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Why You Should Ask Men About Their Boyhood Nicknames

Discover the meaning behind male monikers.

Key points

  • Learning about boyhood nicknames offers a deeper understanding of how young males bond and communicate.
  • Nicknames can crystalize personality features that otherwise defy description.
  • Monikers can be terms of tenderness, but in the beginning function as stress tests of friendship viability.
  • They are collaborative attempts to play with identity.

Legendary nicknames crown sports royalty (LeBron “The King” James) and dethrone disgraced leaders (“Tricky Dick” Nixon). They play with irony (“McLovin”) and pay homage to unique physiques (William “The Fridge” Perry). Sometimes they’re hilarious, gross, or make no sense. It can be unclear what’s a nickname versus a brand name. And while we think we know celebrities, the more obscure handles from boyhood are the most meaningful. These are the ones we ought to know.

Monkey Business/Shutterstock
Source: Monkey Business/Shutterstock

Pet names or mean-spirited nicknames whispered out of earshot are often less revealing than the creative monikers openly imparted by adolescent friends. Something extraordinary emerges from the whirlwind of complex pecking orders, out-of-sync mental and physical maturation, and impossible cultural mandates of boyhood that give rise to Jonny Gym Class, Noodle, Manchild, Snackelstiltskin, Ball Hogs, Stink, Beef Bag, Tinkerbell, and Corn Dawg.

An article from a decade ago observed the decline of nicknames across American society, and there’s been no indication that they’ve made any comeback. The data on adolescent nicknames is scarcer, but if there’s been a fall-off, it may be due to an increase in distinct birth names that sound like nicknames. Maybe our culture has grown more politically correct. Have usernames usurped nicknames? Has social media limited the in-person intimacy required for clever labels?

Learning about boyhood nicknames offers a deeper understanding of how young males communicate and can be a precursor to their present-day social functioning. While it may be passé to nickname nowadays, it remains an overlooked element of male bonding.

It’s easy to forget the rich interpersonal histories of socially impoverished men amid this so-called “male friendship recession.” So when you ask a man about his boyhood nickname, as I often do during clinical encounters, you don’t just resurface boy’s club banter. You begin with broad strokes but soon carve a pathway to underlying thought patterns, emotions, self-concepts, behaviors, motivations, insecurities, social functioning, and hierarchies. Nicknames can crystalize personality features that otherwise defy description for the recipient but also its creator. They generate a perspective that’s challenging to obtain: a version of a man through the lens of his childhood peers as a jester, commander, heartthrob, gunslinger, engineer, and so on.

The no-holds-barred nature of male nicknaming may reflect the inequality of high school hierarchies but also has its way of creating more parity, it lifts boys out of pits of social alienation or pushes them off their pedestals of popularity. But a clever nickname becomes a challenge when a peer is more withdrawn. Why might childhood friends have been reluctant to name you? What lies in the absence of a handle?

In other situations, nicknaming is an improvisational art form, a window into the playfulness of masculinity missed in discussions about its problems.

My parents gave me a one-syllable birth name that’s a noun, verb, and adjective, which I must frequently explain is not my nickname. Growing up, my pals whipped up different takes on “Stone,” re-molding it like clay, testing my sensitivities and the strength of our relationship.

Rupture and Repair

In boyhood crews, nicknames can be terms of tenderness, respect, or recognition, but in the beginning, they often function as evaluations of a friendship's viability. They gauge one another’s ability to manage social friction.

Nicknames can be met with unease, as someone else is seemingly taking your identity into their own hands. But that’s the point. As the research from the book “Warriors and Worriers” details, boys learn early on to ruffle feathers to assess how peers think on their feet and approach challenges. Nicknames build allyship and solidify a battalion’s in-group and out-group boundaries. If a boy can take a harsh label and move on, you can trust him to defend the fort. An Art of Manliness piece noted how nicknames serve as a “constant sonar test, sounding the depth” of male bonds.

I view this social perseverance as a healthy facet of masculinity that engenders emotional resilience. At best, a unique call sign eases the threat of loneliness or peer domination, ensuring social survival and rebirth. So, if we are quick to point out the possible hazing of an unflattering nickname – and such bullying exists and can be abusive – we may miss the overarching benefits, even when labels seem crude or rag on physical appearance.

Becoming a “Maverick”

Unearned birth names become stale. A freshly earned code name transcends your lot in life and is a rite of passage in the great escape from childhood. Transforming from Pete to “Maverick” or even Paul to “Shitbrick” contradicts the established social order. It defies your origin story of growing up in a family not of your choice and gains you admittance to a new tribe.

Nicknames are collaborative attempts to play with identity and expression—still, the act of nicknaming carries the reputation of showing affection without having to concede masculinity. Yet, I see boys’ nicknaming rituals as a component of flexible masculinity that liberates boys from the constraints of the rigid “Man Box.”

In a way, monikers provided by friends challenge the over-controlled, blemish-free social media culture of self-curation and nudge boys to a place of inner peace about the parts of themselves that they can’t misleadingly edit.

Cringeworthy as even the most uncomplimentary ones can be, nicknames embody self-acceptance. They represent the lifelong quest to be a part of and apart. To belong and to be distinct.

References

Benenson, J. F., & Markovits, H. (Collaborator). (2014). Warriors and worriers: The survival of the sexes. Oxford University Press.

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