My Name is Not Carl, It’s Charlsie
I spent the last four months of my life being called Carl. Reader, as you can infer, Carl is not my name. My name is Charlsie. Ms. Niemiec, if you’re nasty.
My clients didn’t start out by calling me Carl. They said my name correctly. But suddenly after the initial kick-off, I was Chelsea. And then Carlisle. For a moment down the line, I was Carsie. I imagined soon enough I would be Cersei from Game of Thrones and felt a surge of excitement at this possible development, but instead, Carsie turned into straight up Car (as in “I just bought a new car”). And then it happened, Carl. I was Carl. No matter how many times I said, “My name is Charlsie” over Zoom, I was met with “Carl this” and “Carl that.”
Carl.
Carl.
Carl.
Staring dead eyed into my MacBook camera hearing the words Carl over and over again despite my attempts to correct them each and every time quickly brought flashbacks of elementary school teachers saying my name wrong and asking me why my parents couldn’t just give me a “normal” name like the rest of my peers. Thinking back, I remember my parents having to march into my classrooms to ask my teachers why they couldn’t say my name correctly, why it was so hard for them weeks into the semester to get it right: “If you can say Chelsea, you can say Charlsie.”
When the Carl of it all began, I initially tried to laugh it off. I would get off Zoom and say, “Siri, play ‘That’s Not My Name’ by the Ting Tings.” But with every correction and then the blatant disregard, the more it ate at me. Did they really not know my name? Was this some kind of game they were playing? Was this a power or control tactic? I like to believe that people are doing their best and don’t have bad intentions, but the constant correction of “My name is not Carl” being met with “Okay Carl” left me screaming internally.
While I love Shameless, I do not resonate with dear Carl Gallagher.
Once after a two hour Zoom meeting and 17 Carl’s later, I googled “Carl.” I found out the North Germanic meaning was “free man.” I also found out that carl as a noun means “a peasant or man of low birth.” When I think of Carl, I think of Carl Gallagher, the fictional bad boy from Shameless. At one point, I asked my sister if I looked like a Carl. In Carrie Bradshaw fashion, I couldn’t help but wonder if I looked like the Carl’s Jr logo. I tried to make it funny by making memes of myself as famous Carl’s and making jokes to friends, “This is just who I am now — Carl.” I even told my friend Miranda, “I can never add these clients to my reference list because if someone called them to ask about Charlsie, they wouldn’t know who they were being asked about.”
I tried to find the humor as maybe a Carl would, but the truth is — there is nothing humorous or funny about being called the wrong name over and over again on a weekly basis.
Recently, Amber Ruffin from The Amber Ruffin Show on NBC’s Peacock platform had a segment where Amber showed the constant mispronunciation of Kamala Harris’ name. She pointed out that if you can say Pamela, you can say Kamala.
Start at 7:37 to hear this incredible monologue. Also, if you aren’t watching The Amber Ruffin Show every Friday on Peacock…remedy this now.
The segment was so powerful to me because Amber didn’t just stop there — she talked about complicated white celebrity names and how the majority of people have no problem learning them like Emily Ratajkowski and Saoirse Ronan…yet names with Black roots are deemed too difficult to say at an overwhelming rate (and we all know the research that Black sounding names can hurt job applicants). Amber spoke about Black names being rooted in freedom and power and went on to say: "We created names that fill up your lungs, your chest, and your whole mouth when you say them out loud. So fix your mouth and say it right."
While I am not a Black woman, I understand what it’s like for someone to try and erase your name into something it’s not because it makes them feel more comfortable. I understand what it’s like to see someone ignore you because they don’t want to say your name aloud. At the end of Amber’s monologue, I cried because she said her writer's names: Shantira Jackson. Dewayne Perkins. Oluwademilade Adejuyigbe. Knowing how names are so embedded within people’s identities, it cut me deep to hear those names aloud and to think about the times those beautiful names have been ignored, disregarded, and disrespected because of racism and ignorance.
“So fix your mouth and say it right”
Learning how to pronounce someone’s name is one of the simplest ways to show respect. Remembering how to pronounce someone’s name is also a simple way to show respect. Names are a huge part of who we are as people, and no one should have to continuously be slapped in the face with the wrong pronunciation.
I made it through my contract with the clients that diminished me into nothing but Carl. Part of me is angry that I didn’t fire them, but as a freelancer during a pandemic, I needed to keep that retainer money coming into my bank account. I’m not proud that I sucked it up and bit the side of my cheek until it bled so many times over being called Carl just so I could maintain a decent freelance salary for myself. While Carl is dead and those clients are out of my life, I wanted to write this because it’s important to me to reclaim my name and the respect it deserves — the same respect all names deserve. I write this for every time I’ve been told “Why is your name so weird?” and “Were your parents high when they delivered you?” and “I just can’t pronounce it, so you’re going to be Chelsea.” If you can say Ashley, Mandy, Kylie, or Chelsea — you can say Charlsie.
My name Charlsie Luckey Niemiec. No, my dad wasn’t named Charles. A pioneer in sportscasting named Charlsie Cantey who worked for ESPN from 1985-2002 was the inspiration that kept me from being another Chelsea. I am grateful for my name being different, being unique, being wholesomely me.
I once looked up Charlsie in a baby name book and it said, “Small, strong woman.” I know my mother didn’t know that definition when she formally named me on a Thursday back in February of 1988, but the definition fits me perfectly.
I am small, standing at 5’2”, and I am a strong woman. My name may not be on coffee mugs or key chains in souvenir shops, but my name is beautiful. My name deserves to be said correctly. My name deserves to be remembered.
And so does yours.