I’ve wanted to change my name for as long as I can remember.

As a grade schooler stringing friendship bracelets and taping Kirk Cameron photos torn from Sassy magazine to my wall, I was preoccupied by the fact that my name ended in a consonant. More to the point, I was unduly bummed that said bracelets were for friends blessed with adorable -ie and -y names (looking at you, Susie, Sari, Cari, Leslie, Stacey, and Jenny), while I was stuck with the harsh-sounding Caren. How could I possibly compare to my peers, who, with such sweet and perky names, were clearly destined to shine brighter (and attract the likes of Mr. Cameron)?

In older adolescence, I became even more frustrated because Caren did not lend itself an obvious “for short” nickname. Stephanie could be Steph or Steffi. Elizabeth had even more options: Liz, Lizzie, Beth, or Liza! The best my friends could come up with for me was Care Bear. What aspiring academic/thespian/therapist/writer wouldn’t want to share a name with a multi-colored plush toy?

To be fair, my parents specifically avoided “cutesy” name options in favor of a “mature” name with longevity. (Lovely intention, sure, but in hindsight, perhaps a bit ironic? See Evolution of a Karen, below.)

I met my first IRL Karen as a freshman in high school. We were biology lab partners and became fast friends. Shortly thereafter, I met another Karen in my youth group who was simply the coolest. Though I was happy to welcome these new people into my life, I was quietly disheartened to learn that not only was my name burdened by poor phonetics and a dearth of eligible nicknames, it also was not unique.

At least the sound of it wasn’t unique. But the spelling was. So, both out of necessity and a desire to differentiate myself, I became Caren with a C. Put it on my name tag, folks! Hi! My name is: Caren with a C!

First day of softball practice? Checking in at the doctor’s office? Confirming a restaurant reservation?

Anyone: Your name?

Me: Caren with a C.

A: Hmm, I don’t see a Karen on the list.

Me: It’s with a C. C-A-R-E-N.

A: [audible sigh, head shake]

Me: Like Karen, but with a C? C-A-R-E-N.

A: Hmm, could it be under any other name?

Me: It’s C-A-R--

A: Oh! Caren! Sorry, I was looking under K.

Back when I actually left my home, the one place I was able to sidestep this “with a C” exchange was Starbucks, where I’d instead opt to roll the dice to see what the barista came up with. My dark roast was often Sharpied with Erin, Sharon, Carol, or Kara. Sometimes Karen. But never Caren.

Eventually, I came to appreciate the spelling of my name (breathe easy, mom!), even using it in my company logo.

Evolution of a Karen

Which brings me to the current state of affairs with “the Karen.” By now we are all likely familiar with “the California Karen,” the maskless Starbucks customer that berated a barista who, per the county’s coronavirus guidelines, would not serve her. And the “Central Park Karen” who called the police on a Black man after he asked her to put her dog on a leash in the Ramble.

As the nation reckons with systemic racism after the death of George Floyd and during a global pandemic, the internet has become rife with viral videos and memes calling out white women as “Karen,” now the umbrella term to classify perceived racism, white anger, and entitlement.

A decade after Mean Girls ("Oh my God, Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white.”) and a Dane Cook comedy special poking fun at the jerky “Karen” in every group, the origin of Karen as a pejorative is debatable. What may have started as a joke is now a complicated catchall term used by influencers, news outlets, even Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot on Twitter.

Assigning nicknames to women who do awful things dates back centuries. NPR’S Karen Grisby Bates nicely contextualizes the lineage of Karens as entitled white women in her recent article and Code Switch podcast. Many of us remember Karen’s forerunner from the 1990s, Becky, the gal who is cheerfully unaware of her white privilege while remaining complicit with the system that maintains it.

Long before Becky—dating back to the antebellum era—there was Miss Ann. “Miss Ann was a kind of cheeky, in-group shorthand amongst Black people,” Grigsy Bates says in her podcast. The moniker references the white woman who is both complicit in the system and aware of her white status.

Given such precedent, is there any harm in using “Karen” to classify a particular type of person?

I’m in the business of words. Words matter. Written or spoken, our words have significance and impact. The ubiquity of the internet and cell phone video combined with the current climate means our words are recorded, shared, and scrutinized more than ever before. We are being held accountable for the insult we muttered at Trader Joe's this morning, the rant we released at the school board meeting last month, and the questionable Twitter thread we engaged in six years ago.

To be clear, I’m not an expert in the field of race, language, and power by any stretch—I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of my own education on this topic—but I do assert to be a human who cares about the welfare of other humans. And one who uses storytelling to inspire and create positive change.

The future of philanthropy requires us to question whether we are part of the problems we are trying to solve. Are we communicating openly and honestly with our supporters? What voices are we amplifying? Whose stories are we sharing?

Good communications folks are no strangers to storytelling. The great ones are taking this moment to intensify our efforts—to think about audiences and subtleties and histories that we may not have explored in the past.

To consider whether labeling someone a Karen, instead of using their real name and explicitly addressing their problematic behavior, grants the wrongdoer a level of anonymity. To assess if euphemisms help or hinder our telling of stories that could support reform.

We are having the hard conversations, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable enough to understand how our own internal biases and assumptions show up in our writing, and we are seeking ways to be better people, not just better development communications professionals.

Writers are in the empowering and intimidating position to make a public impact with our words. Yes, I constantly worry I will say the wrong thing. And sometimes I will—we all will. Getting comfortable with the uncomfortable is how we learn.

So despite my past attempts to distance myself from my name, and my 2020 gut reaction never to voice it aloud again, now is oddly the time to embrace being a Caren. I will continue to lead with empathy, listen, learn, and amplify underrepresented voices—that is, I’ll fight to be “a good Caren.”

Are you reassessing your organization's communications? Want help? Drop me a line through the Contact form or reach out to caren@carenfriedmancomms.com.