What counts as an ‘American name’ in a changing nation?

Few things signal the challenge America faces as it adapts to its evolving demographics more than a name.

Four in 10 Americans now identify as nonwhite, according to the latest census report, and they are transforming what counts as a common U.S. name.

So much so that when Katherine He analyzed census data of 348 million American baby names between 1880 to 2017 for the Linguistic Society of America, she found boys are now four times as likely to have “unique” names, defined as “novel, nonconventional names” per 1,000 people. Females are almost three times as likely to have a “unique” name.

“That obviously has to do with an influx of immigrants and names from other cultures coming in,” He said.

“My parents say I am lucky to have a ‘white’ name. It is better for my future,” said Natalie Sydney Phan, a high school senior from Wichita, Kan.

Her parents initially planned to call her Thanh, but her mom “begged” for Natalie after Natalie Portman, “scared that no one could pronounce Thanh,” she said, adding “the struggle to pick the right name is “a story of survival in America … a story of resilience.”

Not fitting in led her to spurn her full name for many years, and then a wave of anti-Asian attacks pushed her to reclaim it, she said. When she wrote about her journey, she said more than a thousand readers wrote in about how their names had affected their stake in the American Dream and their sense of “Americanness.” These readers told her they faced many of the same questions she faced: “Can I call you something else? Where are you really from? What are you?”

Some still struggle with the idea their name is too foreign, too other. Their stories were often triggered by major global events, from wars and terrorist attacks to protest movements, that propelled them to reexamine their names and embark on a slow, often painful, journey to acceptance. Many have embraced their monikers and say it’s time to reclaim what counts as an American name.

After Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Ekaterina Vyacheslavovna Elson started to hesitate when asked about her origins.

“Sometimes I’m afraid to say that I’m from Russia,” said Elson.

In work meetings, says Elson, an international business development project manager, “people comment and say, ‘We don’t want to have anything to do with Russians.’ ”

The 33-year-old, who emigrated from Russia to Alaska at the age of 13, says she has dealt with finding acceptance of her name since childhood. “I would just get made fun of for my name and my accent all the time,” Elson said.

But people have been more vocal during the war. Some of Elson’s Russian acquaintances in told her their clients dropped them shortly after the invasion.

Her first name, Ekaterina, she said, has a Greek origin: “Katerina” from “katharos” meaning pure. It’s also associated with Ekaterina II, or Catherine the Great, the Russian empress and Russia’s longest-ruling female leader.

“Ekaterina has always been a struggle for anyone who attempted to read my driver’s license. I haven’t even touched my middle name yet,” she said. (It’s Vyacheslavovna.)

Her high school gym teacher didn’t even try, instead calling her Elson, the surname of her stepfather who adopted her.

“Russian names are notoriously lengthy, which is understandably difficult for people of many different linguistic backgrounds to pronounce.”

But even the short version of her name, Katya, has been butchered. “I was once told by a classmate in middle school that my name is spelled wrong and should instead be spelled ‘Caughtya,’ ” said Elson.

It was out of sheer stubbornness, said Elson, that she has refused to change her name, even when she suspected it was hampering her job prospects.

“It looked awful to me. Kate Elson or Catherine Elson,” she says. “I’m not going to change my name so I can get a job, be somebody else.”