"What's in a Name?"
Probably about 13 years ago, I got an e-mail from some online publication called SERMO. It’s a doctors’ site, and they were looking for various specialists who would be willing to write posts about various things. One of the areas they sought was psychiatrists, and I felt I had something to offer, so I agreed. Somehow, I got listed as among the brass of this organization. I have no idea why.
I thought, from what the e-mail said, that the idea was to talk about various clinical things. There were posts, and they were followed by a comment section, as are Substack posts, and the whole thing was free and open to anyone who was a SERMO follower.
A few peculiarities gradually evolved. One was that people posted about more things than just clinical matters. People talked about politics, religion, and various other things that interested them. This was not what I expected. Also, it turned out that not every SERMO “member” was a doctor. Some were nurse practitioners, and there were some people who were doctors, but not medical doctors: some had PhDs. And there was what turned out to be a lively private messaging opportunity, so members could contact each other, talk about whatever they wanted, and some formed romantic relationships.
It also came to light somehow that although SERMO wasn’t previously known to me, I was previously known to SERMO. They used to operate under a different name. I don’t remember how I came to know this, or be informed of it, but it was a weird curiosity.
Another prominent feature of SERMO was that many members used pseudonyms or aliases. They liked to call them “avatars.” (Who ever said doctors don’t think they’re “god?”) I wrote a post about this one time: people who were not identifiable, because they used made up names. I got hundreds of comments in response to that post: many more comments than I got in response to any other post. I wanted to know why participants didn’t want to be identified — we were almost all doctors, so we shared a lot — and to suggest that they/we should be identifiable. Several commenters told me slightly different versions of the same thing: that if they had to be identifiable, then they wouldn’t make many of the not infrequently outrageous, provocative, or obnoxious comments they made. I said that if someone felt an impulse to make a comment with which they’d be ashamed to be identified, then they shouldn’t make the comment. I suppose it was sort of like suggesting that people grow up. Which they very clearly did not want to do.
I don’t ask anyone to pay anything to be a subscriber to my Substack account. It’s my idea of fun and what I always hope will be interesting connection, and I still have a day job. And I don’t have many subscribers. (Maybe people figure they’ll get what they pay for.) I have about 65. But I have “one” subscriber who does not identify himself, and has now, if I haven’t lost count, subscribed for the third time. He keeps changing his Substack name, and every time he subscribes, I get a new e-mail saying I have a new subscriber, even though the person really isn’t new. I’ve had a little private messaging with him about this — why he has an apparently growing collection of Substack account names, and I still don’t have a clear understanding. I know his actual first name, because he wrote it to me, assuming that’s his real actual first name, but he just likes playing this game with his Substack presence. I don’t know if all of his pseudonyms are active at the same time, or if he has to change or surrender one to adopt a new one. And one comment he made to me in private messaging (a “chat”) seemed to imply that he wasn’t completely sure which name/account he was using, or had recently used.
It’s just a curious thing about wanting to be anonymous. I’ve read very obnoxious comments from Substackers, and I wonder if the dynamic is the same as it was for SERMOans: they wouldn’t make those comments if they had to take personal responsibility for them. Understood. If some wisecrack occurs to you, and you’d be embarrassed to have to take open credit for it, then keep it to yourself.

