“What a p*ssy.”
“It’s obvious who wears the trousers.”
“Does he know he’s just taking her dad’s name?!”
These were some of the responses when I tweeted recently I was proudly taking my wife Phoebe’s surname. The tweet was little more than a thinly veiled excuse to share my favourite wedding photo, but that didn’t stop it getting thousands of likes and comments from total strangers.
Most of them were positive, but when you’re not used to online attention, it’s unnerving to get snarky remarks from people with cryptic usernames and no profile pictures. I tried not to take it personally – to remember that they spend all day posting this sort of thing – but it was hard to stop myself replying, especially to the last of those three comments above.
The first two are depressingly predictable, but that third person obviously thought he or she had found the big flaw in my virtue-signalling wokery. The thing is, a desire to smash the patriarchy wasn’t even that high on my list of reasons for becoming Mr Tansley - but taking Phoebe’s dad’s name was very near the top.
I knew long before we got engaged that Phoebe didn’t want to lose her surname. Both of her parents had died at a young age, and her name helped her feel connected to them. Keeping it meant a lot to her, so who was I to deny her that?
However, my choice to take Phoebe’s name was a gradual process rather than a flash of inspiration. The more we talked about it, the more I realised I just didn’t feel that attached to my own surname. I don’t dislike Livesley - and I’m very close to my parents who I’m still lucky enough to have – but I won’t miss correcting people on how to spell and pronounce it multiple times a day.
So why would I feel the need to keep it after getting married? Sure, we could have done like many other couples and each stuck with our own names (double-barrelling Livesley and Tansley would never have worked). But historically, husbands have had it pretty easy when it comes to marriage – so given the chance, why wouldn’t I go a bit further and try to redress the balance? Having that option is a privilege. It’s hardly smashing the patriarchy, but maybe it puts a tiny little dent in it.
Phoebe feels that my taking her name is a gesture of love, a show of respect, a statement of intent for our lives together that says her history is just as important as mine. That makes it a no-brainer in itself, but it was the birth of our daughter 18 months ago that cemented my decision. I knew I wanted the three of us to have the same name, but it also struck me that she’ll grow up thinking this is normal. If she chooses to get married in the future, wouldn’t it be great if she makes her own decision about her name, and nobody – on or off the internet – bats an eyelid?
Once I’d made my mind up, the reactions from people I actually knew were a mixed bag too. I’d expected under-the-thumb-type jokes from some of my blokier mates, but they were all completely on board with the idea.
My mum, however, didn’t totally get it when I told her. I tried to approach the conversation from a starting point of “Phoebe doesn’t have to take my surname”, but when we couldn’t even agree on that, I knew we were going to differ on the matter. The chat with my dad was a lot shorter – he was so indifferent to my announcement that I didn’t need to bother with the lengthy explanation I’d prepared.
I suppose my mum’s reaction was understandable. The pattern of women taking men’s surnames has been baked so firmly into society that it’s easy to baulk at changing things around. But saying “well, that’s just what we’ve always done” is rarely the right attitude to anything.
What’s more, it feeds into that weird cycle that leads complete strangers on social media to throw their hands up in despair – and ask what the world’s coming to – when they see a man inverting an outdated tradition for perfectly valid reasons. An especially threatening gesture if (shock, horror!) it’s got the whiff of feminism about it.
I’m not saying all men should take their wife’s surname. Nor am I suggesting I’m a trailblazer or the only man to have ever done it (a quick Google tells me that every couple of years someone publishes an article about it being a “growing trend”). But in an on-the-fence kind of way – a position that’s increasingly rare in the us-versus-them setting of social media – I’m just suggesting that more men should consider it.
And the attention I’ve had, for a decision I really didn’t think was a big deal, is proof that we still make too many assumptions when it comes to marriage.
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