Taking care of Ms-ness

Time for some semi serious chat today chappies, hope you don’t mind!

The subject of names and titles for women is a sticky one, and I have to say never more so than when you are staring down the barrel of a wedding. I am of course referring to the politically-charged minefield that is to change or not to change. Your name. Like some kind of external genetic code, this arbitrary jumble of letters has become a potent symbol of personal identity, and as a woman what you do or do not do with your name has become a hotly debated topic.

A (now not so) recent piece in the Guardian on this topic (admittedly in the “Comment Is Free” section, which is general reserved for fringe views, nutters and George Monbiot) really put my nose out of joint. The author wondered why her “secular, strong-minded, sexually-liberated, independent Gen-Xer” friends were choosing to take their husbands’ names after marriage. She felt that by doing so, these women were in some way disregarding their previous identity.

“They have been cast off for the happy tags of “Mrs X”, as if to proclaim “forget who I was before – I am now loved, wanted and owned by a MAN!”

What utter bollocks. I’m about to use the dirty F-word here, so apologies in advance. As a feminist, or at least my interpretation of it (which contrary to popular belief does not involve flaming bras), I firmly and fundamentally believe in a woman’s right to choose. Whether that be where to work, what to wear, how to act, what to think, how to use her own body, or what to do with her own bloody name.

As we all do when the red mist descends I took my expostulations to Twitter. Feminism should not about exchanging tired old rules written by men for another set of tyrannical doozies written by women; it’s about having the freedom to make your own rules, and to have the power to be the only person that can make decisions about you.

What a woman does or does not do with her name after marriage is entirely up to her, whether that be to change it, keep it, double-barrel it or even create a new one from scratch. The author angered me by her idiotic assumption of moral superiority over fellow women who chose to interpret the how to be a woman handbook in a different way to her. And daring to suggest that a woman is in some way subverting or surrendering her identity by exercising her own free will is offensive.

Personally I will be keeping my name. Partly out of professional vanity – it is stamped across a number of publications and my PhD thesis – but also because being the bolshy woman that I am I expect complete equality between me and my husband-to-be. This relates to everything from who pays for dinner to how we divvy up portions of chocolate cake (hell will freeze over before he gets a bigger slab than me). So if I were to change my name, I would expect him to change his too. I have considered whether we could concoct a catchy team name from a mash-up of our two surnames. But in reality he would only agree to a joint name change if I agreed to become Dr. Awesome Boobs (or words to that effect). So on balance keeping my own name is the most appealing option.

I feel the same way about titles. I have always been a Ms, prior to being a Dr. Even if I didn’t have a PhD, I would still call myself Ms after marriage rather than Mrs. This is my personal squeamishness about having a title that derives from my husband’s. Mrs could be read (probably only by people as sensitive as me) as “Mr’s”, or property of Mr. There ought to be an alternative; perhaps he could become “Mss”? Or to make this simpler, there should be a gender-independent title for truculent idiots like me that can apply to both married men and women. Suggestions please on a post card to the usual PO dustbin.

Anyway, the point of this ramble is very simple. No one can tell you what you can or cannot do with your name except you and no one, especially not a judgemental ass in the Guardian, has the right to judge you based upon what you decide. Regardless of whether I agree with your choice or not I will damn well respect your right to make it.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner date with the future Mr Awesome Boobs.