The melody of your name

Do you ever stop to think about how your name sounds when someone says it—like, really says it? Not just the greeting your barista botches every morning (shoutout to all the "Juliettes" whose lattes are waiting under "Julia," "Julie," or my personal favorite, "Jelly"). I’m talking about when someone you care about says your name, the way it seems to stretch and shift depending on their voice, their intent, or the moment. What does your name mean to you? Because I've realized lately that your name—the weight and history of it—might just be the truest autobiography you’ll ever write.

For me, my name isn’t just Juliette. It’s the way the 'ette' lingers like the soft fade of a chanson from my childhood, the syllables as French as the hand-painted cobblestones of Old Montreal. It’s also the way my anglophone friends hurry through it, landed completely flat on "Jules" like I’m someone’s quirky millennial uncle in a rom-com. (Fun fact: I once considered rebranding myself as Julie in college, but that phase lasted about as long as I could survive without a baguette.) Your name, much like how you wear your jeans or the way you laugh, has a personality of its own.

But a name, like a relationship, isn’t static. It evolves with time, picking up fragments and whispers of who we are. Let’s explore how your name might define you—and how it can even reshape your identity with the right mindset.

Your Name Tells a Story, Whether You Want It To or Not

My parents were literature nerds of the highest order—my dad with his ink-stained fingers and newsroom deadlines, my mom with her dog-eared Marguerite Duras novels. So when I popped into existence, they had opinions. They named me Juliette not just for its prettiness (which, okay, merci beaucoup), but because it had a history. Shakespeare’s not-so-docile heroine, of course. Romantic, tragic…but also stubborn as hell. A love story, yes, but one no one could ignore.

But I’ve noticed something funny over the years: depending on the audience, my name adjusts its melody. Strangers romanticize it (“Oh, Juliette, how French! That’s so chic”). French speakers hear its lyrical intention and lean hard into the ette, which always lands soft and familiar, like a warm croissant fresh from the bakery. But then some people—even ones I date—seem to want to rename me altogether.

Take my ex, who coined "Juju" for me (which sounds like a cutesy lovechild of a cartoon rabbit and a bubble tea flavor). For a while, I let him call me that. But then I realized something—every time he said it, it chipped away at the person I felt I was. Juju, to me, wasn’t someone capable of penning novels or holding conversations about Quebecois identity at a dinner table. She was fun and glittery—but not me.

Point being? Don’t let anyone rename you like you’re some kind of software update. Sure, let “babe” or “honey” slip in now and then because, hey, we’ve all got sweet spots for those classic pet names. But your name matters—it links you to your roots, your sense of self, and yes, even your future.

Want to Know Who You Are? Say Your Name Out Loud

I want you to try something. Right now, wherever you are (well, maybe don’t yell it on the metro amongst the spreadsheet-weary commuters), say your full name out loud. Hear every syllable. The cadence, the tempo. How does it feel? Too soft? Too sharp? Just right?

Sometimes your full name feels like a business card you didn’t design—too official, too structured for who you truly are. I mean, “Juliette Bouchard” reads like someone who arbitrates wine disputes in Burgundy, not a girl who once lived off ramen for a week while writing 10,000 words about Michel Tremblay…it’s both aspirational and a bit intimidating. And yet, I’ve learned to embrace its duality.

If you’re struggling to connect with your name—the sound of it, the way it feels—it’s not a lost cause. Here’s what I’ve learned:
- Revisit its Origins: Who named you, and why? Delving into the "why" can create a deeper attachment to your name’s story. For me, my name became a bridge to my family’s love of language. For you, it might evoke a grandparent, a place, or a time your parents thought a certain musician was cool. - Check in With Your Nicknames: Not all nicknames degrade—we’re not here to hate on cute shorthand versions of your name. But if you’re in an environment where people have shapeshifted your name into something that doesn’t align with you (looking at you, Juju), it’s time to set that boundary. Politely, but firmly. - Reclaim (or Reinvent!) It: Names aren’t contracts—they can change and adapt. If your name doesn’t fully capture who you are now, but one version of it will? Lean into that new manifestation of your identity.

Your Name in Relationships: A Hidden Power Move

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that your name behaves differently depending on who’s saying it. I don’t trust a flirt who overuses pet names too soon—as if calling me “sweetheart” by text four times makes me forget they don’t even know where Quebec is on a map. Real intimacy is when someone says your name like they’re tasting it for the first time and savoring it.

And it works both ways. Ever notice how when you say someone’s name, especially in the early haze of infatuation, it changes things? It’s suddenly charged, electric—infused with all the feelings you’re too shy to blurt out. Saying a name unlocks something primal; it’s like throwing glitter on emotions and calling it a confession.

But on the flipside, nothing cuts faster than someone wielding your name like a weapon mid-argument. Full names, particularly, come with a sharpened edge that screams: “I am 1000% serious right now.” Ask my mother. She never used "Juliette" unless I was a half-second away from grounding.

Names Are Maps—and We’re Always Moving

Your name is one of the rare things in life you never chose but somehow get to own. It’s your personal anthem—a melody that evolves as you do. So the next time you introduce yourself to someone, pause for a beat and embrace the layers your name holds. Roll your name off your tongue like it’s a song, not a duty. You’re not just giving anyone a name; you’re giving them you.

And if they don’t pronounce it right, don’t sweat it—especially if they’re cute. Just correct them. Patiently, kindly. Because the person who listens, who takes the time to learn the music in your name, might just end up being the one worthy of singing it the loudest.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a latte under “Julie” to pick up.