It wasn’t all smooth sailing, though. For some reason, maybe it was because there wasn’t enough chloride in the water in the ’80s and it seemed most of us hadn’t developed enough lip strength to pronounce our Ts, my name was often morphed into Jacinnnnnah. I didn’t mind so much because the mispronunciation was all mine too; I didn’t have to share.

On the rare occasion I would run into another “Jacinta”, we’d look at each other with a knowing that we belonged to something rare. “Do most people call you Jacinnnnah?” we would laugh. And then we’d comment on how special the name was and that the other Jacinta was one of the first we’d ever met. How delightful, we’d giggle, we were very, very special, weren’t we?

Then, something terrible happened. The third ever female prime minister of New Zealand had parents who for some reason had dispensed with the T, gone straight for sloppy lips and named her JacinDa ArDern. I went to bed on October 16, 2017, rarefied and woke up the next morning as a bastardised version of my former self. Suddenly, no longer special, I started to get called JacinDa.

It was around this time that I met an ally. I had been sending emails to myself (don’t ask) but had been clumsy with the email address and had been sending them to another Jacinta Parsons. After a long and confused courtship, we each decided not to kill off the other Jacinta Parsons, and instead joined forces. A friendship was born. The other Jacinta Parsons, who happens to be a New Zealand resident, is cooler than I am. But I feel like she’s improved our brand, so I don’t mind.
And then, just when things had started to recover after JacinDa ArDern resigned, Senator Jacinta Nampijinpa Price rose in the national consciousness as the Voice referendum debate kicked off.

Then our mate Dan had to go and throw another spanner in the works. At 5pm on September 27, 2023, Daniel Andrews resigned as premier of Victoria. Beyond the political, social, cultural and economic relevance that this had to the State of Victoria – there were other issues closer to hand. His replacement as premier would be a Jacinta. Jacinta Allan.

Every time her name was mentioned while she was the minister for transport and infrastructure, or her time as the minister for suburban rail loop, my tummy would flip. As the only Jacinta on the block, I had trained my ear to jump on any utterance of my name. And now, this? Premier of Victoria? Her name would be EVERYWHERE.

But I realised it wasn’t just me. Other’s had surely felt the same when they shared names with the powerful premiers of Victoria: Daniel, John, Jeff, Steve, Henry, Albert, James, Rupert, Harry, George, Alexander, Thomas, Duncan, Graham, John, James, John, John, John, Stanley, another Thomas, another John, and one more, William, Ted, James, William, Denis, another William, James, James, Bryan, William, William, Charles, Richard, Allan, William again, Lindsay, John, George, John, Charles, Ian, George and … well… Joan.
I’m not sure how William or John might have felt, I mean, they would have probably become
quite accustomed to hearing their names associated with those that wielded power and
influence. But I’m not sure about all the Joans. Would they have gone to bed on August 9,
1990, and woken up the next morning no longer just a Joan, but now a Joan that shared a
name with the first female premier of Victoria?

And now, for only the second time in the history of this state, a woman – someone who happens to share my first name – is sworn in as premier. One of only 14 women to be a head of government in the nation’s history. I realised that the utterance of my name, in this context, was historic.

So, instead of fighting it, I’ve decided to accept the role as the premier of Victoria and now spend a lot of time wandering Spring Street hoping to give a hapless journalist an exclusive on what I plan to do. Jacintas/Das of the world, unite!

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