Instead, I was leaning into possibility, trying to inhabit a name-identity that felt expansive rather than restrictive.

Some quick takeaways for anyone entertaining a name flip:
- Experiment Low-Stakes: Do an anonymous Starbucks situation or use your alternate name on a dinner reservation. It’s a no-pressure way to test how it feels.
- Check the Reaction in the Mirror: Introduce yourself with the new moniker in front of a mirror. Do you buy yourself saying it? Or does it feel like acting?
- Poll Your Friends: Not to let everyone’s opinion dictate your decision, but sometimes hearing “You’re totally an Oliver” or “Nope, that doesn’t stick” is insightful. Your inner circle knows you, quirks and all.
- Understand the Narrative: Every name has a vibe, whether lyrical (Oliver), grounded (Kate), or a little out there (I see you, Wolf and Indigo). Pick one that matches the message you’d like to send without feeling like a costume.
- It’s Okay to Go Back: Try a name, hate it, and stick with your original? No harm, no foul. The old you holds like a safety net.

Conclusion: Oliver in the Mirror

After a week of covert Oliver-ing, I hit pause. Not because it didn’t suit me—it does, in flashes—but because the adventure itself became enough. What I learned was this: Names are fluid markers of who we are, little linguistic passports that open doors but never fully define the rooms we inhabit.

Today, I’m Julian again. Brooklyn-born, intellectually restless, and, every now and then, an Oliver in disguise. But here’s a tip if you ever find yourself on a coffee date with me: ask me why I chose “Oliver” earlier that week. It’s a peek into how we all tell stories about ourselves. And if relationships are built on storytelling, every name—whether gifted at birth or chosen along the way—gives us one more way to connect.