My name is Jennifer.

Not Jen, not J and especially not Jenny. About a month ago, I received a Facebook message and it started like this: “Hey Jen.” This wouldn’t have been a problem except for one thing: I didn’t even know him. My Facebook profile clearly states “Jennifer.” Where did this guy come off giving me a nickname when he didn’t even know me? Nicknames are reserved for friends, even acquaintances who know you soberly, but not for random strangers.

I would like to reiterate: My name is Jennifer.

When moving from northern California to Boston, I was warned about the formality of the Northeast. My usual informal first-name basis with my friends’ parents would not fly on the Atlantic coast. But, as laidback as my upbringing was, there was one aspect that was highly formal and seemingly basic – listening to what people’s names were.

Don’t get me wrong, a lot of people in the Golden State have nicknames. Heck, my father has given me about a hundred since I was born.

And of course there were the Nicoles who wanted to be Nikki, the Samanthas who wanted to be Sam and the Matthews who wanted to be Matt.

But when I told people at home that my name was Jennifer, they called me Jennifer. A couple of cool conversations upgraded you to Jen, but if you were a distant acquaintance, you stuck to the birth-name.

I have even found professors calling me Jen when it is clearly printed Jennifer on the roster. My peers hear the teacher call me that nickname and therefore assume it must be accurate. All of a sudden I have 35 some-odd people thinking my name is Jen.

Now, you are probably wondering why something so miniscule, so seemingly irrelevant to anything and anyone, would make me so distraught.

Well, there are two specific reasons.

First, when I was born, my parents decided not to give me a middle name. Why? Who knows and basically who cares, but the fact of the matter is I have no middle name. Therefore, I only have two names: my first and my last. My name is near and dear to my heart. So when people I’ve just met or barely know feel the need to shorten my name, to make their lives easier or to feel closer to me, they are making my already short name even shorter. And that’s just mean.

So you probably are thinking to yourself, “Why doesn’t this whining girl stop writing a column and actually correct people?”

And this leads me to my second reason – if I correct people, I come off as a rude snob.

I can see myself in your shoes. I meet you at a party, you introduce yourself as Stephen and we strike up a conversation. Then the next day I bump into you on the street and call you Steve, and you snap at me and say, “I’m STEPHEN.” What do I think? Wow, he’s a snob. See my point? I will never be able to correct anyone.

I found that it’s a vicious cycle, and no one slows down to listen.

I know not everyone shares my strong feelings about nicknames. There are always the exceptions and the only way to find out is by asking. Seriously, just ask Jessica if she likes to be Jess or Joseph if he enjoys Joe.

And there is nothing wrong with a nickname. I find it personable and sometimes downright flattering. My friends call me Jen all the time and that’s all right. It’s when strangers assume they can just call me Jen that I get a bit fired up. It’s as though they aren’t really listening to me.

So all you Vickis who are really Victoria, Lizs who are really Elizabeth, Stus who are really Stuart or anyone who has ever experienced the traumas of losing a part of them (or a couple of letters), this is for you.

And for the rest of you, I would like to introduce myself: My name is Jennifer.

-Jennifer Coit is a sophomore marketing major.