Chicago isn't just one city. Honestly, it's a collection of seventy-seven neighborhoods held together by the L tracks and a mutual hatred of the Detroit Lions. If you spend any time here, you'll realize quickly that calling it "Chicago" feels a bit formal, like calling your best friend by their full legal name. People have been inventing other names for Chicago since the 1830s, and most of them have nothing to do with the weather.
You've probably heard someone call it the Windy City. Boring. Most people think that’s about the gusty lakefront or the way the wind whips between the skyscrapers on Wacker Drive. It’s actually a dig at 19th-century politicians who couldn't stop bragging. Charles Dana of the New York Sun is the guy usually credited with popularizing the term back in 1890 when Chicago was vying to host the World’s Columbian Exposition. He was basically telling Chicagoans to shut up because they were "full of hot air."
Why the Second City Title is Actually a Compliment
For decades, New Yorkers used "Second City" as a way to pat Chicago on the head. It was a reminder that no matter how many meatpacking plants or railroads the city built, it would always be trailing behind Manhattan. But here’s the thing: Chicagoans eventually stopped caring. They leaned into it.
The name took on a totally different meaning after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. When you literally burn to the ground and have to build an entire skyline from scratch—inventing the skyscraper in the process—the "Second City" becomes a symbol of resurrection. It’s the city that was built twice. It’s also the name of the most famous improv theater in the world, which gave us everyone from Bill Murray to Tina Fey. Being second meant you had more to prove. You worked harder. You didn't have the luxury of coastal arrogance.
The City in a Garden and the Urbs in Horto Legacy
If you look at the official seal of the city, you’ll see the Latin phrase Urbs in Horto. It translates to "City in a Garden." It sounds a bit flowery for a place known for gritty winters and industrial steel, but it was the guiding philosophy of the city’s early planners.
In the early 1800s, Chicago was basically a swamp. A muddy, stinky, onion-filled marsh. To make it livable, engineers had to physically jack up the buildings and pave over the mud. But even then, they insisted on a massive park system. This is why, despite the density, you’re never far from a green space. From the lakefront trail to the 606, the "Garden" part of the name is a real, physical commitment to public space that most cities ignored during the Industrial Revolution.
The Muddy Truth of "Chi-Town"
Is "Chi-Town" cool? Depends on who you ask.
If you’re a suburbanite coming in for a Cubs game, you probably use it. If you’re a local who grew up in Bridgeport or Logan Square, you might roll your eyes a little. It’s a polarizing one. The term gained massive traction in the 1990s and 2000s through hip-hop culture, specifically with artists like Common and Kanye West. It’s a shorthand that feels modern, but it’s definitely one of the other names for Chicago that marks you as a visitor if you say it too loudly in a dive bar.
The Big Onion: Chicago’s Original Stink
Long before the skyscrapers, the area was known by the indigenous Potawatomi people as shikaakwa. It referred to the wild leeks or ramps that grew along the riverbanks. Basically, the city is named after a stinky onion.
Early explorers like Marquette and Jolliet wrote about the smell. It wasn't exactly the "City of Broad Shoulders" yet; it was more like the "City of Pungent Vegetables." We don't use "The Big Onion" nearly as much as New York uses "The Big Apple," which is a shame. It’s a lot more honest. It captures the rugged, swampy roots of a place that was never supposed to be a metropolis.
Understanding the "City of Broad Shoulders"
Carl Sandburg. 1914. That’s where this one comes from.
His poem "Chicago" defined the city's identity for the next century. He called it the "Hog Butcher for the World" and the "Player with Railroads." It’s an evocative, muscular way of describing the city’s role as the industrial engine of America. When people use this name today, they aren't talking about meatpacking anymore. They’re talking about the work ethic. There’s a specific kind of Midwestern resilience baked into the "Broad Shoulders" moniker. It’s about being the person who clears the snow while the rest of the country shuts down.
Mud City and the Logistics of Survival
Back in the mid-1800s, people literally drowned in the streets. No, seriously. The soil was so saturated with water that horses would sink. There are old stories—likely tall tales, but based on some truth—of signs being placed in the mud that read "Shortest route to China."
This led to the "Mud City" nickname. It was a logistical nightmare that forced the city to undergo one of the greatest engineering feats in history: the raising of Chicago. They used thousands of jackscrews to lift entire city blocks, including heavy brick hotels, several feet into the air so they could build sewers underneath. Chicago exists because it refused to stay in the mud.
Chi-Raq and the Controversy of Modern Labels
We have to talk about "Chi-Raq." It’s a term that combined Chicago with Iraq to highlight the gun violence in certain neighborhoods.
- Origins: It gained popularity in the early 2010s through the drill music scene.
- Backlash: Many community leaders and residents hate it. They argue it dehumanizes the city and ignores the beauty and investment happening in those same neighborhoods.
- Cultural Impact: Spike Lee even made a movie with the title, which sparked a massive debate about who gets to name a city’s struggles.
It’s an uncomfortable name. It’s a name born out of pain and systemic neglect, and it serves as a reminder that the city’s identity isn't all architecture tours and deep-dish pizza.
Paris on the Prairie
Daniel Burnham had a vision. After the 1893 World’s Fair, he wanted to turn Chicago into a neoclassical wonderland. He dreamed of wide boulevards, grand museums, and a unified lakefront. This gave birth to the name "Paris on the Prairie."
If you walk down Michigan Avenue or look at the layout of Grant Park, you can see the French influence. It’s the reason why the lakefront is mostly "forever open, clear, and free." While other cities sold their waterfronts to private factories, Chicago (mostly) kept its "Parisian" parks for the people. It’s a bit of an aspirational name, but it fits when the sun hits the Buckingham Fountain just right.
Why the Nicknames Keep Changing
Names for cities aren't static. They change because the city's purpose changes. Chicago started as a swampy port (Mud City), became a global food provider (Hog Butcher), transformed into a center of architectural innovation (Second City), and is now a global hub for tech and finance.
When you use different other names for Chicago, you’re actually referencing different eras of its history. You’re talking about the politicians of 1890, the poets of 1914, or the rappers of 2012.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Visit
If you want to sound like you actually know what you're talking about when discussing Chicago's various identities, keep these three rules in mind:
- Don't call it "The Windy City" to a local unless you're complaining about a 40-mph gust hitting you in the face. We know it's windy. We also know the name is about politics, and honestly, the joke is old.
- Respect the "Second City" tag. It’s not an insult; it’s a badge of honor for anyone who appreciates the underdog spirit and the fact that we have a better skyline than Los Angeles anyway.
- Explore the "Garden" part of the city. Don't just stay in the Loop. Go to the Humboldt Park lagoons or the Garfield Park Conservatory. That’s where the Urbs in Horto identity actually lives.
Next time you're standing on the corner of State and Madison, remember you're standing on land that was once a stinky onion patch, then a muddy pit, and eventually the greatest architectural experiment in the Western Hemisphere. The names are just layers of that history.