This summer I’m babysitting a very feisty and completely wonderful 3-year old who lives with her artsy upper-class family in a famously chic and gentrified [name_m]New[/name_m] [name_m]York[/name_m] neighborhood. I remain drop-jawed by the names of her classmates and playmates, all of whom are from her same age group and social background.
[name_f]Adelaide[/name_f]
[name_m]Julius[/name_m]
[name_u]Matisse[/name_u] (!)
[name_f]Ivy[/name_f]
[name_u]Ruby[/name_u]
[name_f]Stella[/name_f]
[name_f]Ellie[/name_f]
[name_f]Sarai[/name_f]
[name_m]Atticus[/name_m]
[name_f]Clementine[/name_f]
[name_f]Lilah[/name_f] [name_f]Rose[/name_f]
[name_m]Felix[/name_m]
[name_u]Arlo[/name_u]
[name_m]Jasper[/name_m] (2)
[name_f]Naomi[/name_f] (3, one of whom goes exclusively by [name_f]Mimi[/name_f])
[name_f]Eleanor[/name_f]
[name_f]Holly[/name_f]
[name_f]Ione[/name_f]
[name_f]Georgia[/name_f] “[name_u]Georgie[/name_u]”
A whole cohort of kids, all apparently named by Nameberries! This is also compelling anecdotal evidence for “common” names being entirely a construct of class and location. [name_m]Jasper[/name_m] and [name_f]Naomi[/name_f] may not rank in the Top 10, but they’re more common on this kid’s playground than [name_m]Jacob[/name_m] and [name_f]Isabella[/name_f] – never mind [name_u]Jayden[/name_u] and Navaeh.
