I love my name. Nikki Summer. I do, I love it. Sorry not sorry.
I love my last name. “Summer” was assuredly not the last name my great-grandfather was born with in Poland, but it was indeed the last name he died with in Illinois. Whether he himself or government officials changed his Polish last name to a more assimilation-friendly name like Summer when he immigrated here in the very early 20th century is anyone’s guess. But more than 100 years after he arrived from Poland, here I sit as one of the third generation of my family to be born with the last name Summer.
And wow, did we luck out! Many Eastern European immigrants ended up with “Summers” as their Americanized name, but “Summer” without the “s” at the end is much less common. Which makes me like it even more. It’s easy to spell and evokes a carefree season. It’s quite pretty, if I’m being all girly about it.
I don’t judge anyone’s choices, but for me, taking my husband’s name when we got married was simply never a question. I like my ex-husband’s last name and am happy for my son to have it as his last name. But it’s not my name. I am a Summer. My name connects me to my family, to my ancestors, to my childhood, to our family store, to my hometown, to my very identity. I developed the mantra “I am a Summer” when I was going through my divorce and needed something to ground myself during that whole experience. Since then, I say it to myself whenever I go into nerve-wracking situations, whether it’s before a job interview or a party where I don’t know anyone or an important presentation. I instantly feel connected to and supported by all the Summers who have gone before me. I can feel them all lined up behind me. I suppose this is one of the powers of naming as a concept.
I like the way “Nikki Summer” flows together. The symmetry appeals to me, of two words with two syllables and each having two consecutive consonants (I can really nerd out on stuff like that, like when a digital clock reads 11:11 – it triggers something satisfying in my brain). It’s also pretty hard to google, which I appreciate because I value my privacy and anonymity. You usually end up getting lots of false positives with those other Summers who have an “s” at the end or things like “Nikki’s Summer Vacation Photo Album.”
My legal name, however, is Nicole. “Nicole” means “victory of the people,” which makes me sound more noble than I could ever be. I am victorious, for the people no less! What a heroine. Fun fact – Nicole was the 13th most popular name for girls in 1976, the year I was born. The 13th most popular name for girls in 2023 is apparently Harper. So Nicole was the Harper of her day.
My parents have called me Nikki since day one, and with the exception of a phase I went through in fourth grade where I insisted, unsuccessfully, that everyone call me Nicole, I have always been Nikki to friends and family. It’s how I introduce myself, and it’s the name I answer to. (I did also go through a phase where I wished it was spelled with just one “k,” like Niki Taylor.) Nicole feels like someone else, like someone maybe related to me but much more sophisticated and refined.
So far, so good, right? Nikki Summer – good name, and one that feels like me.
Except. Except this one thing that started to crop up in college and continued through my 20s and 30s and to this day. Inevitably, upon hearing my name for the first time, some dude (it is always a dude) will give me a creepy smile and say “Kinda sounds like a porn star name. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I never know how to respond to this.
Ignorance? “Oh, um, no, never heard that.”
In on the joke? “Haha, it totally does, doesn’t it?!”
Gratitude? “Wow, thank you so much.”
Curiosity? “In what way, specifically, does the name Nikki Summer sound like that of a porn star?” (I am very curious about this.)
Confrontation? “Why would you feel the need to say that to me? Do you think I am actually a porn star? Do you wish that I were? What is wrong with you?”
Nonverbal? [Blank stare / RBF / eye roll.]
Usually, though, I fake-laugh it off and then politely make up an excuse to leave the conversation with that particular dude.
This unsavory connotation to my name led me to try, for a few years, to go by Nicole in my career. I thought Nicole sounded much more professional than Nikki, certainly less porn-y. The last thing I needed as a young female litigation associate in the male-dominated Big Law world was an excuse for someone to say “oh, like that Prince song.” I envied friends who had names that didn’t have diminutive nicknames or that didn’t need nicknames at all. Why couldn’t I just be a Sarah or Emily? Instead, I listed “Nicole Summer” on my resume and work email signature, but then if I wanted to have any kind of relationship with my colleagues, I always ended up telling them to call me Nikki, because that is my name. This toggling between Nikki and Nicole has followed me throughout my career. It is annoying.
Now that I’m working on setting up my own consulting business, I had to finally decide – Nikki Summer or Nicole Summer? Sorry, Nicole. My name is Nikki Summer, and that’s who I would be, in all the parts of my life. I didn’t want gross bros to define my name, I wanted to take back my name.
Like any diligent wannabe consultant, I went to go buy the domain name “nikkisummer” for my consulting venture, only to discover that it was already taken (NSFW, btw!). By a porn star.
When I first landed on the site and realized what it was, I made a little involuntary “aahhh!” yelp and instinctively closed the page. Not out of prudishness, but just surprise. That was not what I was expecting! I double checked the spelling, and yes, it was correct.
My name doppelganger is a porn star.
A different Nikki Summer. Not me. Not wearing a lot of clothes. Advertising all kinds of ways to view even more of Nikki Summer. Again, not me.
I went back to the site and studied it with curiosity. This woman was also Nikki Summer. I don’t know (and, frankly, highly doubt) that Nikki Summer is her real name, the one she was given at birth. Regardless, how could this also be Nikki Summer? Another Nikki Summer could have been anyone. She could have been a truck driver living in California with three dogs, she could have been a saxophone player who traveled the world on tour, she could have been a mom who homeschools her six kids. She could have been anyone. But this is who the other Nikki Summer was. I guess it could have been worse. She could have been Nikki Summer the Neo-Nazi or something.
As I pondered this other Nikki Summer, I wondered if maybe this was her real name and she decided that the skeevy dudes who said the same things to her were on to something and decided to make a buck off of it. I wondered what her life circumstances were that led her to buy the domain name “nikkisummer” for this use, while I wanted to use it for a corporate communications consulting site (certainly seems like quite a snooze in comparison). If Nikki Summer wasn’t her real name, what was it? And why did she choose Nikki Summer? I wondered what she would think of me.
It was eerie to look at the alternative life my name was leading online, and to think about how different these two Nikki Summers are, yet the same because of the letters and sounds that make up the words that people call us. Where had our names led us in our lives? What really is a name?
I sighed and moved on to looking for other domain names, wishing that she’d at least gone with the ever-popular Summers instead of Summer. Generally, though, I wish her well, and I hope our name is serving her up a tidy profit.
At least she’s blond; we’ll never be mistaken for each other beyond our names.
And I bet her personal mantra isn’t “I am a Summer.” At least I’ve still got that.
I once googled myself and found a Larry Deweese in prison in the state of Washington. Isn’t it weird? I cherish your writing as always.
So, so good. Keep it coming Nikki♥️