Me, Myself and the Little 'i'

I was born Stephanie Diane Karp, a name that felt better suited for wedding invitations than a child on a tricycle. As a kid, I couldn’t stand it. “Stephanie Diane!” was the soundtrack of my childhood, usually yelled by an adult who had run out of patience. To be fair, I usually had it coming; I gave adults plenty of reasons to practice their projection skills. Nothing good followed that double name. You hear it, you brace yourself.

Somewhere around third grade - give or take a school picture - I decided my first name had caused enough trouble and announced I would now be going by my middle name. Diane felt calmer. More grown-up. Less likely to be scolded at the breakfast table. My teachers were willing to play along. My friends stared at me, unsure how seriously to take the announcement, and my family did not participate in the rebrand. By the next school year, though, the Diane experiment had fizzled and I was back to where I started.

Later, I found out my mom had always meant to spell it Stefani, inspired by Stefanie Powers but streamlined. My name came straight out of the TV Guide, which somehow made me feel glamorous. I didn’t have a clue how the spelling got derailed at the hospital, but by the time 1996 rolled around, I was given a rare opportunity to correct the whole situation. Paperwork was involved...and a judge...and probably a bored clerk who had seen far stranger requests.

Even after I finally became Stefani on paper, the world didn’t exactly adjust. People who don’t know me still call me Ste-FAH-ni, like Gwen Stefani’s long-lost cousin, and I correct them only when I have the energy…so, almost never. And despite my name being spelled in big, bold letters in my email signature block, people still manage to reply with “Stephanie” or “Stefanie,” as if their fingers refuse to type the unfamiliar version. I suspect autocorrect and muscle memory hold secret meetings about keeping my name traditional.

So I did it. I became Stefani, the name I was supposed to have all along. Not everyone gets a do-over on their birth certificate, but I took mine the moment it showed up. My younger self would have appreciated the upgrade. Now, everyone calls me Stef or Steffie, which feels right. When someone uses my full name, I still pause and assume I’m in trouble. It took a while, but the name and I finally grew into each other.

A little grace, a little grit, plenty of laughter,

~Stef