Zacari arrives on the tongue like the last golden note of a mandolin serenade—zuh-KAR-ee—an Italian-tinted variation of the ancient Hebrew Zacharias, meaning “the Lord has remembered,” a promise whispered through olive groves and cathedral cloisters alike; he carries the spice of Old-World romance yet walks with the easy stride of a modern boy who, judging by his modest but steady climb through U.S. birth records, prefers to dazzle in limited edition, not flood the piazza. In his syllables, one hears a fresco of possibilities: the echo of Saint Zachary’s steadfast faith, the jazzy cool of singer-songwriter Zacari, and even a mischievous breeze that lifts the corners of nonna’s tablecloth, hinting that life with this child will be equal parts sacred and playful. Though still comfortably uncommon, Zacari glows with familiarity—related to Zachary and Zechariah yet dressed in a sleek new suit—so parents can gift their son a name steeped in ancestral reverence while ensuring he stands, like a lone cypress against a Tuscan sunset, unmistakably his own.