What's in a (nick)name?

Why nicknames give us pleasure

She calls me “gub-gub.”

I’ve had several nicknames in my life, and I must confess, I’ve been fond of them all. I think we all love nicknames. For a nickname signifies that we’ve been seen. It’s personal; it recognizes our individuality. It’s always a sign of affection, even love.

In his highly original novel, Anxious People, Frederik Backman (author of A Man Called Ove) writes, “We give those we love nicknames, because love requires a word that belongs to us alone.”

When I was very little, my father called me “K-k-k-Katie,” after a popular song of the time. This somehow morphed into the ridiculous “Katooshki.” I had never heard anybody called that; the name was mine alone. I loved it. But I didn’t like it when he embellished it further as “Katooshka-yaya-yayaya.” Enough was enough!

I might have wanted my schoolmates to give me a nickname, but only star athletes got that treatment in high school (Ace, Rocket!), and before Title IX, there was little emphasis on sports for girls.

In college, I gave myself a nickname I still sometimes use. When I make a minor mistake, such as spilling a glass of water or burning the beans, I scold myself using the name “Cathikins.”  “Oh, Cathikins!” “Cathikins, why did you do that?” “Cathikins, that was so silly.” It’s affectionate, forgiving; it drains humiliation and blame from the blunder. “Cathikins” has a comical sound; you can’t be angry at her for long. “Cathikins” helps me self-soothe.

After my first marriage ended, I met a man whose college nickname was “Thor.” He was tall and blond and Norse-looking. Sometimes his Facebook friends still call him “Thor.”

After we got married, “Thor” began calling me “Cathiness,” which sounds like “happiness.”  I am not just one woman, I am a quality: “Cathiness.” Of what does Cathiness consist? I try to live up to what always feels like a tribute.

At the Burning Man festival in Nevada, one is encouraged to use a new name, a playa name, ideally bestowed upon oneself by others. With a new name one can be incognito. When I went to Burning Man the first time, I was solo, so I gave myself the playa name “Katya.” I suppose I was exoticizing and romanticizing myself. “Katya” helped me be more spontaneous, which may be the purpose of a playa name.

Sometimes a sobriquet develops from a mispronunciation. My youngest granddaughter cannot say “grandma.” Instead, she says “gub-gub,” and it’s so cute no one is allowed to correct her. Now it’s become my family nickname. I hear my son say, “Gub-gub’s getting ready to go out.” To me, it sounds like “gobble, gobble,” and I like the idea of myself continuing to gobble up experience, ideas, sensations. It also sounds comical. Who could be angry with a person called “Gub-gub”?

What a pleasure it is to be given just the right nickname, especially by a person of three!