When creativity meets outright weird
Elon Musk picks out-of-this-world name for new baby.
Dear X Æ A-12:
It feels like I am writing this open letter to a medium-strength password. But, nope, you are a newborn human. And your parents, Elon Musk and Grimes, were so overjoyed by your arrival they decided to Banksy your birth certificate with alphanumeric code.
On Tuesday, your second day on the planet, your mother jumped on Twitter to explain the meaning of your bizarre name. The “X” is for “the unknown variable.” The “Æ” is her “elven spelling of Ai (love &/or Artificial intelligence).” The A-12 equals the “precursor to SR-17,” which is your parents’ “favorite aircraft.” And the “A” also represents “Archangel,” your mother’s favourite song.
I would love to know the other names on the shortlist.
Lounging around in his Occupy Mars T-shirt, did your father ever shout out to your mom: “How about ‘a2 + b2 = c2’? But we pronounce it ‘ Py-thag-orus.’ Harry Hyperloop and Mister Anthropocene are also growing on me. Or maybe we just go with Model B?”
It will be adorable to watch future videos when you’re learning to talk, even if it’s years until you can actually pronounce your own name. Do we call you “Ex”? Or is the “X” more of a Roman numeral and, similar to the iPhone, you answer to, “Ten”? Do you prefer “Ash” for the Æ Latin ligature? Should “A-12” be converted to “CIA” or “Lockheed”?
All I know is you are now guaranteed the top spot on any future listicle titled “Weirdest Celebrity Baby Names Ever.” Gravity, Sunday Molly, Blue Ivy, Apple, Kulture Kiari, Banjo, Pilot Inspektor, Fuchsia, Egypt and Bronx Mowgli ain’t got nothing on you. Even rapper names don’t contain an archaic diphthong. Not since Prince changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol has a human appellation caused this much confusion.
I won’t lie to you, X Æ A-12. Going through life as what sounds like a law of thermodynamics will have its challenges. I thought I had a weird name growing up in North York. But if my parents had decided to randomly string together sentimental things, the byline on this column might now be “Akron Rickshaw 1947 Butter Chicken.”
My theory is this pandemic, during which you were born, is wreaking havoc on the way we humans assign names. If you arrived a month later, who knows, maybe your parents would have gone with “Murder Hornet.” All of a sudden, there are dozens of stories about murder hornets, which is like an apocalyptic sequel to killer bees.
According to a Dow Jones database search of media hits, there have been more than 900 stories about murder hornets. But here’s the odd thing: The first “murder hornet” reference in an entomologist context only happened about a month ago.
Until then, this terrifying insect was referred to as an Asian giant hornet. But during this plague, with nerves already frayed, now it’s a “murder hornet.” And you are embarking upon a life that may well include a buzzy preamble every time you meet someone new or try to go through airport security.
Will you be teased mercilessly on the playground? Maybe.
Will you develop a phobia to tight spaces in high school after getting repeatedly stuffed into your locker by bullies named Dakota and Channing?
Probably.
But is your weird name also a reflection of the unique creativity and artistic drive of your parents? Absolutely.
They didn’t name you so much as project intellectual vanities.
You are special, X Æ A-12. If you have a sibling in the future, you and E = mc2 will have plenty to bond about as adults, recalling the drone strollers and robot nannies of your childhood. Remember when the ZeePal8000 accidentally exploded during a game of hide-andseek? Or when you both snuck into your dad’s secret lair and reprogrammed the neural pathways on the family dog, making it think it was a goldfish?
Good times. But for now, X Æ A-12, there is also the issue of where you will live.
Your father recently vowed to sell most of his possessions, including his mansions. Will you be raised in an underground tunnel or somewhere else in the galaxy? Now that your dad is teaming up with NASA and Tom Cruise to shoot the first ever movie in space, will you join them on the International Space Station, buckled into a Baby Bjorn in zero gravity as you spit up floating contrails of Similac Pro-Advance?
Are you about to become the world’s first superrich homeless baby?
Will you grow up to become a musician, like your mother, who was raised in Canada as Claire Elise Boucher? Will you inherit Tesla, SpaceX, DeepMind or The Boring Company and then, in an act of rebellion, sell them and live as a recluse in the Himalayan foothills after legally changing your name to “Fandango”?
Or maybe you’ll change it to the emoji for Crying Laughing?
The point, X Æ A-12, is you’ve been saddled with one crazy name.
Good luck, little one. Akron Rickshaw 1947 Butter Chicken is here for you.