When I registered myself at the student association in Amsterdam ten years ago and I had to put down my full name, I got a response of disbelief and a little laughter. Sorry, what’s your name?! Now, you perhaps wonder what’s so strange about the name Anne. Well, nothing really. The amazement had everything to do with my two middle names: Godefrida Jacoba. I am named after both my grandfathers, a tradition widely dispersed in the small (catholic) region I was born, but very unknown in the rest of the Netherlands.
So when I moved to Italy, I was convinced not to get any more questions about my special middle names. I turned out to be wrong however
In the south however, just about everyone will recognise this as many people find names like Maria, Theodorus, Catharina, Franciscus, Petrus or Antonius in their passports. With no less than four names on her birth certificate, my best friend is the perfect example. There is only one small detail: the name by which we know her is not among these four. When her father registered her with the municipality shortly after she was born, he accidentally forgot to register the name she would actually go by. Hence, according to the official institutions her name is Veronica, something she even forgets herself every now and then and leads to rather hilarious situations. Just try to be credible when you have to explain to a flight attendant that you simply forgot about your real name when they question you about the fact the name on your ticket does not correspond with the name in your passport. Also my father has the joy to carry four (very long) names that never fit in the tiny boxes on official forms and my mother’s full name is Italian pur sang: Maria Anna Odilia. So when I moved to Italy, I was convinced not to get any more questions about my special middle names. I turned out to be wrong however.
Just scrolling through my contact list for a second gives you a good impression: five Fabios, seven Federicas, three Giuseppes, four Matteos and so on
To non-Italians it sometimes appears all Italian men are called Giovanni, and all Italian women Maria. Of course, that’s not the case but it’s true that the big majority of names are very common. Just scrolling through my contact list for a second gives you a good impression: five Fabios, seven Federicas, three Giuseppes, four Matteos and so on. In Italy, the first-born child is traditionally called after the paternal grandparent, and the second child after the maternal grandparent. It’s highly likely that Giulia’s nonna is also called Giulia, and Alessandro’s nonno is called – you guessed it – Alessandro. It’s thanks to this (in my opinion) beautiful phenomenon that names never go out of fashion in Italy.
Take Leonardo, which represent a whole melody on its own. A tiny, four syllables music piece
And they don’t need to as Italian names are pure poesia. Pieces of art in which the long family history that has been passed on from generation to generation resounds in every single letter. Although outside the borders of Italy, these names are often considered a little old-fashioned, at the same time they are so beautifully put together. Take Leonardo, which represent a whole melody on its own. A tiny, four syllables music piece. The flowing transition of the vowels with the slight vibration of the rolling R produced by pressing your tongue against your palate. A piece of art, as I said earlier.
Only recently, I made a point of clarifying to an Italian friend my name is actually Anne, not Anna. Slightly disturbed he looked at me. Wasn’t it exactly the same?!
But do Italian parents never try to modernize the traditional names? Of course they do from time to time, although the alternations are generally not what you would call groundbreaking. The mother of a friend of mine was rebellious when she called her son Emanuel instead of Emanuele, something he has to justify forever when introducing himself. For years, the Italian top ten most popular names have hardly changed with names like Leonardo, Francesco, Sofia and Giulia in top positions. When I spent the summer in Sicily many years ago, my Sicilian mother-in-law just didn’t get around the fact that my name and Isabelle’s, her other daughter-in-law, ended in E. To here, we were Anna and Isabella. Only recently, I made a point of clarifying to an Italian friend my name is actually Anne, not Anna. Slightly disturbed he looked at me. Wasn’t it exactly the same?! Ever since the first time I moved to Italy, my Dutch friends have been calling me Anna, something I got so used to that I don’t even notice it anymore. But still, I like it. Both my father’s grandmothers and my mother’s godmother were called Anna, and even though my parents told me I am not directly named after them, I like the fact that Anna has been a name present in both sides of the family for decades already.
“Federico!” I shouted. No response. “Francesco!”, screamed Julia. Again, no response. “Luca!”, Sara tried. Still nothing. We didn’t give up however. “Andrea?!” The guy turned around. No way?
The fact that in Italy, it’s worth a try to just guess someone’s name in case you don’t know it, was proven when we were on an outing with a whole group of students. With my two best friends, Sara and Julia, on either side, I was walking on the narrow sidewalk along a busy road. I wanted to ask something to the guy of the organizing committee who was walking at least thirty meters in front of us, but because of the large group of people in between and the passing traffic it was impossible to catch up with him. So calling him from a distance seemed better, but there was one problem. I really had no idea what his name was, and neither did my friends. Just try something, suggested Sara, he is Italian after all. I gave her a hesitating look, as if that would work! We decided to give it a try anyway. “Federico!” I shouted. No response. “Francesco!”, screamed Julia. Again, no response. “Luca!”, Sara tried. Still nothing. We didn’t give up however. “Andrea?!” The guy turned around. No way? We got his name right within four tries. What can I say? Welcome to Italy.
Yet, it seems stranger that a woman is called Andrea, as it is a Greek translation of a Hebrew name and literally means ‘masculine’
Despite the fact Andrea is a very common Italian name for males, outside Italy people often react with raised eyebrows when a man introduces himself this way. Yet, it seems stranger that a woman is called Andrea, as it is a Greek translation of a Hebrew name and literally means ‘masculine’. Italian and ancient Roman names are still more present in your daily life than you might suspect. Next time you order a pizza Margherita, take a second to think about the person the pizza was named after: Queen Margherita. The wonderful summer months of July and August are quickly approaching, but have you ever given it a second thought why they’re called like that? The Roman emperors Julius Caesar and Augustus decided to name a month after themselves – humble as they were – forever having their names anchored in the lives of the many that came after them.
Hearing my sumptuous middle names from centuries gone by, also the Italians looked at me in surprise. Did I stem from a noble family?
Once arrived in Italy in the late summer of 2015, I enrolled at the international student association of my Roman university. Hearing my sumptuous middle names from centuries gone by, also the Italians looked at me in surprise. Did I stem from a noble family? Um, not really. It’s just the crazy combination of parents going along with modern, Dutch name trends but at the same time wanting to stick to the tradition of naming children after grandparents, just like the Italians do. A very hipster first name with some good old saints to go with. Deeply religious names even the Italians find impressive. But hey, what’s in a name?