When Jennifer Lopez recently married Ben Affleck, she decided to change her last name, emerging from the star-studded ceremony a new woman: Jennifer Lynn Affleck. Mrs Affleck is not unique in her decision. Many adopt their partner’s last name, satisfying a social norm, securing certain familial protections, or simply because they want to.

Still, some prefer to retain their surname. Maybe they are known professionally with that name or they prefer their last name. One wonders if Prime Minister Jacinda Arden will become Prime Minister Jacinda Gayford after finally tying the knot, whenever that will be. 

Then there are those who resolutely refuse to conform to the misogynistic power structure that comes with taking on a man’s name.

“When I returned to New Zealand at age 14 after living on islands in the Pacific, I saw the systemic oppression of women in my own culture that others seemed oblivious to. Maybe living in remote villages and being exposed to violence against women in my childhood made me extra sensitive to it, compounded by the male-centric rhetoric from the church I grew up in,” says Ana Wilkinson-Gee.

“At my wedding rehearsal, I remember the shocking moment of coming face-to-face with Western traditions that I was expected to perform. The celebrant was practising his notes, saying ‘I now present to you: Mr and Mrs Daniel Gee.’ 

“It was a ‘say what now?’ knee-jerk reaction in me that led to an awkward discussion about why he was saying my husband’s name, as if my identity had just evaporated from existence and going forward, I was to be a silent shadow, hidden behind the one who had the penis in the relationship.”

Ana’s then husband-to-be was not at all surprised that she would keep her maiden name and in fact, in the spirit of equality, he chose to take hers. “We chose to join our maiden names together and both became Wilkinson-Gee. We walked up the aisle together, hand-in-hand, representing how we planned to do life together, as equal partners, both giving 100%, not 50/50.

“We’ve just spent the last decade raising our three next-gen Wilkinson-Gees in a village in India, with the mission to bring empowerment to women. We provide a safe place where local women come to develop their sense of identity and self-worth through sewing training and fair-pay employment with our social enterprise fashion business called Holi Boli,” says the director, founder and designer of the ethical clothing brand, now based in Hamilton.

Empowering women is not glamorous work, according to Ana. “I’ve spent hours and days sweating in over 40° Celsius at government offices to get ID cards issued for my Indian seamstresses so that they are no longer invisible,” she says. “To have our name in writing is a powerful moment and gives renewed strength and leverage to our sisters, nieces and aunties, hence making their world a better place.”

Undeniably, a name is tied to one’s identity. It is a descriptor that allows people to make quick judgments and assumptions about somebody. So, for most Asian women, specifically those of Chinese descent like me, we traditionally retain our surname at marriage. 

But strangely enough, the custom is hardly an expression of marital equality but one that further perpetuates the patriarchal plot. Surnames, to us, are also known as our clan names with a unique Chinese character, meaning and history. 

Therefore, a married woman who typically does not adopt her husband’s name continues to be identified by her father’s lineage and clan. Genealogical records, which focused on the male line of descent, reflected this and usually kept wives out, almost as an outsider in her husband’s family. So, the irony is that by not taking my husband’s name, it’s also something inextricably rooted in peak patriarchy.

Furthermore, the surname is actually the first name in Chinese custom, subliminally making our family name the forefront of our identity. A few Chinese people have switched to copy the Western custom. But officially, I’m Foo Mei Anne while my husband is Kong Yi Wen, with Kong being his surname. Unofficially, I could be Mrs Kong-Foo. Our wedding hashtags were cheekily #KongFooLoving and #NotKongFooFighting.

Cheesy hyphenated surnames aside, I personally did not change my surname because I didn’t have to and didn’t even know how to. 

My friends and I are not aware of the facility or bureaucracy for changing names in my home country of Malaysia and frankly, we didn’t think too much of it. It just wasn’t a norm. Yes, we had courtesy titles, especially in official settings, but legally, most married women were still recognised by their maiden name. 

But things got complicated and confusing when my husband and I moved to New Zealand in 2019. The most awkward moment happened when we were signing up for an event at church and since we both had different surnames written down, we were not immediately identified as a married couple.

There’s that word again: identity. Whether you change your name or not, it’s more about choosing who you want to identify most with: a filial daughter, a married woman, or just you as a person. 

For Canadian-born Chinese Karen Fong, who married British Chris McDaid, it was clear why she chose not to change her name. “My ‘new name’, Karen McDaid, would make me sound like a white Irish woman, which I am not,” she says. Asked about hyphenation, she answers, “We couldn’t agree which surname should come first. Plus, it would make our girls’ names very long. Anyway, I like my name and I don’t see why I have to take on someone else’s. I’m not becoming a new person. I’m still going to be me.”