Among the annals of human invention and innovation the phenomenon of the Nick Name stands alone as our only derogatory sign of affection. It’s designed and used by those closest to us to point out our inadequacies, while addressing us, getting our attention in an intimate manner, or humiliating us in a crowded location. Only humans could be capable of insulting you with a notion of friendship. The Nickname is a singular distinction, different from an Alias in that it is chosen for you or bestowed upon you with little or no functional value… aside from ridicule.
Another interesting facet of this invention is how it seems to attract and be attracted to some while to others is vinegar to their oil. Though we all use them to some degree, some more than others, and though such dubious given monikers occur in every culture all over the world, it’s not a constant. Not everyone gets a nickname. Some have a natural affinity, they have nicknames that supercedes their own identities. You can have a big baldhead, or a head that looks like an ass, or an ass head with a penis nose, and you may never be called ‘Assface,’ or ‘Dick.’ You may also boast none of the above, but by this point in your pseudo-named life have almost forgot the one your parents gave you.
Isn’t that right, Peaches?
We have a need as possessive sentimental beings to give value to our belongings with special distinctions. To our houses and faces we give makeovers, to our vehicles we give stereos and those exhaust/ass trumpets, to our sexual histories we give one or two injections of fantasy, and to our allies we give inside jokes, inside insults, and often exist outside the realm of respect… with all due respect.
We give nicknames because using the same address to address our close friend devalues that close friendship that should rightfully be all ours to devalue, to lovingly devalue. Nicknames stand among an arsenal of sentimental insults that your friends have to choose from, though usually a favorite, this dubious affection can arrive in the form of a practical joke, a sound of flatulence made from the mouth, or even a hand gesture of some sort. For some victims, nicknames just don’t seem to fit.
For some they fit. For some, for me as an example, the names invented for me so far outweigh my given names in both quantitative and qualitative usage by those around me, and contribute to my own legacy, if you can call it that, that though I know what’s written on my birth certificate, I can’t be entirely certain what’s going to be written on my gravestone.
On a personal level, I don’t know whether to love it as a distinction or hate it as a distinction of different sort. I have always had nicknames. Though they’ve changed and evolved over the years, been a benefit, a hindrance, a conversation piece, a source of ridicule, caused the occasional nametag error, and even a moment or two of gender confusion. It’s hard for me to carry complete contempt for nick’s names placed on me as I know that their origin, though evil in some respects, is from a place where people have to care enough to use these personal aspects of myself against me.
I’ve been alternately known as follows: (I’ll let you imagine the hows and whys) Elvis, Hugs, Patty, Cakes, Howie, Hughes-Boy, Patch, Patches, Peaches (Yes, a man named Peaches), Ches, Peach Machine, Peach Fuzz, Fuzz, Fuzzball, Vegetable Heel and Mr. Chips. This of course is only a sampling.
Now why do some people get nicknames, when Mr. Assface avoids persecution and gets left out? I’ve often wondered, while I can hardly recall sometimes what parents use to call me, I know there are some people who, for better and far worse, never know a life beyond the name on their driver’s license.
This is the formula, as near as I can figure. In my own experience it starts with your given name. Some names are fun to say, they’re ergonomically agreeable, like Joe and Bob and Dooche. Some names, like my own (if you have forgotten you should find it at the start or end of this little diddy) are not as pert and seem to encourage the aforementioned invention. Some names are just unfortunate and a mere evolutionary step toward ridicule. Names like Hornswaggle, Glascock, and Dicktrain are among these unfortunate examples.
After the name comes the circumstances. If you have an unfortunate or poorly thought out event in your past that transfers into name form, expect it to do so. My advice in this regard is to avoid putting your genitals into things other than your underwear or the vicinity of other genitals. Only take dares than are slightly more brave than stupid. If you have physical abnormalities or scars caused by accidents that involved driving something ‘with no hands’ that need not be seen, keep them on the down low, and if you’re not black don’t say ‘down low.’ Be discreet with the sexual conquests that warrant serious humiliation, and for God’s sake, never fall asleep at a party. If your nickname is ‘Pillow-Biter’ and you’re not gay, you’ve done something stupid.
Before circumstances, in actuality, come physical attributes. Sadly but truly, those buddies of yours do in fact plan on capitalizing on that thing that your mom once told you ‘makes you special’. My advice in this regard is: learn to live with it. If you have a big nose or a big head, small hands, twelve fingers, a funny walk, or a baldhead and it bugs you to be called ‘Curly’, the sad truth is that these nicknames tend to stick the best. If it truly bothers you, you can always do something stupid. (Refer to the above paragraph)
The formula goes as follows: One of these three variables + Friends/Associates/A Human in your immediate vicinity = A Title of Torturous Affection, A Nickname.
Being a frequent victim this distinction I have to conclude by saying that though these buggers can hurt while they heal/heel, it’s not all pain for those of us that attract the 'nom de doom'. Many benefits are included in the package, a handy secret identity, a valuable conversation piece, the possibility of fame, the notion of legend.
Let’s face it; any distinction is valuable in this world of labels and cardboard cutout identities. Affection is so often affectation that it's nice when it's genuine enough to hurt so good. Nicknames remind you that you’re more than the sum of the words next to the picture in your high school yearbook. You made an impression with that nick, and in the end that’s all any of us can hope for. It’s funny how your friends are doing you a favor, even when they’re calling you ‘Dick-Licker.’
Thanks for the Nicknames everyone.
I love you too.
P.
P.S. For Pete’s sake, who the hell is Nick anyway… and who’s Pete?
