How I Came to Love My Nickname

Hi, I’m Nikki

My nickname, Nikki, has stuck with me for years now. Funny enough, I never introduced myself that way—my friends gave it to me. At first, I wasn’t too keen on it. But over time, it grew on me. Now, I can’t imagine being anything else. A few friends still call me Nicole, and I appreciate that.

It’s kind of odd, actually. I feel like I have two alter egos—and depending on who I’m with, I shift between them. If I’m around friends who know me as Nikki, I introduce myself that way. If they call me Nicole, I default to that. It’s never been something I planned—it just happens.

Hi, I’m Nick

Lately, some friends have even started calling me Nick, which I find strangely endearing. It’s just one more version of me. I’ve collected a few names over the years—some I remember, others I’ve probably forgotten. One person once called me Hop Along Nikki. I still have no idea why, but it stuck for a while as one of my screen names.

I was named either after my dad’s childhood dog, Nicki, or simply because my parents fell in love with the name Nicole. I’ve never really got the full story. I do remember my mom saying once, “I don’t want anyone calling you Nikki. I don’t like it.” Now? She calls me Nikki without hesitation. Go figure.

Born a NAG

And while my initials spell NAG, no one’s ever made a joke about it. Maybe they just didn’t notice—or maybe I got lucky.

Nicknames are strange and beautiful that way. They’re like little identity layers—some stay, some fade. To me, they’ve always felt like terms of endearment. A way people claim you as theirs. And honestly, I’m grateful for every version of my name. Each one holds a little story of who I’ve been to someone.

“A nickname is the heaviest kind of love. It’s a name that grows with you.“

Colleen Hoover