It seems that I have long been accustomed to my name, but somewhere in six months I suddenly think about the fact that my existence is some kind of nonsense. How can you live with the name of Alla Pugacheva? At such moments, I try to present next to me a person who tells me absolutely seriously, say: “I am Philip Kirkorov” or “I am Efim Shifrin”. Well, how is it possible and why, with that name, did I manage to choose the profession of a journalist?