I’m a Feminist and I Changed My Last Name. Here’s Why

Seaman. My unfortunately appointed last name had been my calling card since a dark day in Grade 6 health when we learned about the male reproductive system. The plethora of hilarious and/or disgusting nicknames have long followed me since high school, so when the day finally came to get married, you’d think I wouldn’t give changing it a second thought.

But I had a really hard time with the whole concept of it. As a proud feminist, my first thought was to never change it for a man. My man didn’t care either way. I had come to almost enjoy the shock people had when they heard my last name and knew that at least everyone would always remember me.

The Seaman name has a long, fond history: From the days when my father would call the local Pizza Hut for our Friday night treat and insist on giving the name “Seaman” for pick up---there’s nothing quite like hearing “Pizza for Seaman!” bellowed across a busy restaurant---to the countless times my friends would say “It’s OK to laugh” to the service person I had carefully pronounced (or spelled out) my name out to.

Over the years, it had grown on me. I was that person who was proud, if not cheeky, when saying it aloud. And back in grade school, I had imagined that when I would meet the love of my life, he would probably have a worse last name than mine. The Seaman name was, in my mind, a closed book.

Then I met Chris Reynolds, the man who is now my husband. He was no stranger to the Seaman mockery. Here’s how he first made contact with me: I was on a skiing trip in Tremblant when I received an odd text from a close friend. It read: “bahahahhaha. Seaman.” I initially thought she was having a sudden high school flashback, but when I asked her about it she explained that this “Chris” guy had stolen her phone at a bar and decided to text back on her behalf.

Fast-forward a year or so, and I meet Chris at a friend’s dinner party and immediately fall for him. It was only after a few dates that he told me he was that “Chris,” feeling no remorse whatsoever, his grin widening as I tried to act angry.

We had never talked about changing my name or really any traditions when we decided to get married. Though I had spoken to Chris about not wanting to hurt my father by changing my name, as I knew he cared deeply about it. On the flip side, I also felt like it was my choice and being presented with the option of becoming Erin Reynolds became more and more enticing. Oh, the days of wincing whenever I was asked for my full name would become a thing of the past! I could get vanity plates! I could have my name embossed on things and not seem like a perv! But I retracted the thought and tossed it aside until a few weeks before our wedding.

Then something just clicked. Chris and I had gone out to pick up my wedding band. Over dinner I just blurted it out: “I’ve been thinking, and I’m going to change my name.” Chris’s eyes welled up. He was totally surprised at his reaction, as much as I was. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to me, I guess,” he said.

I felt good about my decision. I told my family, knowing my dad would be upset. But he didn’t care after I told him that if Chris and I had kids they would have Chris’s last name. My dad did, however, seemed more pissed that my name would change on the FASHION masthead.

I guess what this boils down to is choice. And choice is what feminism means to me. The freedom to choose to take on a new name, or to be a new version of yourself (in my mind, Erin Reynolds is a classy lady who wears lace gloves and doesn’t have food in her hair all the time). Or the choice to keep your name regardless of marital status. I felt like a deeper bond was created between Chris and me that day when I told him I would become a Reynolds. I think there’s something deeply romantic about sharing a name, and I’ve got to admit, it’s the first time in my entire life that I’ve been able to say my name without hesitation.