My friend Lux Nightmare, who recently wrote a fantastic piece about “The End of Alt” for Fleshbot, got me thinking a few months back when she read aloud from another piece she wrote, The Pink Ghetto, (which I know is not a term she created, but a term she embraces when it comes to working in the world of sex) at Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Best Sex Writing 2008 book party.

In it she mentioned how hard it is for anyone who works in sex to use their birth name. In it, she mentioned a few of us who embraced our birth name, but spoke of the challenges of both doing so, and not doing so. See, in this piece Lux (not her birth name) writes how there are few of us who talk about, write about, or play with sex/gender that use our birth name, which leads me to a digression – why is it sometimes called our “g-d given” name, when it’s the name given to us by one or two people that we meet when we come into this world, or at some other time in our lives.

It’s difficult to be under 60 and talk about sex, even your own sex life, or do sexy things on camera or on stage, and use your original name. So I can understand why one might change their name. Part of it may be ego based, perhaps you need to escape who you once were and prove to yourself what you can do. Or perhaps you just really like this new name. Another part of it is for protection, to maintain privacy, so that no sex-raving lunatic will find out where you live, and try to stab your eye out with a pencil. I get it, but I never got it. At least not for myself.

I got into this discussion again at lunch with my dear friend Ducky Doolittle. We got to talking about this pink ghetto, and how hard it is to use your birth name when talking about sex. We got to discussing how using your birth name is an option, but using a pseudonym is a much safer way to walk the stiletto heeled sex walk. This way you don’t have to “own,” or admit to, your words, or actions, at least not right away, not under another name. You can write that you want someone to shove a big, blue 13 inch cock up your bum until you come 20 times and not feel guilty about it. And often your name is a reflection of who you are. For instance, a person might feel sexier and more liberated as Maddie Rox than Marsha Rosenberg.

I often think if we were able to name ourselves when we figured out what we wanted to be called, we’d more likely act like our name, even though I think lots of us grow into the names we are given. Still, even if we chose our own names, we’d probably change them a few times in our life, because it’s not all that often that we feel like the same person in every phase of our existence. And each time we’d change our names completely, we’d be a different person than the person we used to be (just to state the obvious).

When you work in sex, whether you actually work in the act of it, or just write about it, or both, it’s easier to change your name then have to explain what you do and who you are to everyone you’ve ever known. And so it makes perfect sense that a lot of performers, artists, writers and sex researchers do just that, change the name that they’ve been attached to for so long. The name that they associate with being the lonely, loser in high school (or maybe that’s my issue) or the one that brings up images of their parents yelling at them. By becoming unattached to one name, we can become attached to another name, and persona.

I’ve never been that way. Honestly, it’s not how I’m wired. I tried once. When I was on radio, I tried to be Jamye Edwards, a name that came about from my Aunt Amy’s failed acting career (she was Amy Edwards). I thought if I could make something of her name, our name, I could make her proud. But after 9 months going by another name, I gave up. Or caved in. Or whatever. I’d become quite accustomed to being Jamye Waxman. Like Pavlov’s dog, Jamye Waxman was my bell to ring and run to.

And so when it came to writing/talking about sex, and sex education, I didn’t flinch when I wrote my first article under my birth name. I didn’t think twice about it. Until years later, when I realized I’d always be associated with sex, whether or not I wanted to be.

You can’t change the past, and I still don’t think I would even if I could. I’ve made this decision and I’m proud of where I’m at. I want to keep moving forward as a sex educator, and I know I’ll make some good choices and probably some ill-advised ones over the next few years, but no matter what I’ll own them.

I’ll have to. They’ll have my name attached to them. I live in this pink ghetto, and that’s okay. Besides – after green, pink is my favorite color.