How popular is the baby name Marguerite in the United States right now? How popular was it historically? Use the popularity graph and data table below to find out! Plus, see all the blog posts that mention the name Marguerite.

The graph will take a few moments to load. (Don't worry, it shouldn't take 9 months!) If it's taking too long, try reloading the page.


Popularity of the baby name Marguerite


Posts that mention the name Marguerite

Girl names that end with a T-sound

Girl names that end with a T-sound

In the U.S., most of the names given to baby girls end with a vowel sound. And many of the remaining names end with an N-sound.

So, what about girl names that end with other sounds?

Below is a selection of girl names that end with a T-sound, regardless of last letter. The names are ordered by current popularity.

Charlotte
A French feminine form of Charles, which is derived from a Germanic word meaning “free man.” Here’s the popularity graph for Charlotte.

Scarlett
From the English surname, which originally referred to a person who worked with a woolen cloth called scarlet (which was often dyed red). Here’s the popularity graph for Scarlett.

Violet
From the type of flower. Here’s the popularity graph for Violet.

Margaret
From the Ancient Greek word for “pearl.” Here’s the popularity graph for Margaret.

Juliette
A French diminutive of Julie. Here’s the popularity graph for Juliette.

Colette
A short form of the French name Nicolette. Here’s the popularity graph for Colette.

Kate
A nickname for Katherine. Here’s the popularity graph for Kate.

Elliott
From the English surname, which is derived from the name Elias. Here’s the popularity graph for Elliott.

Scout
From the English vocabulary word. Here’s the popularity graph for Scout.

Bridget
A variant of the Irish name Brighid, meaning “the exalted one.” Here’s the popularity graph for Bridget.

Arlette
The French form of the Germanic name Herleva. Here’s the popularity graph for Arlette.

August
From the name of the month, which was derived from the ancient Roman title Augustus. Here’s the popularity graph for August.

Egypt
From the country in northern Africa. Here’s the popularity graph for Egypt.

Amethyst
From the type of gemstone. Here’s the popularity graph for Amethyst.

Harriet
The English form of the French name Henriette. Here’s the popularity graph for Harriet.

Bernadette
A French feminine form of Bernard, which is made up of elements meaning “bear” and “hardy.” Here’s the popularity graph for Bernadette.

Odette
A French diminutive of Oda. Here’s the popularity graph for Odette.

Montserrat
From the island in the Caribbean. Here’s the popularity graph for Montserrat.

Annette
A French diminutive of Anne. Here’s the popularity graph for Annette.

Kit
A nickname for Katherine. Here’s the popularity graph for Kit.

Merritt
From the English surname, which is derived from the place name Merriott, meaning “boundary gate.” Here’s the popularity graph for Merritt.

Nicolette
A diminutive of the French name Nicole. Here’s the popularity graph for Nicolette.

Paulette
A French feminine form of Paul, which is derived from a Latin word meaning “small.” Here’s the popularity graph for Paulette.

Ayat
An Arabic word meaning “signs.” Here’s the popularity graph for Ayat.

Beckett
From the English surname. Here’s the popularity graph for Beckett.

Yvette
A French feminine form of Yves. Here’s the popularity graph for Yvette.

Dalett
Coined by reality TV couple Larry Hernández and Kenia Ontiveros (Larrymania). Here’s the popularity graph for Dalett.

Yamilet
A Spanish form of the Arabic name Jamilah. Here’s the popularity graph for Yamilet.

Janet
A diminutive of Jane. Here’s the popularity graph for Janet.

Millicent
From a Germanic name made up of elements meaning “labor” and “strength.” Here’s the popularity graph for Millicent.

Cosette
A French word meaning “little thing.” Here’s the popularity graph for Cosette.

Jannat
An Arabic word meaning “gardens.” Here’s the popularity graph for Jannat.

Josette
A diminutive of the French name Joséphine. Here’s the popularity graph for Josette.

Everest
From the world’s highest mountain, located in Asia (but named after a British surveyor). Here’s the popularity graph for Everest.

Marguerite
A French form of the name Margaret. Here’s the popularity graph for Marguerite.

Evolet
Invented for a character in the action-adventure film 10,000 BC. Here’s the popularity graph for Evolet.

Jeanette
A diminutive of the French name Jeanne. Here’s the popularity graph for Jeanette.

Lynette
Based on the Welsh name Eluned. Here’s the popularity graph for Lynette.

Antoinette
A feminine form of the French name Antoine. Here’s the popularity graph for Antoinette.

Honest
From the English vocabulary word. Here’s the popularity graph for Honest.

Rehmat
An Arabic word meaning “mercy.” Here’s the popularity graph for Rehmat.

Georgette
A French feminine form of George, which is derived from an Ancient Greek word meaning “earthworker.” Here’s the popularity graph for Georgette.

Harvest
From the English vocabulary word. Here’s the popularity graph for Harvest.

Cennet
A Turkish word meaning “heaven.” Here’s the popularity graph for Cennet.

Lizette
A diminutive of Elizabeth. Here’s the popularity graph for Lizette.

Summit
From the English vocabulary word. Here’s the popularity graph for Summit.

Mannat
An Urdu word that refers to a vow made to a deity in exchange for the granting of a particular wish. Here’s the popularity graph for Mannat.

Suzette
A French diminutive of Susanna. Here’s the popularity graph for Suzette.

Saint
From the English vocabulary word. Here’s the popularity graph for Saint.

Spirit
From the English vocabulary word. Here’s the popularity graph for Spirit.


Less-common girl names that end with a T-sound include Lilibet, Ayelet, Sonnet, Meklit, Garnet, Olivette, and Delight.

Which of the above do you like most? What others can you think of?

P.S. Here are lists of girl names that end with D-, K-, L-, M-, R-, S-, V-, and Z-sounds.

Sources:

Where did the baby name Trenny come from in 1968?

Trenny Robb, 1967
Trenny Robb, 1967

From 1968 to 1970, the baby name Trenny was popular enough to appear in the U.S. baby name data:

  • 1970: 6 baby girls named Trenny
  • 1969: 7 baby girls named Trenny
  • 1968: 20 baby girls named Trenny [debut]
  • 1967: unlisted
  • 1966: unlisted

Where did “Trenny” come from?

A bridesmaid, believe it or not.

On December 9, 1967, Lynda Bird Johnson — the elder daughter* of President Lyndon B. Johnson and Claudia Alta “Lady Bird” Johnson — married U.S. Marine Corps Capt. Charles Robb in a private ceremony in the East Room of the White House.

One of the bridesmaids was the groom’s sister, a photogenic 20-year-old named Marguerite Trenholm “Trenny” Robb.

Interest in her spiked after the wedding photos came out, and she became somewhat of a media darling for the next few years. In 1968, for instance, Trenny appeared on The Merv Griffin Show and The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, she modeled in magazines like Ladies’ Home Journal and Mademoiselle, and she even flew to Rome to screen test for an Omar Sharif film.

The media followed her modeling career over the next couple of years — even after President Johnson was replaced by President Nixon in early 1969.

But then Trenny decided to leave it all behind and pursue other interests. In 1970 she married, moved to a farm in Vermont, and started a business making pot pipes and related paraphernalia (love beads, peace posters).

These days, Trenny is still in Vermont, but she’s moved on from making pipes to making lamps.

What are your thoughts on the baby name Trenny?

P.S. The English surname Trenholm comes from the name of a village in Yorkshire. The place name can be traced back to a pair of Old Norse words meaning “crane” (as in the bird) and “islet.”

Sources:

*Weirdly enough, the wedding of the younger Johnson daughter, Luci, also had an influence on the baby names…

Famous female names from 1916

Over at The Public Domain Review, I found a collection of 51 novelty playing cards — several incomplete decks, mixed together — from 1916 that feature the images and names of popular movie actresses from that era.

Below are all the first names from those cards, plus where those names happened to rank in the 1916 baby name data. (Two-thirds of them were in the top 100, and over 95% fell inside the top 1,000.)

  • Anita (ranked 151st in 1916)
  • Anna (7th)
  • Beatriz (1,281st)
  • Bessie (56th)
  • Blanche (89th)
  • Clara (39th)
  • Cleo (180th)
  • Constance (213th)
  • Dolores (146th)
  • Dorothy (3rd)
  • Edith (28th)
  • Ella (81st)
  • Ethel (25th)
  • Fannie (116th)
  • Florence (14th)
  • Geraldine (94th)
  • Gertrude (35th)
  • Grace (26th)
  • Helen (2nd)
  • Julia (46th)
  • June (86th)
  • Kate (346th)
  • Kathlyn (731st)
  • Lenore (340th)
  • Lillian (16th)
  • Louise (18th)
  • Mabel (65th)
  • Marguerite (78th)
  • Mary (1st)
  • May (190th)
  • Mildred (6th)
  • Myrtle (58th)
  • Nellie (61st)
  • Norma (111th)
  • Olive (132nd)
  • Ormi (4,982nd)
  • Pauline (33rd)
  • Pearl (57th)
  • Ruth (5th)
  • Viola (59th)
  • Violet (83rd)
  • Vivian (77th)
  • Wanda (138th)

Which of the names above do you like best?

Source: Moriarty Playing Cards (1916) – The Public Domain Review

Quotes about the names of writers

Irish playwright and poet Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)
Oscar Wilde

From the 2000 book Oscar Wilde: A Certain Genius by Barbara Belford:

“How ridiculous of you to suppose that anyone, least of all my dear mother, would christen me ‘plain Oscar,'” Wilde later said. “When one is unknown, a number of Christian names are useful, perhaps needful. As one becomes famous, one sheds some of them…I started as Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde. All but two of the five names have already been thrown overboard. Soon I shall discard another and be known simply as ‘The Wilde’ or ‘The Oscar.'”

From a 2008 article by writer Ta-Nehisi Coates (b. 1975) in The Atlantic:

[F]or the record Ta-Nehisi (pronounced Tah-Nuh-Hah-See) is an Egyptian name for ancient Nubia. I came up in a time when African/Arabic names were just becoming popular among black parents. I had a lot of buddies named Kwame, Kofi, Malik (actually have a brother with that name), Akilah and Aisha. My Dad had to be different, though. Couldn’t just give me a run of the mill African name. I had to be a nation.

From a 2019 article about names by journalist Josanne Cassar in Malta Today:

In my case it can be mildly tiring because I am constantly having to explain that there is no “i” in Josanne, (simply because the most common spelling and pronunciation is Josianne) – one person had even asked me if I was sure I was spelling it right and asked me to check my own ID card. True story.

From the post “My name is not really Penelope” by blogger Penelope Trunk:

So when I signed up for my son’s preschool, I told them my name was Penelope Trunk. My husband had a fit. He told me I was starting our new life in Madison as an insane person and I cannot change my name now.

But I explained to him that it would be insane not to change my name now. I am way better known as Penelope than Adrienne. And my career is so closely tied with the brand Penelope Trunk, that I actually became the brand. So calling myself Penelope Trunk instead of Adrienne Greenheart is actually a way to match my personal life with my professional life and to make things more sane.

At first it was a little weird. For example, we were driving in the car one day and my son said, “Mom, who’s Penelope Trunk?”

But now it feels good to be Penelope Trunk. No more having to figure out what name to give where. No more pretending to be someone, sometimes. No more long explanations and short memories of who calls me what.

From the 2005 speech “How Everything Turns Away” by children’s book author Lois Lowry (b. 1937):

My first photograph…or the first photograph of me…was taken, by my father, when I was 36 hours old. My name was different then. They had named me Sena, for my Norwegian grandmother, and that was my name until she was notified; then she sent a telegram insisting that they give me an American name, and so I was renamed Lois Ann for my father’s two sisters.

American memoirist Maya Angelou (1928-2014)
Maya Angelou (who was a dancer in the 1950s!)

From the book Maya Angelou (2009) by Harold Bloom:

From that local bar she moves on to the Purple Onion, one of the most popular nightclubs on the entire West Coast. It is here that she is encouraged to replace the “s” in her last name with a “u”. She will now also need an exotic first name. This is when she remembered, “My brother has always called me Maya. For ‘Marguerite.’ He used to call me ‘My sister,’ then he called me ‘My,’ and finally, ‘Maya’.” Marguerite Johnson Angelos becomes Maya Angelou, and shortly thereafter she has more job offers than she is able to accommodate.

From the about page of writer Tsh Oxenreider:

My name is Tsh Oxenreider, and no, my name is not a typo (one of the first things people ask). It’s pronounced “Tish.” No reason, really, except that my parents were experimental with their names choices in the 70s. Until my younger brother was born in the 80s, whom they named Josh, quite possibly one of the most common names for people his age. Who knows what they were thinking, really.

From the about page of “Robert Galbraith,” pseudonym of writer J. K. Rowling:

I can only hope all the real Robert Galbraiths out there will be as forgiving as the real Harry Potters have been. I must say, I don’t think their plight is quite as embarrassing.

I chose Robert because it is one of my favourite men’s names, because Robert F Kennedy is my hero and because, mercifully, I hadn’t used it for any of the characters in the Potter series or ‘The Casual Vacancy’.

Galbraith came about for a slightly odd reason. When I was a child, I really wanted to be called ‘Ella Galbraith’, and I’ve no idea why. I don’t even know how I knew that the surname existed, because I can’t remember ever meeting anyone with it. Be that as it may, the name had a fascination for me. I actually considered calling myself L A Galbraith for the Strike series, but for fairly obvious reasons decided that initials were a bad idea.

Odder still, there was a well-known economist called J K Galbraith, something I only remembered by the time it was far too late. I was completely paranoid that people might take this as a clue and land at my real identity, but thankfully nobody was looking that deeply at the author’s name.

From an 2009 New York Times article about Lara Prescott, author of The Secrets We Kept, a fictional account of the dangers of publishing Doctor Zhivago in the 1950s:

You could say she was born to write this historical novel: Prescott’s mother named her after the doomed heroine from her favorite movie, the 1965 adaptation of Boris Pasternak’s epic.

(The movie made the baby name Lara quite trendy during the second half of the 1960s, in fact.)

From a 2003 interview with Jhumpa Lahiri in the New York Times:

JG: In the new book, you explain that all Bengalis have private pet names and public “good names.” But the main character in “The Namesake” is given only one name: Gogol, after the Russian writer.

JL: That happened to me. My name, Jhumpa, which is my only name now, was supposed to be my pet name. My parents tried to enroll me in school under my good name, but the teacher asked if they had anything shorter. Even now, people in India ask why I’m publishing under my pet name instead of a real name.

JG: What does Jhumpa mean?

JL: Jhumpa has no meaning. It always upset me. It’s like jhuma, which refers to the sound of a child’s rattle, but with a “p.” In this country, you’d never name your child Rattle. I actually have two good names, Nilanjana and Sudeshna. My mother couldn’t decide. All three are on the birth certificate. I never knew how to write my name.

From a 2020 lecture on creative writing given by author Brandon Sanderson [vid], an aside about the name Brandon:

When I grew up in Nebraska, I was the only Brandon, like, in my school. It was a really original, interesting name. I’m like, ‘My parents came up with this great, original, interesting name.’ And then I moved to Utah to go to BYU and there were five in my freshman dorm. And then I realized: It’s a Mormon name! Who would have thought? It’s not in any of the scriptures but it totally is a Mormon name. There’s a ton. Brandon Flowers, right? Brandon Mull, Brandon Sanderson. There’s a lot of Brandons out there with an LDS background. Who knew?

(Brandon Flowers is the lead singer of The Killers, while Brandon Mull — like Sanderson — writes fantasy. Brandon Sanderson is behind the debuts of the baby names Kaladin and Sylphrena, btw.)

From the book A Life Observed: A Spiritual Biography of C. S. Lewis (2013) by Devin Brown:

Although born and baptized as Clive [Staples Lewis], Lewis soon took a disliking to the name his parents had given him. Sometime around the age of four, he marched up to his mother and, pointing at himself, declared that he was now to be known as “Jacksie.” This name, later shortened to Jacks and then to just Jack, became the only name he would answer to. In his book Jack’s Life, Douglas Gresham, Lewis’s stepson, provides the following background on why Lewis chose this name: ‘It was actually because of a small dog that he was fond of that he picked the name Jacksie, which was what the dog was called. It was run over (probably by a horse and cart as there were almost no cars in the time and place where he was a child), and Jack, as he later became known just took the name for himself.’

From a 2014 article by journalist Kerry Parnell in The Daily Telegraph:

[W]hen I was born and my parents proudly announced my name to the family, my great-grandma was disgusted and informed them Kerry was a dog’s name.

She never wavered from this conviction until one day, when I was about five, we visited her to see her new poodle puppy.

“What’s his name?” I asked. “Kerry,” she replied, stony faced. There was a long, awkward silence and no one ever mentioned it again.

Ironically, great-grandma went by the name of “Pete”, which, unless I am very much mistaken, is a man’s name.

One day, I vow, I will get a dog just so I can call it Pete, for revenge.

From the book Germaine Greer: Untamed Shrew (1997) by Christine Wallace:

In the autumn of 1938 came the first conception. Peggy’s pregnancy was easy, with little more than queasiness. But the labor was long and difficult. The baby, a girl, was bruised around the head from the traumatic delivery and arrived in floods of blood as Peggy hemorrhaged from a retained placenta. The baby was named Germaine, with no middle initial to interrupt the elegant alliteration with Greer. According to Peggy, it was the name of a minor British actress she found in an English magazine Reg had brought home from work. In Germaine’s version, her mother was reading George Sand’s The Countess of Rudolstadt when she fell pregnant, and drew the name from one of its characters, the Comte de Saint-Germain — ‘because she liked the sound of it, I reckon.’ It was the height of the last Australian summer before the war: 29 January 1939.

From the book Here at The New Yorker (1975) by Brendan Gill:

Indeed, there are writers remembered not for their novels but for their names: Mazo de la Roche, Ouida, Warwick Deeping.

From a 2006 article about poet Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) in NYC newspaper The Villager:

There is hardly an account of Greenwich Village in the ’20s in which she does not prominently figure. Yet her roots in the neighborhood preceded even her fame. The poet’s unusual middle name came from St. Vincent’s Hospital on 12th St. Millay’s uncle was nursed back to health there after a sailing accident, and her mother wished to show her gratitude by naming her first-born child after the place.

And another about Millay from What Lips My Lips Have Kissed: The Loves and Love Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay (2001) by Daniel Mark Epstein:

She preferred the triumphant-sounding title to plain “Edna” (Hebrew for “rejuvenation”) and asked to be called “Vincent,” which somehow rubbed the school principal, Frank Wilbur, the wrong way. He made sport of calling her by any woman’s name beginning with a V: Vanessa, Viola, Vivian, anything but Vincent. “Yes, yes, Mr. Wilbur,” she would answer, with weary patience, “but my name is Vincent.”

From Duncan McLaren’s Evelyn Waugh website, an interesting fact about the English writer and his first wife, also named Evelyn:

Although I call the couple he- and she-Evelyn in my book, Alexander [Evelyn Waugh’s grandson] has mentioned that at the time [late 1920s] they were called Hevelyn and Shevelyn.

(Evelyn Waugh’s first name was pronounced EEV-lyn, so “Hevelyn” and “Shevelyn” would have been HEEV-lyn and SHEEV-lyn.)

From Nina Sankovitch’s memoir Tolstoy and the Purple Chair (2011):

For my father, the consequences of war brought him far from home, and eventually across an ocean, to start over in a new world. My parents tell me I was named after the members of the corps de ballet of the Bolshoi, most of whom were named Nina. They went to see a performance of the Bolshoi just days before I was born. But I also know that my name is another ripple effect of the war, coming from my father’s sister Antonina, who was murdered that night in 1943.

(Three of her Belarusian father’s siblings — Sergei, Antonina, and Boris — were killed one night during WWII.)

From a 2012 interview with Somali British poet Warsan Shire:

Warsan means “good news” and Shire means “to gather in one place”. My parents named me after my father’s mother, my grandmother. Growing up, I absolutely wanted a name that was easier to pronounce, more common, prettier. But then I grew up and understood the power of a name, the beauty that comes in understanding how your name has affected who you are. My name is indigenous to my country, it is not easy to pronounce, it takes effort to say correctly and I am absolutely in love with the sound of it and its meaning. Also, it’s not the kind of name you baby, slip into sweet talk mid sentence, late night phone conversation, whisper into the receiver kind of name, so, of that I am glad.

From a 2012 New York Magazine article about author Toni Morrison, born Chloe Wofford, who “deeply regrets” not putting her birth name on her books:

“Wasn’t that stupid?” she says. “I feel ruined!” Here she is, fount of indelible names (Sula, Beloved, Pilate, Milkman, First Corinthians, and the star of her new novel, the Korean War veteran Frank Money), and she can’t own hers. “Oh God! It sounds like some teenager–what is that?” She wheeze-laughs, theatrically sucks her teeth. “But Chloe.” She grows expansive. “That’s a Greek name. People who call me Chloe are the people who know me best,” she says. “Chloe writes the books.” Toni Morrison does the tours, the interviews, the “legacy and all of that.”

From the Amazon.com bio of author Caitlin Moran:

Caitlin isn’t really her name. She was christened ‘Catherine.’ But she saw ‘Caitlin’ in a Jilly Cooper novel when she was thirteen and thought it looked exciting. That’s why she pronounces it incorrectly: ‘Catlin.’ It causes trouble for everyone.

From Little Failure: A Memoir (1996) by Gary Shteyngart (born Igor Steinhorn):

I have clearly spent thirty-nine years unaware that my real destiny was to go through life as a Bavarian porn star, but some further questions present themselves: If neither Gary nor Shteyngart is truly my name, then what the hell am I doing calling myself Gary Shteyngart? Is every single cell in my body a historical lie?

From a 2020 article about baby names by journalist Dilvin Yasa in the Sydney Morning Herald:

When you have a name like Dilvin, you spend an awful amount of time thinking about baby names and the role our monikers play in our lives. Will little Exoduss ever spearhead a Fortune 500 company? Can Bambi push through our collective prejudice and go on to become a respected neurosurgeon? Had my parents named me Deborah, Sally or Carolyn, would I really be a CEO by now instead of a writer, as a famous LinkedIn survey suggests?

From the 2012 obituary of author Maurice Sendak in Slate:

He adored Melville, Mozart, and Mickey Mouse (and would have noted the alliteration with pleasure — he wrote in different places about the mysterious significance he attached to the letter M, his own first initial and that of many of his characters, beginning with Max of Where the Wild Things Are).

From The Life of William Shakespeare: A Critical Biography (2012) by Lois Potte:

Though contemporary sonneteers populated their world with lovers called Astrophil, Parthenophil, Stella, Delia, and Idea, the only names that appear in Shakespeare’s sonnets are Adonis, Helen, Mars, Saturn, Philomel, Eve, Cupid, Diana, and Time — and the one non-mythological figure, the author, “Will.”

From a 1911 newspaper article about writers such as Georgia writer Corra Mae Harris (1869-1935):

Mrs. Harris finds much trouble in impressing the fact that her name is “Corra” and not “Cora” — the word being a family name.

(I quoted the same source in this post about author Zane Grey.)

Images: Oscar Wilde, Maya Angelou

[Latest update: Oct. 2023]