A review of US state names

How good are they for what they describe, according to me

Alabama: Perfect. Sounds like: llama, labia, Obama, Allah. Slightly exotic, like the Arabic origin name for an ungulate, but anticlimactic, like going up and down a bouncy hill made of laffy-taffy. Nothing spooky about it. The un-spooky south.

Alaska: Perfect. A breadth of a’s and icy cold sibilant sk, like the sp in Vespertine. Second to last to join the union, and second farthest away, and almost says “At last.”

Arizona: Perfect. I thought for a really long time it was an amalgamation of the phrase “arid zone”. This is just a happy coincidence. Z’s and X’s are good for the southwest. They are spicy and spiky, like peppers and cacti.

Arkansas: Excellent. It gives “woodshop” for some reason.

California: Perfect. Long and rambly like Minnesota, except less Indian, more Italic/Arcadian. “Cali” is a great nickname evoking the Pacific next to it with all its hibiscus flowers and little tropical islands. A name that holds a lot of letters and promise.

Colorado: Perfect. Echoes, rhymes with “desperado,” “bravado,” inflected by Spanish with a cigarette-hanging-from-the-mouth cowboy cool. Despite its meaning, feels more silvery than gold.

Connecticut: Perfect. Full of unvoiced consonants which are fun to say fast. “Chop-chop” is what I get from this name, which is what you tell yourself in the morning when you have to get to your office in New York fast.

Delaware: Excellent. Feels institutional, like the word “district” which is little less than what Delaware the state is. One picks up a wisp of the word “delta” in it.

Florida: Perfect. Garishly obvious, the East’s cheaper answer to California, like a themed casino. In my mind as a kid these two states were fighting for orange juice and beach state supremacy.

Georgia: Perfect. Takes up a lot of real estate for two syllables. Tries to impose a kind of grandness that is two centuries old. It bothers me that there is a whole other country named Georgia, I can’t imagine any other one.

Hawaii: Perfect. Rhymes with “kawaii" and the excess of two i’s side by side is fun and exotic and feels emotional. You’re supposed to pronounce it with a glottal stop but I’m not about that. Let ‘em run on I say.

Idaho: Excellent. The ugliest name of all, starting with the garish long i. Matches only the ugly half of the state, and could rhyme with potato better.

Illinois: Perfect. The best of the French-Indian names. Elegant and educated and busy. Pronounced in the nose, comes across a little snobbish, but it’s a reverse snobbery.

Indiana: Excellent. Pleasantly generic, like a fictional state, with extra points having its capitol named Indianapolis.

Iowa: Poor. I dislike these vowel-heavy names. They are unsatisfying to the touch. This is the worst offender. It is masculine and ugly and tells me nothing about this state I haven’t been to.

Kansas: Perfect. Really evil-sounding. Sharp and plural like a pair of scissors. Ugly and out-of-date so that I feel bad for it, like Waffle House waitress names Thelma, Edna, Bertha. Also reminds me of a match catching fire.

Kentucky: Perfect. Extremely clean and satisfying, with a little tail. Makes me think of The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams. Pairs with a southern accent so satisfyingly.

Louisiana: Perfect. Wheeze-whine, sounds like a donkey at the same time that it’s the florid product of a marriage between Spanish and French.

Maine: Perfect. The opposite of a name like Louisiana. It just says class, one syllable, no frills; quietly asserts itself as number one. Reads French-Canadian rather than WASP.

Maryland: Excellent. A singular Catholic fossil from the near-medieval days in which America was born, a twin to Virginia’s “Virgin-land”. Signifies heraldry, Christianity, chivalry, with a superb matching flag. A place obsessed with rules in an American way which makes the name feel a little anachronistic. Would work better in New England. I thought this was a very boring, unexotic, normal name for a very normal, boring place growing up there. I also thought it was the same as the name Marilyn for a long time, my grandma’s name, which I also thought at the time was very unglamorous and normal. “Merilind.”

Massachusetts: Perfect. Bless you! Sounds like suffering, a torture device. Rather mouthy for a Puritan state.

Michigan: Perfect. How did “machine”-sounding place get to be the place where the combustion engine thrived. Sounds like a car turning on too. Rusty and humble.

Minnesota: Excellent. A name that goes where it pleases. Contains “soda” which makes it sparkly, like the Great Lakes.

Mississippi: Perfect. When I imagine I am hearing the name of this state the first time it gives me a thrill. Obviously it’s sisters with Missouri.

Missouri: Perfect. Sounds at the same time like a homonym of “misery” and a French title. Obviously it’s sisters with Mississippi.

Montana: Perfect. Another western state of Spanish origin, more open and welcoming and less of a bad boy than Colorado. The hottest city there right now is called "Bozeman,” a slightly unfortunate name but also makes you think immediately of a brazen wilderness man bulldozing his way across the western frontier.

Nebraska: Perfect. The Rebecca to the Rachel that is Alaska: a similarly bracing beauty but with less clarity. Both get a bit of sky too from the last syllable.

Nevada: Perfect. V’s are drying and deviant and good for the west. “Vada” reminds me of “evade”, “vast”, “nada”.

New Hampshire/New Jersey/New Mexico/New York: Poor/Good/Poor/Not sure. These do not register much in my brain. New Hampshire is the state I know the least about probably, but it makes me think of a Jane Austen novel, although “Hamp” is an unfortunate syllable. New Jersey sounds dreamy and I wish it lived up to that better. New Mexico sounds in the name and from what I’ve heard somewhat dystopian. New York is a name that at this point feels like looking into a mirror. I can barely describe what I am seeing. I have completely lost its edges. Not because I live there but because everyone is always mentioning it everywhere forever.

North & South Carolinas: Perfect. “Carolina” is a melody of clean consonants. The most Apollonian state name, even containing the sound “line”. Twin states are romantic. These states feel happy alone together along the coast with few cities and little news. North is a lovelier word than South; North Carolina wins.

North & South Dakotas: Perfect. Dakota is such a cool, mysterious name, the kind I would choose for myself when playing mermaids or horses with my sisters, alongside Hurricane and Turquoise and Zephyr. It has “dark” in it almost. “Kota” though is that kind of fake exotic set of syllables people now give their huskies. North Dakota might be overkill. South Dakota wins; tempers it a little with some light.

Ohio: Poor. Reminds me of the song the castle guards sing in The Wizard of Oz. Kind of fills me with a sense of dread. I think “highway” when I hear this name and not in a pleasant way.

Oklahoma: Perfect. “Homely” is almost in the name. One of the states I think least about and meet the fewest people from.

Oregon: Excellent. “Oregano” “origami” “organic” so true queen. My only complaint is it feels a little dry for the junglier parts of the state. Maybe because it also reminds me of “wagon” and also the game Oregon Trail, I had the same feeling about this state when I was a kid as I did about the pioneers: lame!

Pennsylvania: Perfect. This place was once maybe going to be called New Wales which feels so blue and fresh. But I like Pennsylvania. It sounds made up, like for an 1800s gothic romance (especially how -vania rhymes with mania), which is true for the land too, a little bit pastoral, more picturesque than sublime.

Rhode Island: Excellent. Rh- is an English rarity that makes you think of girls with wild eyebrows like Brooke Shields, who would definitely be in a J. Crew catalogue photographed in Rhode Island.

Tennessee: Excellent. Fits the geographic outline of the state like a glove.

Texas: Perfect. Exudes confidence, short and self-contained by its sandwiching of vowels, all kept together by the middle x crossing its arms. Would be a successful brand name if it wasn’t a state. One of those perfect miracles that Tex rhymes with Mex.

Utah: Excellent. It is an ugly, alien-sounding word like the bang on a huge piece of scrap metal on Mars. Empty, mostly vowels, leaves the mouth agape.

Vermont: Excellent. Very pointy which feels right. Gives “private.” The last letter being a t is dissuading. A rare state.

Virginia: Not sure. Roman in origin, too Roman for the landscape imo but Gothic in nature in a way that doesn’t fit either despite the land being the beginning of the south. Maryland’s wilder twin. Virginia sounds like a smile to me and I think it’s a nicer place objectively than Maryland probably.

Washington: Poor. Awfully generic and rather East-coast-y, does not begin to describe its fogginess as the syllable “Wash” does not even register in the grand scheme of things. A name that should only be used for things like counties and small townships.

West Virginia: Good. I’ll go to bat for this butt-of-a-joke state and say that “West” is a beautiful word that combined with “Virginia” gives me the same promising feeling as the name California. People hear it and see coal but I’m hearing it, and suddenly many apples are rotating in my head. Suddenly many, many barrels of apples are rotating.

Wisconsin: Perfect. Feels like you can fit “cabin” in there. Its double i’s and s’s feel palindromic. Plus I get a special thrill to hear it pronounced by real Wisconsinites, with really beautifully watery sibilants.

Wyoming: Perfect. Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam. Homing pigeon. Longing for my love thousands of miles across the prairie. The only verb state (does Connecticut count?). Sounds like a cry.