Last month, the Guardian compared the popularity of different names across various groups in Britain—journalists against convicts against corporate directors, for instance ("Ian" fits all three). Among the findings was a Venn diagram comparing the names of current Oxford students to the most popular baby names of 1994, around when today's undergraduate cohort was born.
If you're as American as I assure you I am, don't even look it up, then you can't be limited to just regular old sugar. Regular sugar is white, but "this land is your land" (multicultural). When you get a mighty hunger after driving your pickup truck to the American football games, nothing will hit that "sweet spot" except for some delicious real corn sugar. Whoops, sorry—the government bureaucrats aren't "okay" with that.
I recently came to terms with the fact that, if I ever have babies, I will probably give them ridiculous names. (Elbow Macaroni O'Connor.) This is because I lack self-determination and thus am perpetually at the mercy of pointless trends, and also because people with cool names are actually cooler than the rest of us. I am certain of this because, as a young female with a lame old lady name, I am human evidence of the inverse of this principle.