R
ight now, I don’t have a
name. More accurately,
I have about five. A few
are more correct than others, but I’d
respond to all of them. Rather than a
“real name,” I might just be in pos-
session of a bunch of labels — some
of which describe who I used to be,
while others lay out my plans for the
future.
Since I came out as a trans woman,
my legal name doesn’t match the
name I call myself, which sometimes
doesn’t match what I hear from
friends and family, or the one I use in
class. I juggle my monikers through-
out each day, trying to decide which
one feels best for each situation.
If I met you for the first time in
person today — shaking your hand
and all that — I’d probably say
“Hey, I’m Adam.” And you prob-
ably wouldn’t think that much of it.
I basically look like an Adam. I have
longer hair, maybe, or more feminine
glasses, but in sweaters and jeans, I
still look male, and I’m not going to
fuck up that impression and tell you
my life story the very first time we
meet.
Adam is still what my parents call
me. It was the name on my Christ-
mas presents this year. It’s still what
some of my friends call me. And,
given that it’s my legal name, Adam
is still what I use when I’m on the
phone with pharmacists or insur-
ance people, trying to figure out
how to get the prescriptions I need
to facilitate my transition. I always
wonder if the people at the other end
of the line know what the prescrip-
tions are for, what the names of the
drugs actually mean, and if so, do
they realize how weird and confus-
ing it is that they still call me Adam?
But if they are raising their eyebrows
at the boy’s name next to a request
for Estradiol, they don’t betray it in
their voices.
And truth is, I don’t mind Adam all
that much. It’s a fine, efficient name,
and I can easily deal with hearing
it from professors and dentists and
whomever else. There’s a power in
your life story and identity, and it’s
freeing to share it or not share it
with whomever you wish.
At the same time, I can’t help but
say I’ve been having more and more
visceral reactions to being called
Adam in social settings. I choose not
to correct anyone, because I’d rather
they call me the most natural word
they know rather than force some-
one to do something that doesn’t feel
right to them. But I’ve started feel-
ing this tightening in my heart, little
pricks of denial and rebellion in my
brain when I hear my old name. It’s
nothing I take personally, but I think
I still look in the mirror too much
and see a lie. I feel like I’m show-
ing the world something that I don’t
want them to see — that nobody
actually recognizes who I really am.
My old name reinforces that false
perception.
The best workaround I’ve found
so far — the best mix of personal
expression and privacy — is simply,
“Theisen.” It’s my last name, pro-
nounced like “Tyson” for reasons
I’ve never been able to explain, and
in some circles, it’s turned into this
cool kind of mononym that I hon-
estly really enjoy. It’s mysterious
and gender-neutral and it hints at
the truth without being overly blunt
about it. It’s clearly temporary, but I
think it’s a fun and effective way to
handle the awkward middle ground
I’m in right now. I look male, but I’m
not. I feel female, but I’m not quite
there yet, visually. At least my last
name is nice and consistent.
When I first knew that I was trans
— like, not when I was just worried
about my gender, but when I final-
ly confirmed it to myself that I’m
a trans woman — a new name was
an overwhelming choice. I didn’t
know if I should just feminize my
name into something like “Adele”
or “Addison,” but that felt too weird,
too much like I was just tweaking
my male life. There were too many
choices, though, in the wide world of
names. I needed something I could
have a personal connection to, some-
thing I thought was cute and would
say something about me and didn’t
have any negative associations. I
looked at hundreds of names and
tried to picture my future with each
one, how they would sound coming
out of my friends’ mouths. It was
impossible.
I went with Lauren because one
night I suddenly remembered how, a
very long time ago, my mom told me
that’s what she would have named
me if I had been born cis female. And
once I said it in my head a few times,
I realized it was perfect. Like Adam,
it’s fairly simple, and it also happens
to be cute and very much me in a
personal, real way. I like that it’s not
quite a name that I chose myself, and
that it seems to hint at an alternate
version of me, one I’ve often thought
about — that other universe where
I’m born female and proceed to live
my whole, normal life that way.
And so, Lauren has become the
name I’ve used on job applications,
the name I’ve given to people once I
know them well enough to feel safe,
the name I use to make accounts on
websites. With my friends, there’s
the somewhat androgynous nick-
name “Lo,” which I love, and the
more playful “Lolo,” which always
makes me smile.
I’ll admit that it still took a little
while for Lauren to feel like my nat-
ural name when people used it. It’s
something I’m just starting to get
conditioned to, and while I’m trying
to work on my new signature and
not get overly excited when I hear
people use it, I’m often still pain-
fully aware of how my name doesn’t
match my face, or my clothes or my
voice (God, especially my voice). I’m
working to fix all that in the time-
frame that’s most comfortable for
me, but even before that time comes,
I love my name, and I can’t wait until
it’s my only one.
Wednesday, January 18th, 2017 // The Statement
6B
“Call Me Lo”
by Lauren Theisen, Daily Arts Writer
ILLUSTRATION BY CLAIRE ABDO