The rise and fall of Boris-oh

Cartoon by Glen Le Lievre

Do we live in the age of Boris? Tim Shipman, writing in The Sunday Times, contends that at least since 2016, Britain has been living in the age of Boris, meaning that British consciousness is shaped by Boris Johnson, and is still shaped by him, even though he has stood down as leader of the Conservative Party and soon will as Prime Minister.

As a kid, Johnson was affectionately known as Al. He deliberately changed to Boris – he was named Alexander Boris de Pfeffel – because he thought it would be more memorable, more emphatic. What a smart kid, what a smart-aleck kid.

Mind you, it does remind you what terrible things parents can do to their kids with given names.

I was born on the feast day of St Cecilia. She was a formidable woman – one of the great female preachers of the early Christian church. But as a result, my over zealous father very nearly bestowed on me the name Cecil. I think I might have switched to Boris myself if I’d been lumbered with Cecil.

One of the fascinating elements of the whole Boris saga is the way he became universally known by his distinctive Christian name. This happens to very few people in politics, sport or entertainment and is a sign both of astonishing public recognition and, generally, of some public affection.

Who else can you think of in Australia? Kylie comes instantly to mind. A lot of people have that name, but Kylie Minogue is Kylie. The same is true of Beyonce. There is only one Beyonce. Same with Oprah.

It rarely happens to politicians, whether loved or loathed. There was a brief vogue for calling the flame-haired former president the Donald. But that passed. People who disliked him tended to call him Trump, whereas the full “Donald Trump” was the preferred title for his admirers.

Very few politicians get recognition by their Christian name alone, and then only if it’s highly distinctive. Barnaby, as in the former deputy prime minister, is our stand-out contemporary example. Long ago Gareth, as in Gareth Evans, and Bronwyn, as in Bronwyn Bishop, both benefited immeasurably from their striking Welsh monikers.

Mostly, affection and recognition in Australian public life are evident when a surname is ­softened with an “ie” ending, as in Hawkie or Warnie. Come to think of it, Hawkie and Warnie had quite a lot in common, larrikins, best in their fields, forgiven all sins by their legions of admirers.

The additional “o” ending is also often affectionate – as in Thank God for the Salvos – but not always, as in ScoMo, which was generally rendered in a friendly way but not universally.

Albo is mostly a benign diminutive, but it can be used sarcastically. Males of a certain age, especially if I work with them, inevitably call me Sherro. Only very rarely has it become Sherrie, and that never sounds well. Who wants to be named after a drawing room tipple?

For some reason I have never been able to work out, a group of friends many years ago called me by the French version of my Christian name, Gregoire. One erudite editor used the Latin version – Gregorius.

This tendency to find some diminutive or slang or foreign name is a ritual of mateship in Australia.

But establishing a brand is everything these days. Kylie Minogue sued Kylie Jenner (of Kardashian fame) to stop her appropriating their shared name for advertising purposes in the US. From soul to self to brand – the decline and fall of innate human dignity. Just ask Boris-oh.