Susie Dent on nominative determinism

The other day, a friend provided me with a much-needed giggle when she related the name of the doctor who had seen her husband for a routine testicular examination, a Dr Pullum. Our conversation turned immediately to the subject of ‘nominative determinism’, a slightly off-putting label for a rather delightful subject: the names of individuals that seem uniquely suited to their occupation.

The topic was such a welcome diversion from the state of the world that I put out a request on social media for other examples, kicking off with one of my favourites, the eminent urologist Mr Burns-Cox.

Given that nominative determinism has proved a rich hunting ground for comedians and journalists, I was never going to be disappointed by the response. The answers – all 4,000 of them – came in thick and fast. They were such an entertaining read that I’d like to share some with you.

The most frequently mentioned example was Sarah Blizzard, the well-known TV meteorologist, together with Usain Bolt, surely the most supremely named athlete of all time.

In the field of sports he is followed closely by the hurdler Marina Stepanova, and the former Belgian footballer Mark de Man. I was assured by many that a history teacher from Perth in Scotland really was called Norman Conquest, although I did feel my leg being pulled just a little with that one.

There can be no jesting when it comes to a perennial favourite involving two authors of a verified medical paper on urethral syndrome – I will never fail to delight in the names AJ Splatt and D Weedon.The excellent podcast No Such Thing as a Fish, which takes equal pleasure in examples of this kind, has also celebrated the urologist named Dr Dick Chopp.

Corporate couplings often invite a good degree of mirth. Take Doolittle & Dalley in Kidderminster, or the firm of solicitors in Warwickshire called Wright Hassall.

Speaking of law, it would be wrong not to mention the late Igor, Baron Judge, the judge. Or Judge Judge.

The choice of nominative determinism – whose examples are also known as aptronyms – is based on the belief that people gravitate towards the professions their name suggests. Optometrists might bear this out, if Dr Ashley Seawright and I C Notting are anything to go by. Lovers of BBC Radio 4’s Gardeners’ Question Time will also be familiar with such perfectly fitting names as Pippa Greenwood and Bob Flowerdew.

Followers of BBC News back in 2021, meanwhile, clearly revelled in the name of a journalist reporting on the fuel crisis when petrol pumps everywhere ran dry. Phil McCann lightened the nation’s mood as his name flashed across our screens.

So do our names really shape our lives? If so, I might have become a car mechanic if I hadn’t turned out to be so impractical. There are certainly many examples of the opposite being true. If there is such a thing as an inaptronym, it would surely apply to the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Manila, Cardinal (Jaime) Sin, as well as PC Rob Banks, a policeman once interviewed on ITV News, and former CEO of Food for the Poor Robin Mahfood.

Some studies suggest that our names are a determining factor in our core identity. It’s true that we each have a varying mental image when hearing or reading a name. We may have very different pictures of someone called, say, Aphrodite, as opposed to Mavis (casting no aspersions on either name).

But for most of us, nominative determinism simply offers us the chance for some respite when the world at large seems a little bleak.

And on that note, I leave you with another favourite example, sent to me by someone who, while on a German exchange, once visited a hairdresser named Herr Dryer.