When someone who shares your name hits the headlines, it can open up unexpected lines of communication
FOR MOST PEOPLE, Susan Boyle was a relatively unknown name, up to three weeks ago. But for me, it is the name I've known all my life. Like so many others, I watched Britain's Got Talentthe night the singing Susan Boyle took to the stage and made a name for us. At that moment, I became a member of an odd group of people thrown together by coincidence and linked by a rather more famous namesake. I empathise with hundreds of Harry Potters who were blithely going about their business before their name was launched into the vernacular by a fictional, spectacle-wearing, young wizard.
More than a dozen years ago, I naively searched for my first e-mail account address to discover I’d been beaten to it by 69 other Susan Boyles. A quick web search throws up a selection of Googlegängers – a portmanteau of Google and Doppelgänger. A Googlegänger is the person other than yourself that comes up when you google your name.
There are many of us out there. I often get e-mails intended for other Susies and Sues. Maybe it’s the secret cyber-stalker in me, but I like finding out more about these women. One Susan, living in Australia, takes yoga classes with Shanthi and Marie at their yoga centre in Elsternwick. (They said they were sorry for the e-mail mix-up but I was free to pop in for a class if I was ever in their neck of the woods.)
Another Susan Boyle is an artist specialising in the human form, while Dr Susan Boyle has a family practice in Atlanta, Georgia. There is a Susan Boyle in Brookline, Massachusetts who graduated from Harvard 50 years ago – her face beamed out at me from the photo a classmate e-mailed. A Susan Boyle who travels extensively has amassed quite a few Wyndham hotel rewards points (Susie, you’ve definitely got enough for a nice upgrade next trip).
I wish I had the community spirit of Susan Boyle, a member of the West End Civic Association in Boston, who can be spotted picking litter on weekend mornings (this Susan also has an excellent carrot cake recipe). Susan Boyle, married to Jeff, visited Pittsburg last spring with their newborn son. And I often think about Susan Boyle who bravely embarked on yet another round of IVF recently. I have never met these women, only our names link us, with typos and mis-transcribed e-mail addresses providing a snapshot of their lives.
But it is another Susan Boyle – an unassuming, initially unspectacular woman of substance and talent – that has made my name a household one. That Susan Boyle, a Scottish 47-year-old former health worker and amateur singer, is responsible for my rocketing popularity on Facebook. Every time I log on there are new messages. It's curious how an inbox full of, "you rock" and, "wow!!!! ur awwwwsome!!!!" messages can lift one's spirit. I know I'm not the intended recipient, but even a fraction of misdirected, reflected fame is heartwarming. In an effort not to tarnish my namesake's good reputation, I have been politely replying, apologising for not being the rightSusan Boyle.
However, Susan’s fame has had an unexpectedly unsettling effect; I feel strangely removed from my own name. It’s as if my name has decided to get famous without me. It just walked off, hedged its bets with some other Susan Boyle and stepped into the bright and shiny spotlight of reality television stardom.
"Are you the real Susan Boyle?" asks George from San Francisco. How do I answer that one? Well, yes and no. I'm definitely a Susan Boyle, but it seems not theSusan Boyle. Prior to this, I was right up there in the Google rankings, sitting snuggly between the doctor and the artist, but now I'm receiving messages from communications advisors offering "webinars" on using Facebook effectively to connect with my fans.
When I reply to the requests of friendship and those supportive, you-changed-my-life, I’m-so-like-you e-mails, I know I disappoint. Nikki from New York at least wrote that I “sounded nice, anyway”, and an agent said they could probably represent me even if I wasn’t the Susan they were looking for – “but, can you sing?”
Simon Cowell, Demi Moore, Oprah Winfrey and Larry King are dropping myname. It's everywhere, on the radio and in print, off having fun, and I've nothing to do with it. My name sounds unfamiliar, a pair of words so over-repeated they have detached from meaning to become just sound. I know I am not the only person knocking around with a famous name – there was, after all, a James Bond a few years below me in school – and I've even found an internet support group for people who share famous names. But however unsettled I'm feeling about recent events, I have an inkling the other Susan Boyle is finding things somewhat more overwhelming.
GOOGLEGANGERS