Somewhere in the last few decades, an unspoken rule took hold: if you own an electric guitar for longer than six months, you are contractually obligated to name it. Not a nickname for the model — everyone calls a Fender Stratocaster a “Strat” and moves on with their day. I mean an actual, personal name. A guitar named Gerald. A guitar named Wanda. A guitar, I am told, named Steve Buscemi. We need to talk about this.
Where This Started
Nobody knows for certain, but the popular theory points to B.B. King and his beloved guitar “Lucille,” a name with an actual, poignant origin story involving a dance hall fire. This was a beautiful, meaningful act. And then, as with all beautiful things touched by the general public, it got completely out of hand.
Now every guitarist with a pawn shop special and a dream believes their instrument deserves the same treatment. The result is a subculture where full-grown adults will say sentences like “Brenda’s been a little flat lately, I think she needs new strings” without a hint of self-awareness, as though Brenda has opinions about barometric pressure.
A Taxonomy of Guitar Names
The Grandmother Name — Mildred. Gertrude. Doris. These guitars are typically acoustic, slightly beat up, and treated with a tenderness usually reserved for actual grandmothers.
The Ex-Girlfriend Name — Never explicitly stated to be an ex-girlfriend’s name, but you just know. The guitarist gets a faraway look when you ask.
The Ironic Menace Name — Guitarists naming a beginner-friendly, candy-apple-red Squier “The Destroyer” or “Widowmaker.” The guitar in question has, to date, destroyed nothing and made zero widows.
The Overly Sincere Name — “Hope.” “Journey.” “Companion.” These guitarists post a lot on social media about their “musical journey” and you should prepare to hear about it.
The Slippery Slope
Once you name a guitar, you have crossed a threshold from which there is no return. You start talking about your guitar in the third person around people who don’t play. You develop preferences about which room “she” prefers to be stored in, for humidity reasons that may or may not be real. You catch yourself, mid-argument with a partner, saying “well, Delilah’s never had a problem with the temperature in here,” and you watch your partner’s face change in a way that suggests couples therapy is now on the table.
But Consider: Maybe It’s Fine
Here’s the thing — and I say this as someone who has absolutely never named a guitar, no sir, not me — there’s something almost sweet about it. A guitar you’ve played for ten years has heard every bad breakup song you’ve ever half-written at 1 a.m. It’s been dropped, dinged, restrung, and dragged to open mics where nobody was listening. If any inanimate object has earned a name, it’s probably that one.
So go ahead. Name your guitar. Just maybe don’t introduce it to people at parties. Some of us are still recovering from meeting Steve Buscemi.
