Posted by: Chelsea Novak | December 10, 2002

1700 Euros for a new nose

I can’t believe I’m blogging about this. But meh, here we go. I think I’m blogging about this in an effort to talk myself out of even considering it. Last night, as I was practicing my belly dancing, I raised one of my scarves to see what I would look like if I was in traditional belly dancing garb and the only thing you could see on my face would be my eyes. So I did this and I was like “cool, I have really pretty eyes.” The scarf I was using was just a touch or two above sheer, so you could see the shape of my lips through the scarf. Again I had to say “hey, my lips are a really nice shape.” I then noticed that my cheeks were starting to do that cool “I’m a woman now” hollowing out thing giving me cheek-bones my adolescent baby cheeks couldn’t have seen on a clear day.

It was a nice moment. One of those moments where I realized that I no longer look like a girl, but a woman. It was really neat. Like I’d grown into the image of what I wanted to be when I was a little person. Then I took the scarf down. The pretty eyes, lips and cheeks were still there, slightly flushed from the dancing and then I saw it. Obscured by the scarf and wiped from my mind, was my nose. Not a horrific witch nose or brutally mangled in combat, but odd and somewhat bulbous. Through some freak of nature it can really only be described as squishy. It’s like there’s no cartilage in it. I can make it go flat or move most of it to one side or the other. It’s one of my more freaky party tricks. In highschool my dear friends Laura and Natasha would squish my mushy nose as a sign of affection. It’s an odd thing.

When I was growing, I used to beg my mom for a nose-job. I know I’m not disfigured or in a bad way at all, but it was just so odd and I felt like I could be some sort of beauty if I could just fix my unusual nose. The way I saw it, I already had the tall, pale and dark haired thing going on, so I didn’t need yet another feature to make me distinct. A normal nose would be just fine. At least this was the rationale I give my mother. She wisely said that if I could save up half of the money needed for rhinoplasty, she would front the other half. Smart woman my mother.

Needless to say I didn’t save the money, and I even came to accept my nose. Heck, in some ways I really love it. It’s part of who and what I am. When I have these vain freakouts about it, I slow down and pause when I think about what I’d be doing to myself. I’m kind of torn. Do I embrace the wonders of medicine and pay someone 1700 Euros (which I could use to pay a home theatre system or take a vacation to France with) to hack and reshape my nose? Or do I gracefully accept and embrace who I am and what I look like?

There are two sides to this coin. I could say that in the grand scheme of things, my nose really doesn’t matter, so why do it? But I could also, using that “logic”, say “why not do it?” If it’s not important, than I’m not really losing anything if I change it. Of course, then I become the girl who had the nose job, and it will be one of those “she’s not really pretty, she’s just had work done.” kinds of things. Sure most of the beautiful people in the world have had something done but that’s part of their job, but it’s not like looking a certian way is my job, it’s just an on-going obsession.

This is such a banal thing to post, I’m sorry to all the blog readers. But I was just such a shock to me yesterday. To go from a moment of feeling really beautiful and happy with myself to shock at how totally unflattering my nose is. Good thing I don’t have a spare 1700 Euros to toss around.

It’s totally clear that I am bored these days, isn’t it.



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