Coffee Talk #26: Moniker Lewinsky

One thing sincere friendships, wether they are long lasting or fresh from the market, all have in common on a global scale, is the phenomenon we all refer to as nicknames. Whereas terms of endearment are usually reserved within the boundaries of kinship, it is often the nitty gritty unexpected names that add some extra color to groups of friends. Names that spark intrigue, and instantly grab our attention. The ones that feed our curiosity. The ones that are carried as trophies, forged in the fire. The ones that tell a story.

In this day and age where each individual easily creates and maintains his or her own digital footprint, an online persona if you will, we simply can no longer avoid the infinite nickname galore the worlds of social media and online gaming have forced upon us. The only platform I can think of, that firmly assessed its exception to this unwritten digital jungle rule, would be LinkedIn. Since it advocates to be a platform for career-minded professionals, where profile pages look like resumes, only one type of name can be used by whoever signs up: the real one.

For all social media outlets that are predominantly categorised in the entertainment void (whether or not it’s completely senseless, depends on the content, on personal opinion, and some rare interstellar alignment), it is an easy act to settle on a moniker (fancy word for nickname) when signing up. I didn’t use my real name when creating an Instagram account, many many years ago. Mainly because of being a bit wary towards registering bits of personal information in order to sign up. And in hindsight, I'm glad I had that sensibility. Taking this form to further extremities, but very much so without an inkling of privacy awareness, is exemplified in the behaviour of my son, who didn’t settle for just one account at his platform of choice, but for several ones. When I asked him why he didn’t settle for just one, like semi-regular people do, he told me that all his friends use a multitude of accounts. It is in fact, normal. Clearly, one of those pivotal moments in parenthood, that left me feeling dumbstruck, old, and completely out of touch with this generation.

Obviously, all those accounts that hardly serve a purpose (because, what groundbreaking revelations do we expect from our children?) other than enabling moronic boredom, are carrying even more senseless names. Making me wonder, when a kid nowadays even considers using his or her own name for a social media account, Hell has probably frozen over. Twice. And even if, by some miracle, the applied naming convention triggered a moniker (fancy word for nickname) that inspires awe and credibility, it’s pretty safe to say it could have only been fuelled by a digital presence. Most likely derived from a trend, or a video game, or a meme. Or even worse, someone who films himself ranting and screaming while video gaming, and for some sincerely stupid reason, being successful as a YouTuber because of it. Off-screen factors simply don’t carry the weight to be somewhat of an inspiration nowadays. At least, from where I’m sitting, it feels that way.

But it's exactly that very same off-screen territory where you unexpectedly find yourselves in the midst of social interactions, venturing off into a unique environment that can't be replicated (take that online servers), and simply experience parts of life in all its unexpected glory, where a one-in-a-million chance of a humoristic experience born into fruition, undoubtedly reveals a moniker which will resonate forever into the hearts of those who were present. A phenomenon which seems to remain uncultivated by this generation.

Since the days of careless roaming are left behind, together with my youth, and grey hairs have come to stay, I actually have a list of monikers (fancy word for nicknames) that have stayed with me throughout the decades.

On that list stands the name Mr. Casual, a title given to me by none other than Mr. Liccorice (another mister) himself, also known as Black & Lecker, but let's call him Von Draper for now. The name was instantly picked up by our friends, and it didn't take long before I heard that people used it as my name in their phones. Someone, I can't recall who, even coined the phrase: Mr. Casual who makes the ladies smile, and it actually rhymed. Rest assured, the tag-line, which was short lived anyway, sounded way more adventurous than what real-life had in store for me those days.

By the time Mr. Casual saw its first instalment, I was already going by Danish for quite a while. A name given to me by none other than the Brother P, also known as P Boogie, mostly known as P-Nut in those days, and dubbed The Javanese shortly after Mr. Casual started making the rounds. With a name like Danish, questions about my background were easily raised. To which the answers were always greeted with laughter. Danish was quickly shortened to Dane, which in turn was quickly extended to Daynee Dayne. The phrase Daynee Dane, the man so nice they had to name him twice also came to life at one point. But that’s directly taken from a News Radio episode, so no credit for that one.

And even before the dawn of Danish, another name saw its inception: Danchote. Almost exclusively limited to the Chilean Delegation, and a handful of colleagues from the warehouse and truck driving days.

I once took up a moniker (a fancy word for nichname) myself. The Eastpak Traveller, together with the fitting catchphrase If it doesn’t fit in your backpack, you probably don’t need it. Looking back on it, I have to admit it felt a bit odd, as well as semi-pretentious. The latter of which is mostly due to the enormous rise of hipster culture. In my defence though, it was 2017 when I wrote that stuff down. In those days, hipsters in the Banana Republic were still pretty much exclusive to the barista demographic, pop-up bars serving overpriced IPAs, and the occasional artisan bakery. Their signature style was limited to lumberjack shirts and long beards. As I recall it, a pretty far cry from where the movement is at right now. The former however, has a lot to do with the sense of perfectionism which isn’t uncommon to most writers. Perfectionism of the perpetual kind. Hard to beat, and chronically re-occurring. But to top that all off with something way more obvious, the moniker (fancy word for nickname) lacks a lot of funk, because it's conception is strictly digital. It doesn't come with coffees at a sun lit terrace, or a rewarding Turia beer on a hot Valencia afternoon. Nothing more than a soulless figment of imagination, void of any funk.