Why always… Christopher
Why this title matters
The title of this book, Always Christopher, Never Chris, is more than a phrase. It is a declaration. It is a boundary. It is a story of identity reclaimed and a brand built with intention. For me, this title represents clarity and belonging. It signals how I choose to show up in the world—fully, authentically, and unapologetically.
Names are powerful. They carry history, meaning, and identity. They tell stories about who we are and who we are becoming. This chapter is about my journey with a name that most people shorten without a second thought. It is about why I chose to embrace the full version and what that choice taught me about leadership, inclusion, and the art of showing up.
The Journey of the name
The power of childhood names
Like many people named Christopher, I grew up answering to Chris. It was casual, familiar, and easy. My parents, siblings, and friends all called me Chris. That was the norm—until my mom needed my full attention.
My mom had a system (and still does). It started with ‘Chris.’ If that did not work, she escalated to ‘Christopher.’ Then came ‘Christopher Allan.’ And if I heard ‘Christopher Allan Bylone,’ I knew I had about three seconds to get in front of her. That was the signal: drop everything and move.
Now here is the twist. I come from a Catholic family, and for my confirmation, I chose the name Anthony in honor of Saint Anthony. That story deserves its own chapter. So when I was really in trouble, the full name rolled out: ‘Christopher Allan Anthony Bylone.’ Picture it—my mom standing firm, voice steady, eyes locked in, calling out every syllable with purpose. That name was not just a string of words. It was a summons. A moment of reckoning.
Over time, this naming system became more than a disciplinary tool. It became part of my identity. Each version of my name carried a different weight, a different tone, a different layer of meaning. It taught me that names hold power—not just in how others use them, though in how we choose to claim them.
Origins & intent
To understand how I came to embrace the name Christopher, we have to go back to July 23, 1981—the day I was born. My mom wanted to name me after my dad, Allan. She imagined a legacy, a connection. My dad, however, was not keen on the idea of having a junior. For reasons of his own, he preferred something different. So they compromised: I would be named Christopher.
And in 1981, Christopher was the second-most popular name for boys. Go figure.
Though the story did not end there. My mom has always been a devoted Winnie the Pooh fan, and she adored Christopher Robin. She dreamed of naming me Christopher Robin Bylone. It was whimsical, heartfelt, and full of meaning. However, she worried that ‘Robin’ might invite teasing—maybe because it was seen as gender-neutral or less common for boys at the time. I joke with her now: ‘Little did you know that would not have stopped the teasing anyway.’
So they landed on Christopher Allan Bylone. My middle name honors my dad, even if I did not carry his first name. Growing up, everyone called me Chris. It felt normal, expected. However, because Christopher was such a popular name, I often found myself in classrooms with multiple Chrises. And for some reason, I was always the one who volunteered to go by Christopher. Maybe it was the uniqueness. Maybe it was the rhythm of the name. Maybe it was something deeper I did not yet understand.
Over time, Christopher became the name I used in formal settings—school, work, introductions. Chris remained the shorthand in social circles. However, even then, something about the full name felt more aligned with who I was becoming. It was not just about syllables or popularity. It was about identity. About choosing to show up fully. About honoring the name my parents gave me—and the story behind it.
Identity & belonging
Voice & misgendering
When I was young, my voice was high-pitched—so much so that in eighth grade, I was still singing soprano. I was not even a tenor yet. In choir, I was placed in the soprano section, which led to some interesting dynamics. I could sing Christine Daaé’s part from The Phantom of the Opera with clarity and ease. Some of the girls were not thrilled about that. And honestly? I kind of loved it.
That moment says a lot about who I am. I have never been one to fit neatly into expectations—especially those tied to identity. I break molds. I challenge assumptions. I show up as myself, even when it surprises people.
However, this came with a double-edged sword. Back in the days before cell phones, people had to call a landline to reach you. If my parents were not home, I would answer and take a message. The problem? I was forgetful. Still am. My memory is basically Dory-level. So when people followed up and asked, ‘Did you get my message?’ my parents would say, ‘No.’ And the caller would respond, ‘Well, we told your daughter.’ To which my parents would reply, ‘You were not speaking with our daughter—you were speaking with our son.’
This happened often. My voice did not match people’s expectations, and they made assumptions. And those assumptions did not stop in childhood. Even as I entered adulthood and the professional world, people continued to misgender me based on my voice. They could not see me, so they relied on vocal cues—and those cues did not align with their assumptions about gender.
Eventually, I realized I needed a way to assert my identity more clearly. That is when I began using Christopher—intentionally, consistently. It helped. People associated the name with a male identity, and it reduced the frequency of misgendering. I started answering the phone with, ‘Hello, this is Christopher.’ I signed all my emails as Christopher. I asked people to refer to me that way.
Belonging by design
Even in social settings, I now use Christopher. Though my family and a few close friends still call me Chris—it is part of our shared history, and it is how they get my attention. It is a name layered with meaning.
Choosing Christopher was not just about dodging misgendering. It was about stepping confidently into every space—be it a bustling boardroom or a cozy coffee chat—and saying, ‘I belong here, just as I am.’ This choice became a leadership act, a way to model authenticity and inclusion. Belonging is not accidental; it is designed through intentional actions like this.
Professional identity and branding
From correction to brand
So why am I telling this story—about how I came to embrace the name Christopher? Because it is not just personal. It is professional. And it is strategic.
I owe a big thank you to my friend John Ferguson, former Chief Human Resources Officer at NASCAR. In the summer of 2024, we were speaking on a panel at an HR conference, surrounded by senior HR executives. During the Q&A, someone asked a question and addressed it to ‘Chris.’
When I responded, I took the opportunity to clarify—not just for that person, however for the room.
‘I would love to answer your question,’ I said, ‘though first, I would like to remind everyone that my name is Christopher, not Chris.’
The room responded with applause and laughter. People came up to me afterward saying how powerful and brave it was to assert my name in that moment. I felt proud. Seen. Affirmed.
Though the real shift came months later, in a conversation with John. He asked me, ‘How did you get to the place of wanting to be called Christopher?’
I shared the story—how I was misgendered as a child because of my voice, how I wanted a way to signal my identity clearly from the start. What surprised me was that John, someone I have had countless deep conversations with, was asking this now. So I asked, ‘Why are you bringing this up?
His response changed everything.
He said, ‘When you were on that stage, you had power. The room was full of senior executives, so the dynamic was relatively balanced. However, one day, you will be speaking to an audience of junior professionals. They might call you Chris. And in that moment, you will need a way to assert your name that is clear, confident, and kind.’
He continued, ‘You want to stand up for yourself, yes. However, you also want to make sure people feel valued, not embarrassed. You need a way to communicate your identity that invites understanding, not defensiveness.’
Then he said something that stuck: ‘You have already got it. You say, “Never Chris.” That is your brand.’
I laughed. ‘You are right.’
He said, ‘Make it your calling card. Put it on mugs. T-shirts. Swag. Own it!’
Building the brand
I wanted to introduce myself to the world not just through posts or podcasts, but through something lasting and intentional. So I did what any branding-minded person would do: I went to GoDaddy. I searched for neverchris.com. It was taken. Still working on that. Though neverchris.org, .net, .co, .biz? All available. I bought them.
Then I paused. I am not a negative person. I do not lead with ‘never.’ I lead with ‘always.’
Thus, I searched again. alwayschristopher.com was available. So were .org, .net, .co, .biz. I bought them all. And yes—I also bought alwayschristopherneverchris.com and every variation I could find.
John’s final advice was this: ‘Put it out there. Let people see it. Let them learn it without needing a conversation.’
So I did. If you visit my LinkedIn profile, you will see it in my headline: #AlwaysChristopher #NeverChris
It is more than a hashtag. It is a declaration. A brand. A boundary. A welcome.
And it is how I arrived at the title of this book. Always Christopher. Never Chris.
Reflection & invitation
Names matter. They are the first step in creating belonging. When we take the time to learn and use someone’s correct name, we demonstrate respect. We signal that they matter. For me, getting someone’s name right is not a courtesy—it is a commitment to inclusion.
As leaders, we set the tone. We model what respect looks like. We create spaces where people know they are seen and valued. That starts with something as simple—and as profound—as a name.
What name—or part of your identity—have you reclaimed or redefined? How has it shaped how you show up in your life or work?
Consider the labels you have outgrown, the nicknames you have shed, or the titles you have embraced. What do they say about your journey? What do they say about who you are becoming?
The title of the book reflects a journey—a journey of identity, belonging, and leadership. It is a reminder that clarity is powerful, authenticity is magnetic, and inclusion begins with intention.
This book is a living story, and so is your life. I hope this chapter encourages you to pause and ask: ‘What parts of my identity deserve more space, more voice, more visibility?’
And if you are still figuring that out: that’s okay. So am I. That is the beauty of becoming. We do not arrive; we evolve.
Here is your invitation: Reflect. Reclaim. Redefine. And above all, show up as your bold, authentic self, whatever that looks like today, tomorrow, and always