Labels, in and of themselves, are essentially neutral. They only take on the life they do because we, as humans, ascribe certain values or expectations to them. And, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, words matter. It’s not a dad bod; I prefer the term father figure. I’m not cheap; I’m strategically frugal. As a result, labels can be a rather troubling matter.

Labels Are Useful

I don’t watch The Walking Dead anymore, but I do recall a specific episode from three years ago. “Rules are what make it all work,” Negan reminds us. “There are rules for a reason. Nothing matters if you’re dead.” In much the same way, labels exist for a reason. They’re useful.

They tell us how to care for our clothes, for example. Book titles describe the text that we find inside. Street signs indicate where things are, price tags tell us how much things cost, and warning labels protect us from danger. Caution. Hot. Do not consume.

What About People?

But, what happens when we start labeling people, especially ourselves? Is that a fruitful or a harmful exercise?

On some level, the right kinds of labels can provide comfort and structure to our lives. Perhaps more importantly, they can give us a sense of identity. Me, I identify myself as a Canadian, even if I don’t tick all the boxes. I don’t play hockey and I’ve never “gone up north to the cottage.” Sorry about that, eh. At the same time, I also identify as Asian… even though I never went to Kumon or took piano lessons. Most dishonorable.

Like most other people, I derive a lot of my self-identity from what I do for a living. I’m a freelance writer. That’s a label. And while it took some time for me to embrace the term, I’m also a stay-at-home dad… though I tend to use the “work-at-home dad” verbiage more often. I’m also a husband, a son, a Vancouverite, a foodie, a YouTuber and all the rest of it.

The Sinister Side of Labels

… and I don’t even need to get into all the labels that most of us can agree and harmful, hurtful and/or oppressive. I’m really thinking more about the objective neutral labels with ambiguous connotations.

If you’ve spent any time near social media these past few years, you’ll know that “influencers” are a thing. Some of them might prefer the term “content creator.” Many people cringe at the term, but I don’t. Realistically, I get far more uncomfortable referring to myself as an “artist.” Does either term make you think of a pompous egomaniac? Maybe?

Then, there are all the expectations and stereotypes that go along with all these labels. I’m Chinese, so I must be good at math and terrible at driving, right? I work from home, so I must have all the free time in the world to sit around in my pajamas and eat snacks, right? What does it even mean to be “middle class” or “middle-aged” anymore?

And take a look at that clothing label at the top of this post. Knowing that my hoodie is 100 percent cotton is reassuring. The care instructions are on the back. But, do you see that (upside down, sorry) XL on the little black tag? That doesn’t feel so good. I’m used to wearing a medium or a large… except this hoodie was made for the Taiwanese market, which fits smaller.

Realistically, the Taiwanese XL is more like a North American medium. But, the objective truth is drowned out by the subjective feeling.

But What Does That All Mean?

Labels, even when applied to people, can sometimes be a good thing. Because I am a blogger, I connect with other bloggers. The same is true with the “dad” part of my identity. But, labels can also lead to a sense of exclusion. I’m not really a millennial, but I’m not really a Gen-Xer either.

More often than not, I’m left feeling like a square peg surrounded by round holes. I’m just me. Whatever that means. Labels are weird.