If you’ve spent much time among Mexicans, you’ve probably realized something. They love to give each other — and consistently use — nicknames.
I’m not just talking about diminutives of names, though these are also popular. Guillermo, for example, is Memo for short, the same way Bob is a diminutive of Robert.
There’s Alex for both Alejandro and Alejandra, Chio for RocÃo, Lalo for Eduardo, Lola for Dolores and Chava for Salvador. There’s also short versions of double names, like Mafer for MarÃa Fernanda, Majo for MarÃa José and my favorite, Lucifer for LucÃa Fernanda, a name most people do not give their kids. And of course, the classic “-ito” and “-ita” can go at the end of many names. So sometimes people call me Sarita, and my partner Juanito. Careful with using these, though, as they’re often infantilizing, and as you very likely know, some people do not like being infantilized.
So you get the idea: most names here have a shortened version. But Mexicans don’t stop there!
I’ll admit that this makes me very happy. As a kid, I never had a nickname, and I was jealous that I didn’t. Thinking back, it’s probably better; it wouldn’t have necessarily been a nice one, as I was both a crybaby and a showoff. Come to think of it, I might still be both of those things. Thankfully, I don’t currently have any nicknames related to either of those characteristics. Yet.
I do have some other fun ones though. “Sirena polar” — polar mermaid — might be the most creative, given to me by a friend of my ex-husband who was amazed that I insisted on swimming in ice-cold water after a hike. For reasons unknown to me, this same friend also often called me “cara de nutria”: otter face. Maybe because otters swim in cold water, too? Another friend, not quite as creative, simply calls me “mi gringa favorita.” I’d be more flattered if I weren’t one of the only gringos she knows.
Many nicknames are purposefully funny, and sometimes shocking. And from what I can tell, people don’t seem to be insulted by them. Sometimes I wonder if they actually are bothered but know that trying to fight back against the Mexican urge to make fun of everything is futile.
So when you get a name like “El Frijol” because you’re very dark-skinned, you just… go along with it, I guess?
In this particular case of another acquaintance, the guy was tall and good-looking. He was married, but seemed to have no shortage of women interested in him, or of self-esteem.
I always wanted to ask him if the nickname bothered him, but we were never close, so the opportunity was lost. But I did get to ask my ex-husband, who his friends had nicknamed “el bello camello” — the beautiful camel — supposedly because they thought he looked Arab.
Could this be one of those cultural things that’s dying out with more socially conscious and sensitive younger generations? I don’t think it is, as my daughter, age 11, has several nicknames herself. At school her friends sometimes call her Plana, which means flat. It’s a synonym of her name, Lisa, which means “smooth” in Spanish and is often featured on hair conditioner bottles. And in her Scout troop, every kid has a nickname, each one the name of a bird. She’ll also respond to “Mona,” which is kind of nice. “Mona” is more of a Spanish-from-Spain word for “pretty,” but in this case, of course it’s about the Mona Lisa.
So perhaps the tradition will continue?
After several years of watching the issue of how people address them being taken very, very seriously north of Mexico I’ll admit that I find the ability to joke around with silly nicknames refreshing. Like all humor, though, it’s very culturally specific; there are plenty of unspoken rules regarding when it’s funny and good-humored and when it’s not.
It’s not that I want the freedom to be gratuitously mean, which is something very different. But I do think that it’s always worth it to not take ourselves so seriously all the time, something most of us can agree makes us generally unlikable.
So if you get a nickname here, try to go with it. Because people don’t get nicknames when they’re not an included person of a group. Even if it’s not one you’d have chosen for yourself, it’s a signal that you are part of a community; people know you.
They might be making fun, but it’s affectionate fun. Try to take it that way.
Sarah DeVries is a writer and translator based in Xalapa, Veracruz. She can be reached through her website, sarahedevries.substack.com.
