If you think about it, names can be quite trippy. Sure it seems simple: shout “Yves!” and get my attention. But how does that work, really?
When you ask for someone’s name, what you’re really asking is “What is the configuration of your brain such that not only it merely responds to a certain vibrational pattern in this breathable medium, but also instinctively brings attention to the source of the vibration?”
When they answer “my name is ____,” what they’re saying is “make this specific vibration, ____, and you have my attention. Truncated variations of this pattern may exist (ie. nicknames).” They may also add, “I will also bring attention to a completely different pattern, but I use it mainly for electronic communication and electronic recreational activities (ie. screennames and gamertags).”
And then you ask how they spell their name. “Which ordered set of glyphs do you use to encode such identity?” They would then either spell it out, by either vocally identifying their component glyph names or by marking them with either graphite or by electronic means.
My name is simple yet so strange. It’s encoded in just four letters: ‘Y’, ‘V’, ‘E’, ‘S’, and arranged specifically as such. Even more mysterious is that the latter two glyphs are silent. This is because the name’s language of origin has pronunciation rules that greatly differ from my own, but that’s another topic. So what we get is something that’s just one syllable, composed of one vowel and one consonant: the close front unrounded vowel, /i/, followed by a voiced labiodenal fricative, /v/. That’s all there is. Any nicknames I’ve had are from people saying it wrong, and I’ve long since gotten tired of correcting them, so it sticks.
Even though we can identify people by name, many of us know more than one person of the same name. So we identify them further by nickname, hobby, place of origin, or a distinctive personal feature. When we talk of two people named Bob, for example, one may be referred to as “Bob from uphill” and the other as “Pineapple Bob”.
When you read out a word, you’re doing three things at once: reading the glyphs themselves, pronouncing the sounds they encode, and visualizing an image, if any, of whatever’s associated with what you read. The last bit is important, especially with names. Matter of fact, if none of the following apply, I’d forget your name literally within 5 seconds:
I already know someone else, real or fictional, by that name or something sounding like your name
I can easily associate your name with a thing, concept, or event
I can form a pun with your name; the stupider, the better
Your name/surname literally describes who you are or what you do
You look like either someone else I know, or a celebrity, or (especially) a fictional character (better for remembering faces than names)
I see you often and your name just osmosed into my memory
Your name evokes a strong emotion (ie. if I had a crush on or a rivalry with someone with your name, I’d be more likely to remember it.)
For example, when I read “Scizor”, I instantly think of the Pokemon species by that name, but I also visualize a pair of scissors. Whereas if I read a person’s name like “Annie”, I’d probably have trouble remembering. An image of a face won’t do; faces and names are mutually exclusive in memory, which is why we often remember one but not the other (what’s an “Annie” look like?). However, if Annie’s surname begins with an ‘S’, then I could associate “Annie S.” with an NES, something I could readily identify. This is why I could effortlessly remember the names of 700+ Pokemon, but would always forget the name of the classmate sitting right next to me.
But what about place names? Chances are, you only remember them by something visually or eventfully iconic about them, or by any stereotype about its inhabitants, or, less commonly, how they’re shaped on a map. “Los Angeles”? Hollywood sign and earthquakes. “New York”? Skyscrapers and Lady Liberty. “Rome”? Coliseum. “Brazil”? Fútbol and the Amazon forest. “Russia”? Onion-topped buildings, movie bad-guys, dashcam compilations, cold weather, and Putin. “Somalia”? Pirates and the number ‘7′ (its shape on the map).
Like people names, place names are hard to remember unless you associate it with something more tangible. (What’s a “washing ton dee see”? Why do I think of the White House instead of someone washing a ton of “dee-sees” whatever those are?) Again, puns work. (Wait, you live in the state of Missouri? Poor thing, what can I do to make you feel better?)
Same applies to technical terms and brand names, but that’s for a different blog...
