As if there wasn’t enough apocalyptic news to keep abreast of, studies show that forgetfulness is on the rise. A cocktail of causes is to blame: microplastics clogging the brain, post-Covid symptoms, Dickensian air quality… whatever the culprit, our memories are taking a pummeling.
Call me an inveterate optimist, but I’m glad to have the company. I had name amnesia before it was cool, as the kids say. Place me in front of a new neighbor or colleague, and I can glad-hand, smile and make friends with the best of them. What I can’t for the life of me do is recall that person’s name. (Too busy being paranoid about leaving specks of spit on their tie, or hiding the Mark Rothko installations of my armpit stains.)
And before you badger me about the nifty memorization technique you learned in your MBA course or off TikTok: save it. I’ve tried them all. Repeating the name – “Ah Jill. Lovely to meet you Jill. Jill Jill Jill” – makes you sound mentally subnormal, if not psychotic. Scribbling J.I.L.L down immediately after your chat is the mark of a glassy-eyed stalker. Mentally “tying” the name to a distinct image and feature of their body (“Jill sounds like hill, and she had a head like Ben Nevis…”) is doomed to confusion at a later date (“Great to meet you, Ben!”). Or, for a nuclear option, why not join a 90-minute “masterclass” I recently saw advertised for the highly reasonable price of $197 (discounted from $350)?
No, I prefer my name-recollection technique – which is to scrap trying to recall it in the first place. What’s the point? At best, I will half-remember their name and get it slightly wrong, which to many is the worst insult of all. Fair enough: when some workplace lackwit gave me a hearty slap on the back and a “Lovely to catch up again, David”, it did sting rather cruelly…
Which brings us back to my method, one I offer up free and fairly: stock up on monikers. You know, the non-names that smoothen every interaction from haircuts to cab-rides: all-purpose nicknames like “chief,” “pal,” “guv” and, my personal favorite, “squire.” In this arena, I feel like men have the advantage over women, who seem stuck with dubbing acquaintances by too-amorous options like “babe” or “sweetie.” And, in my experience, your average beer-bellied cabbie doesn’t take too kindly to being “babed.”
But “chief-pal-guv?” There’s a weirdly positive psychological benefit there. It’s like social lubricant; whenever you fire off those terms, you inch up half a level in closeness. I’ve witnessed its seductive power myself. By the end of a quick tea-break sprinkled with a handful of “cheers pal” reps, people are hugging me goodbye.
Place me in front of a new neighbor or colleague, and I can glad-hand, smile and make friends with the best of them. What I can’t for the life of me do is recall that person’s name
How can that be? Why would not using someone’s name give off a friendlier vibe than constantly trotting it out? My theory: name-calling is inherently creepy and reminds people either of traumatic playground jeers or HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey. You know, the killer robot who was forever droning “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave” and then shutting off Dave’s air supply. Constant name repetition might be touted as a route to closeness by pick-up artists and life coaches but these people, we must remember, are more often than not and through no fault of their own, American. They don’t realize that someone only repeats your name when you’re being ruthlessly sold to. (Listen out for it the next time a cold-caller tries to peddle you life insurance.)
Where was I? Oh yes, name-nesia. In truth, none of my ragtag techniques to obviate bad memory would matter if we played by the utopian rules of industry networking events, meet-ups rife with cheery name-tags. That’s the world I want to live in; one where I can dart my eyes to chest level every time I need to recall who Steve from my bank is. As an added advantage, some attendees helpfully dot their i’s with hearts, or add a cheerful 🙂 to the tag’s corner, thereby marking themselves out as irksome bores from the get-go.
Why does this all matter? Who cares about name-forgetting in a burning world? Welp, not sure if I mentioned it, but memory rates aren’t getting better – in fact yours is probably wilting more every day. Fun fact to bore people with at your next coffee klatsch: 18 percent of people in the United States are over the age of 65. Investors are genuinely excited about the skyrocketing growth of the developed world’s adult diaper market. One prospectus says: “Subscription-based models are gaining traction, ensuring a steady [diaper] supply for chronic users while enhancing brand loyalty.” What a time to be alive: we’re entering the golden age of both incontinence and amnesia, which means we can look forward to a future where you piss yourself but it’s okay, you won’t remember it tomorrow.
Thus, as we collectively morph into dribbling senior citizens asking if the visitors have been, it’s handy to have forged a memory strategy while you’re still compos mentis. So if we meet again one day and I don’t recall your name, don’t get too het up about it. OK, chief?
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