For some reason, I've found college students really enjoy replacing others' birth names with nicknames. I'm personally affected by this fad because I have one of those interesting last names (Shuptrine), the kind that when someone attempts to pronounce it, he winds up saying the name of some Eastern European country that no doubt still uses dial-up instead of DSL. Such a last name is the fertile playground for people who enjoy coming up with clever or, at the very least, sex-related spin-offs. Many variations of my name over the years include "Shuppy," "Shooooptrine," "Fat-Bottomed Girl," and "Who-are-you-stop-touching-me." This last one is particularly interesting, because it seems that no matter where I go, girls always address me by it.
This morning, after being called "Fat-Bottomed Girl" by my TA, I started wondering why people use nicknames. Why is it that the redhead is always called "Big Red?" Why is the big guy always called "Smalls?" And why am I always called "Fat-Bottomed Girl?" Barring those who have brains, I don't think anyone can actually answer these questions. But I will try, because I feel my years and years of nickname abuse entitle me to do so.
For one, because of countless nights of drinking and listening to music loud enough to be heard by deep-sea fish, college students have very few brain cells left. Students then use the remaining cells to think about drinking or, if it's late enough in the semester and close to finals, to still think about drinking. What they don't use brains for is remembering people's names. So nicknames, then, exist as default titles that save us from embarrassing situations. They are the formulaic phrases we repeat when the real name cannot be recalled. If you do not know the name of that attractive blonde from your class, you can sidestep this ignorance by calling her "Ms. Beautiful." She will either swoon at your flattery or hand you a restraining order, but at least neither of these events involve you admitting you have forgotten her name.
Take, for example, a little experience I had last week. A girl came up to me and said, "Hi, Chris." She didn't look at all familiar, and I didn't know her name, but via some quick thinking, I noticed she was smaller than me. I thus replied, "Hi, Munchkin." She stared at me strangely, and I walked away scot-free. Although my housemate later berated me for my harsh treatment of his girlfriend by using a generic nickname, I was able to save myself from what could have been an embarrassing interaction.
Moreover, nicknames form instant bonds. Just as my boss calls me "Mr. Shuptrine," or my parents call me "Chris," only my best friends will forego these uptight names and call me "Chris the Bra Wearer." This not only shows my true friends have put some thought into our relationship, but it also tells me they know my interests. That's real friendship.
Nicknames also offer the chance to break away from the set mold of our lives. I know I have grown tired of calling my mom "Mom" and my dad "Dad," but if I were to start calling my mom Kellsdog instead of Kelly and my dad Slimpickin' Willy instead of John, chances are I would be the only college student to have his parents reinforce a year-round 8 p.m. curfew. Yet with friendships, we have total freedom in addressing our peers. And boy, do we jump on that chance to nickname someone, especially during those adolescent years, when one small error could easily mean the difference between being known henceforwardas "James" or as "That Kid Who Farted In Math Class." And although most physiological evidence contradicts me, I firmly believe female puberty is caused by the psychological desire not to be known as "Flat-chested Fanny."
Of course, not all nicknames are conceived by other people. No, there are those who come to college and, in the hope of transcending their high school personas, change their name. I've seen devout Katherines opt to go by Katie in college, as I have seen devout Johns wish to go by Jon. I assume these people are attempting to toss aside their embarrassing small-town identities and start afresh in a different place as a newer, better person who will, statistically, vomit into his or her shoes within the first week of college. I changed my name upon coming to college too, and while my friends in high school knew me as the immature-sounding "Shuppy," nowadays I am a new man with the much more professional and respectable nickname of "That Kid Who Farted in ECON 201."
Chris's column runs biweekly on Mondays. He can be reached at shuptrine@cavalierdaily.com.
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