When Your Name Doesn’t Fit in Their Mouths

Names carry weight. They are coded with heritage. They tell stories before we even speak, if you choose to listen.

The teacher’s face faltered – a flicker of hesitation that betrayed her unease.

Her eyes darted back to the clipboard, brow furrowed, pursed lips like she was bracing for impact.

“An-oh... Annop... sorry, can you say that again?”

I knew what was coming next.

My name rolled around her tongue like a cold marble – uncomfortable and unwieldy.

“Do you have a nickname?”
“That’s so hard to pronounce!”
“Can I just call you [butchered version of my name]?”

I went to four different schools during my junior years. Which meant I had to introduce myself a lot – in classrooms, at sports clubs, in dance classes. But nothing topped December. Dozens of Christmas cards adorned our mantel, addressed to:

Annopreet. Anooprete. Annapreet. Anopret. Anoopretzel.

Almost everywhere I went, my name got reshaped, twisted, and reassembled like a puzzle no one bothered to finish.

I never voiced how it felt as a seven-year-old. But it felt unfair. Why didn’t anyone misspell Jacqueline’s name? It even had one more letter than mine.

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Nickname or Facade?

Nobody at home, in my family, or in my community ever told me to shorten my name.

Somewhere along the way, I figured out how to disarm them before they could make their jokes.

“My full name is Anoopreet,” I’d say, “but you can call me Snoop.”

And each time, a giggle followed, as if to say, “You’re allowed to be one of us now.”

It fit so seamlessly into what others wanted that it was adopted with speed.

I started receiving Snoopy-branded gifts for my birthday. When Snoop Dogg’s songs played at parties, the entire room turned to me like I was the headline act. And you know what? I owned it.

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Who decides what’s “too difficult”?

If we can learn to pronounce Schwarzenegger and Timothée Chalamet, we can learn to say Anoopreet.

We’re often told this is about pronunciation, but I believe it’s also about power.

Some names are “normal.” Others are “exotic.” Some get said without hesitation. Others are ignored, shortened, or anglicised before they’re even learned.

And this name bias has consequences.

A “hard-to-pronounce” name is significantly less likely to land a job interview.

In Ireland, applicants with non-Irish names were less than half as likely to get a callback.
In Australia, candidates with Chinese, Middle Eastern, and Italian surnames had to send 50% more CVs to get the same response rate as those with Anglo-sounding names.
In the US, candidates with “white-sounding” names get 30% more callbacks than those with Black-sounding names.

It’s not an accident. It’s a system. A system where language is used to erase, where renaming is used as a tool to control, where making ourselves “easier” to label is the price of survival.

So when they ask, “Do you have a nickname?” what they sometimes mean is: “How can I make it easier for myself to relate to you?”

Of course, it could be well-intentioned but unfortunately perpetuates the idea that a diluted me is the only way to connect with an authentic you.

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The power of a name

Names carry weight. They are coded with heritage. They tell stories before we even speak, if you choose to listen.

To mispronounce a name is one thing. To refuse to learn it is another.
It’s not about difficulty. It’s about respect.

For so long, I thought I was asking for too much. Now, I realise I was asking for the bare minimum.

To say my name in full is to honour those who carried it before me.

To ask you to learn it is not a burden. It is an invitation to see me as whole.

At school, I was Snoop.
At university, I was Anoop.
Throughout my career, I have been Anoo.
Now, my full name is Anoopreet.

And I’ll take my time to spell it out to every barista before they fill my cup with mocha as rich as my skin.

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When they mock your name

Here’s what to do:

• Don’t laugh along with them.

• Offer the correct pronunciation. You don’t need to make it easier, shorter, or anglicised.

• Thank them when they put in the effort to get it right.

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When you can’t say their name

Here’s what to do:

• Don’t joke about their name.

• Don’t ask if you can shorten it.

• Ask how it’s said, and listen carefully.

• Repeat it back and ask if you got it right.

• Use it with confidence. Address them by their name, and if you stumble, apologise and try again.

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I want to hear your name

Tell me the story behind your name.

Who chose it for you?
What does it mean?
Which language or culture is it rooted in?

In reclamation,
— Anoopreet