Man says wearing ID tag all the time makes world friendlier

ST. LOUIS -- Hello, his name is Scott.

Scott Ginsberg, that is. The name's not hard to remember because Ginsberg has been wearing a name tag for more than 900 days with "Scott" scrawled boldly across a piece of adhesive paper in felt-tip marker.

When people used to ask why, he'd explain in depth. A dissertation, his friends called it. So, now he keeps the response simple: Name tags make people friendlier.

Ginsberg is tired of people averting their eyes on the street or looking at the elevator floor rather than making conversation.

Name tags, he says, serve like a modern-day front porch. They're a welcoming invitation for people to be sociable.

Ginsberg, 23, grew up -- without a name tag -- in the St. Louis suburb of Creve Coeur. As a college sophomore in October 1999, he had to wear a name tag for a seminar. On a whim, he and a friend decided to keep their name tags on after the lecture ended. That night, Ginsberg explains, he met about 20 new people when they approached him to say hello or struck up conversations.

About a year later, Ginsberg and his friend recalled the fun they'd had that night. Scott had an epiphany: What if I wore a name tag all the time?

"It's an icebreaker. It makes people feel comfortable," he said. "It's not for me to get popular or to let people know who I am. It's for other people."

The name tag also forces Ginsberg himself to be a happier, more approachable person.

His name tag often makes others friendlier, too. He meets new people almost every day, and name tag comes with perks. For instance, he's gotten free nachos out of the deal.

Other people threaten to beat the snot out of him. He's not entirely sure why, but the name tag can really enrage those who think he's being a smart aleck.

There's another downside: Panhandlers sometimes latch onto his name and beg him personally for money.

Still, the idea is catching on. Two of Scott's cousins in Creve Coeur liked the idea so much they, too, started wearing name tags.

Justin Diedrich, 21, a senior at Case Western Reserve University in Ohio, says the cousins probably meet a lot more women than they otherwise would. Not that it makes a difference, he jokes, claiming to borrow Scott's explanation: "I've got no game at all, so it doesn't really help."

Diedrich's commitment to the name tag was toughest when he was interviewing for medical school. "It's so quirky. I wasn't sure. I was kind of nervous about it."

As he sat down in the office before his interview, wearing his "Justin" name tag, a secretary walked out. She just so happened to be carrying name tags for every other applicant to wear, said the future Dr. Diedrich, who will start medical school in the fall.

'Like an invitation'

Anne Bernays co-authored the book "The Language of Names" with her husband, Justin Kaplan, and calls herself a great advocate of name tags in social situations.

"It's sort of like an invitation," she says, because it shows someone is open to meeting others. "People recognize that names are profound. It's not just a name tag. It's a signal they want to be friends."

Ginsberg, who now lives in Portland, Ore., has self-published a book, "Hello, My Name is Scott," which comes with a few blank name tags attached to the back cover, and launched a Web site about his experiences.

He purposely took his name tag off for one week because he wanted to see if people stopped being pleasant toward him. After that, he recommitted to the concept, he said.

He's gone for job interviews wearing his name tag, and said if a company didn't want to hire him because of it, he wouldn't want to work there.

Ginsberg knows name tags aren't for everyone, but it's his way to brighten the world.

"If you take care of the inches, the miles will take care of themselves," he said.

On the Net

Scott Ginsberg's Web site: www.hellomynameisscott.com