Herald or Omar?
Growing up, I went by Herald. H-E-R-A-L-D. (In my opinion, a non-Latino name that created confusion all around.)
It’s my legal first name, so it shows up everywhere—forms, passports, todo.
Pero, it’s never felt right.
Herald didn’t work in my family. My parents are Puerto Rican, and Spanish is their first language. My grandparents? They never even called me Herald. When I visited my grandma recently, here in Puerto Rico, she told me something with a little laugh:
“Honestly, I’ve never called you that name. It never felt right.”
And I get it. Herald doesn’t roll off the tongue in Spanish, and it didn’t roll off mine, either. My mom thought she was clever naming me Herald Omar instead of Heraldo—after my biological father. But come on, Herald + Omar = Heraldo. Not too far off, Mom! (Hi, Mom. Love you.)
At home, I was always Omar. O-M-A-R. Omar felt human. It felt like me.
Herald, though? Herald felt like someone I had to perform—like I was code-switching to fit into spaces that weren’t built for me. Herald was the name used when I got in trouble, when I needed to act “polished,” or when I had to be on my best behavior. It felt too distant from the sass, the hope, and the flair of who I actually am.
Over the last two years, I’ve started phasing it out. Introducing myself as Omar. Updating my Instagram. Starting my business under the name that reflects who I am. This year, I’m making it official—I’m hoping to legally drop it.
why tone matters more than we realize
Did you know Puerto Rico was once renamed Porto Rico to assimilate to U.S. standards? They eventually changed it back.
This isn’t just about my name—or Puerto Rico’s. Pero it is about what my name taught me about tone.
Tone shapes how we interact with the world, with each other, and with ourselves.
I’ve spent my life moving between spaces—leading a startup, working at Fortune 500 companies, singing my heart out to Megan Thee Stallion with my gay friends, loving Bad Bunny and losing my mind over his new album, and coming home to family where my mom still works in a factory and my dad’s a truck driver.
What I’ve realized is these spaces don’t speak the same language.
- On LinkedIn, everything is polished to perfection.
- On TikTok, people pretend to be unfiltered while still curating for the algorithm.
- And in politics? Tone splits us. Some voices resonate, others alienate.
Why do these spaces feel so fake?
On Facebook, I feel like I need to be retired to belong. Instagram is for curating perfection. TikTok? TikTok is supposedly “people for people,” or at least it tries to be.
What would happen if we stopped performing and started having real, honest conversations?
Conversations that weren’t designed for “Heralds” but for everyone. For the Omars, the Marias, the Josés, and the Anthonys. For my parents, my friends, my future kids. For people who don’t speak in polished paragraphs but still have stories to tell.
why i’m dropping the “h” name
Herald isn’t me. It’s a name that feels disconnected. It represents systems I’ve had to navigate but never felt at home in.
Omar feels different. Omar reflects the world I’m building—a world where tone, connection, and legacy matter. A world where my mom, my dad, or someone like them could pick up what I’ve built and feel like it was made for them.
Kinnect isn’t about surface-level connections or curated highlight reels. It’s about creating a space where real stories live. Where your tone—your voice—carries forward, not just for today but for generations to come.
building a product for everyone
In tech, we’ve created tools that often:
- Talk at people, not to them.
- Prioritize selling over connecting.
- Exclude people who don’t fit into a narrow mold.
Kinnect has to be different. It has to feel:
- Natural, conversational, and human.
- Inviting to anyone, regardless of their background or education.
- Like a reflection of the real, messy, and layered stories that make us who we are.
looking ahead
This year, I’m thinking about what it means to build something that’s not just “successful” but reflective of who I am—and who we all are.
To those we love. To those we want to be close with.
Being honest, more vulnerable, and mindful of tone—not to create distance, but to learn, to grow, to improve.
Some questions on my mind:
- How do I make sure Kinnect is honest and inclusive?
- How do I ensure it’s for everyone—not just polished personas?
- And most importantly, how do I make sure the legacy I leave—through my name, my work, and my product—invites more people in?
Vamos.
