Someone recently asked why I chose my goddess name. Why did she resonate? Why am I her?
There’s the obvious reason of course: The Pandora of myth opened a jar that unleashed chaos and evil into the world. She’s a troublemaker, unforgettable. She’s the villain of men’s stories, the origin of feminine manipulation. Men fear her. They’re drawn to her.
The stories describe her as a “beautiful evil” (hell yeah) and “sheer guile, not to be withstood by men.”
To me, when stories use this language, they aren’t really telling me about an evil woman. They’re telling me about one who didn’t do as she was told. One who was powerful. One who stood out.
When you read the stories, you find that she’s be written and re-written, villainized and changed and willfully misunderstood over time. She started with no name. Then Pandora. She opened a jar. Then she opened a box.
Taking her name is a reclamation. A refusal to accept that what the men who wrote these stories called evil was actually evil. I believe it was power. I believe it was willfulness. I believe she was curious. And she didn’t let others stop her, dim her, take her power.
Pandora also knew her worth (“no helpmeets in hateful poverty, but only in wealth”). Another reason for the men of her time to villainize her.
And if this answer feels too erudite, there’s also that delightful, hilarious secondary answer that involves Pandora’s famous box unleashing chaos and the double-entendre that implies here.