- I named my son Daniel even though it's been in the top 15 names since the 70s.
- As a Black mom, I wanted to give him a resume-ready name.
It took a while for me to realize a common name was the best type of name for my son. Even after he was born, I danced between trendy and evergreen. On one hand, my son could stand out immediately like a rockstar — memorable, fun, free-spirited; on the other, he could seamlessly slot into society, a Daniel among Daniels.
Daniel Kaluuya. Daniel Radcliffe. Daniel Day Lewis. Daniel Craig. All the international soccer players named Daniel. Not to forget Daniel from the Bible. Then there's the Damn, Daniel video that went viral a year after my son was born. So. Many. Daniels.
It's been in the top 15 since the 70s
According to Nameberry, Daniel is a perennial favorite — it has made it to the top 15 names for boys every year since 1972. And I'm not surprised. It transcends nationality and ethnicity, and it truly stands the test of time. When it comes to the crux of it, longevity matters — the commonality and familiarity of a name lends itself to how people are perceived. It's even linked to their likability and trustworthiness.
While unique names reflect a shift in our society toward a culture of individualism, they also have drawbacks that I was keen to avoid. As adults, we have a bias — even I can admit I harbor some myself. For example, I can easily imagine a politician or president called Daniel, but I can't yet imagine an Apple, Stormi, or X Æ A-Xii.
And it's not just me — one study found that easier-to-pronounce names are judged more positively than difficult-to-pronounce names and were correlated to higher-status positions at law firms. Naming a child Pear or Frosty insinuates that they will never have to fill out a job application.
As a child of African immigrants, this matters tenfold.
I gave him a middle name that celebrates his Nigerian heritage
As Black people, we are not afforded the casual luxury of naming our children outlandish and rare names without repercussion and judgment. We have to fit into a box because we already have negative stereotypes and racial biases stacked against us solely based on the color of our skin.
It is well documented, for example, that "Black names" are often overlooked in the hiring process and that "whitening" a résumé by removing all racial clues leads to better chances of employer callbacks.
This includes culturally rich names such as Olamide, Ifeoma, and Adeola, which can sometimes put us into the confines of "otherness." Though beautiful and unique in themselves, they provide an immediate racial or cultural identifier and are more than likely to be accompanied by a lifetime of clarification and microaggressions.
My parents decided to name me Hannah, not just because of the strong biblical reference but also because they were fully aware of what it means to be a Black person navigating a predominantly white society. So, giving my own child a "resume-ready" name like Daniel eventually became a no-brainer. Of course, both my son and I have middle names that proudly reflect our Nigerian heritage.
I also didn't want to live with regret or guilt. Trends come and go, and unique names are hit-and-miss, so my naming decision was further influenced by a lack of interest in falling out of love with my son's name. Daniel is safe. Daniel is popular. And ironically, in a sea of unconventional names, Daniel stands out in an understated way.
That isn't to say a top 15 name doesn't come with its own set of trivial problems. Firstly, my son has never been the only Daniel in school, so when someone calls his name, every Daniel within earshot turns around. Secondly, all of us commonly-named people know the struggle of having to think of an Instagram name that isn't already taken.
First-world problems, I guess.