Stop Calling Me Daddy: A Tale of Cringe, Confusion, and My Emotional Damage
Stop Calling Me Daddy: A Tale of Cringe, Confusion, and My Emotional Damage
Let me just start by saying this—I am not your daddy. I don't want to be your daddy. I don't even want to be in the same zip code as the word "daddy" unless I'm talking about a 1950s sitcom or literal parentage. Yet somehow, in this dystopian timeline we live in, people have weaponized the word "daddy" like it’s cute, quirky, and seductive. It’s not. It’s emotional terrorism.
There I was, minding my business, living my life, perhaps enjoying a soda (Pibb, obviously, because I have taste), when out of nowhere someone drops the D-bomb on me:
“Okay, daddy.”
Excuse me? What? No. Stop that. Don’t ever say that to me again.
This isn’t limited to strangers on the internet, either. Oh no. People I know—people I once trusted—have used it in casual conversation like it’s a normal, healthy part of the English language.
“I see you, daddy!”
“Lookin’ good, daddy!”
“Big daddy energy!”
Big daddy energy? What does that even mean? That I pay taxes and have back pain? That I own an embarrassing number of cardigans? Because if that’s the bar now, then we’re all doomed.
Let’s be clear—I know there’s a weird cultural moment happening. People are tossing around “daddy” like it's a compliment, a flirt, or a way to assert power. But when someone says it to me? I immediately shrivel into a shell of myself and reevaluate every life decision that brought me to this moment. I feel like I need to go to confession afterward…
And let’s not forget the psychological warfare of hearing it in professional settings.
“Oh, you’re like the work daddy!”
No. No, I’m not. I’m the work guy who just wants to go home and eat pizza rolls in peace without being emotionally violated by rogue nicknames.
If I had a dollar for every time someone called me “daddy” in jest, I could afford the therapy I’ll need to recover from it. And before anyone says, “But it’s meant as a term of respect!”—you can keep your respect. I’d rather be called “chief,” “captain,” or even “hey you” before I willingly accept that title.
So please, from the bottom of my dramatic, over reactive soul: stop calling me daddy. Call me Nick. Call me Dr. Palisch. Call me that-guy-who-smells-like-corgis. Just leave “daddy” out of it.
Because if I hear it one more time, I might legally change my name to “Not Your Father” and move to a mountain where no one uses slang or breathes near me.
