The Day I Picked My Name

A PRIVATE ENTRY BY MISTRESS SARAH BLAKE

I was not born Sarah Blake. The day I picked my name was a random afternoon in November of 2003, between outfit changes, in the most casual conversation of my life.

It was my first photo shoot in LA, day two of my brand new career, jet lag still in my bones, posing for a photographer who was patient with me because I had no idea what I was doing yet. We took smoke breaks and chatted, the way you do on long shoot days. At the time I was going by a different last name. It was fine. It was forgettable. Even I knew it was not very inventive, and I had picked it myself.

Somewhere between setups, the photographer squinted at me and we got to talking about the name. He tossed out “Blake.” Just like that. One syllable, offered up between shots like he was suggesting where to get lunch. Something in me went: yes, that one. There was no lightning bolt. No dramatic music. I finished the shoot, went back to where I was staying, and told my agent I wanted to change my stage name. And it was done.

The day I picked my name took thirty seconds and a stranger’s instinct, and it turned out to be one of the most permanent decisions of my life.

Sarah Blake portrait, remembering the day a stranger named her

Here is what gets me about it now, all these years later. Some people agonize over their name for months. Mine took thirty seconds. That name went on box covers and magazine spreads. That name built websites and businesses. That name is still working for me today, decades later, and a whole identity was handed to me for free by someone who was just making conversation. If you want to know how that identity turned into everything else, my about page picks up the story, and there is more of it in the diary.

The day I picked my name, I never thought to ask if that photographer knew what he had just handed me. I sometimes wonder if he ever knew what he handed me. Probably not. That is the funny thing about the moments that change your life. Half of them do not feel like anything at all while they are happening. They feel like a Tuesday. You only see them glowing when you look back. So here is to the casual suggestions, the throwaway comments, the little seeds people plant without knowing. Sometimes a stranger names you better than you named yourself.

If a stranger ever handed you something that changed everything, I want to hear about it.

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