The mysterious case of the missing two syllables

"Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! .... How may I live without my name?  I have given you my soul; leave me my name."

~John Proctor, in Arthur Miller's The Crucible 

I like my name.  Jessica.  I think it is both pretty and strong, and though it's based on a biblical name meaning "to behold," it has the very cool distinction of being reinvented in its current form by William Shakespeare.  Plus I think it fits me.  

However, I do not care for being called the name "Jess" -- never have, never will.  There's nothing wrong with it, and it's a perfectly lovely name for people who go by it....  But it's simply not my name.  In lower school there was another Jessica in my grade, and teachers always wanted to know if they could call us nicknames to distinguish us.  The other Jessica relented and agreed to "Jess" but wanted to alternate with me which of us got to go by "Jessica."  I didn't think it was our fault or our problem that teachers couldn't handle two girls with the same name -- there were two Adams and no one's life seemed any harder just because "Ad" isn't a thing.  To me it's a basic right to be called by your name, and I said we could both go by Jessica because that was our name.  I stubbornly refused to let anyone call me Jess.  I remember one teacher trying to coerce 8-year-old me into accepting the monosyllabic shortening; she learned I was as stubborn as I was quiet.  My name is Jessica.  It's my name. 

I managed to keep all three syllables of my name through college -- always fighting hard for those final two that people discriminate so unfairly against -- but when I moved to New York City and entered a profession where I'm constantly meeting new people, I found that "ic" and "a" were under fiercer attack than ever.  For one thing, people in Indiana tend to ask if they can shorten names, while most people I meet in the city respond to "Hi, I'm Jessica" with "Hi, Jess."  (I assume this is because the pace of the city is so fast that New Yorkers are too utterly exhausted to go for those extra two syllables.  Either that or the constantly blaring honking horns at red lights and gridlocked intersections have caused a profound amount of hearing loss among the city's pedestrians.)  This meant that I was always correcting people rather than simply answering their question of what I go by, and I never figured out a gracious way to correct people without them thinking I was being uppity about it.  Compounding my fight for "ica" was the fact that I work in an industry where I meet new people all the time rather than ever settling in with the same group of coworkers for an extended period -- and to correct everyone I meet proved exhausting. 

I tried going by the nickname my family calls me, thinking perhaps if I took a great weight off everyone's shoulders by cutting out one of those troublesome syllables myself, people I meet wouldn't feel the need to further shorten it...  but even if I introduce myself as "Jessa," more often than not the "a" still just proves too cumbersome for people.  Or they tell me they just don't like "Jessa" and would rather call me Jess.  Which reminds me of this skit -- because I'm pretty sure your opinion on someone's name doesn't actually give you a say in whether it's still their name or not....  And adding to my problem with going by "Jessa" was the fact that I've always loved it as the type of nickname that's born out of affection, familiarity, and closeness -- surrendering it as a true nickname by friends and family to instead be used by those who couldn't be bothered to use my full name in the first place made me feel like I was losing both "Jessica" and "Jessa."

So I've been fighting a losing battle for my name ever since moving here.  Most people call me Jess within five minutes of meeting me, most of my good friends call me Jessa, and once in a blue moon someone calls me Jessica.  But fortunately, not once since I was about five has anyone tried to call me Jessie.  Because I really, really, really hate being called Jessie....

And then there was today.  This morning, after being called "Jessie Wessie" once and "Jessie" two more times, and racking my brain for how to tell someone older and more experienced and outranking me that that was like nails on chalkboard to me and not my name, the issue was forced by the fact that there were two of us named Jessica, and when the woman said "Jess" we both turned around....  So once again the issue arose of how to distinguish multiple Jessicas.  But unlike in lower school, "Jessica" -- ya know, our name --  was not presented as an option for either of us.  We were to choose between Jess and Jessie.  We both immediately responded, "I'm not a Jessie," much to the woman's surprise. "Well then how am I going to distinguish between your names?" she replied, looking totally flummoxed.  

"What about Jess and Jessica?" I suggested.  And she replied, completely seriously and slightly perturbed, "I have to say the whole name?  All three syllables?"  I smilingly assured her it didn't take too long to say....  However, though "Jessie" was fortunately nixed for both of us, "Jessica" still failed to make it into the day's vocabulary either.

I fear I'll never quite understand the prejudice "ica" faces every day.  My fiancé's name, Jonathan, is also three syllables, and people rarely shorten it to Jon.  Do women's names get shortened more than men's?  Is it specific names that get shortened?  I know an Eliza and I've never heard anyone try to call her Liza or Liz -- three syllables isn't too much in that case.  Do the demeanors of certain people invite name shortenings?   My acquaintance named Eliza is three or four inches taller than I am -- do shorter people invite shorter names?....  I might never understand why I have to fight for my name.  But I will continue to do so.  Because it is my name.