Browse our analysis articles on baby names.
For many Asian-American immigrant families, names like Ethan and Emma aren't just popular choices. They're calculated hedges against a discriminatory world. Here's what the data shows.
If you were born in the late 1980s with three Jessicas in your class, you have almost certainly ruled Jessica out for your daughter. That instinct turns out to be one of the most reliable forces in baby naming history: each generation systematically avoids the names of their own cohort.
I built a baby name database as a side project, and somewhere in the process of cleaning 140 years of SSA data, the numbers stopped feeling like data and started feeling like a national autobiography.
Every year, Sofía loses a tilde — and a family tells a story about America. Three spellings, three generations, one name at the center of bicultural identity.
When Gwyneth Paltrow named her daughter Apple in 2004, it seemed inevitable that Apple would enter the mainstream. It never did. I kept finding the same pattern in SSA data while building NamesPop: celebrity baby names rarely surge immediately — when they spread at all, it takes years.
Netflix A/B tests thumbnails. Your baby's name has no test cohort — so here's the brand strategy framework that makes the decision easier.
Kade and Liam have nothing in common etymologically. But say them aloud and most people will agree: one feels harder, the other softer. This is sound symbolism, a well-documented psycholinguistic phenomenon in which phonemes carry meaning independent of etymology.
National baby name rankings hide as much as they reveal. Some names are effectively regional phenomena — popular in one state, unknown in another — mapped onto persistent cultural, religious, and demographic fault lines.
Middle names seem like a given — almost every American has one. But that universality is surprisingly recent, and the forces that created it are now quietly reversing. This piece traces the middle name from Protestant class marker to near-universal convention and examines what today's trends suggest about its future.
For bilingual families, choosing a baby name is a negotiation between two phonological systems, two sets of family expectations, and two cultural identities with very different ideas about what a name should do.
Brooklyn was a working-class borough before it became a fashionable baby name. That reversal is not coincidence — it is name gentrification, a predictable process by which names travel upward through class strata, losing their original social context along the way.
Choosing a baby name feels permanent — because it is. Yet surveys suggest nearly one in five parents experience meaningful regret about the name they chose, not because the name is objectively wrong, but because naming is an act of identity projection loaded with social pressure and impossible expectations.