I’m not usually vain, but thanks to Amy, I’ve recently been thinking a lot about my nose.
I don’t know if you can tell in my profile picture, but I’m the bearer of an unusually long nose. I mostly notice it in photographs taken from in front and slightly above me, where the viewer can peer down the bridge of my nose as a skier might look down a particularly steep Austrian Alp.
As a teenager, I hated it. I was constantly catching it in my peripheral vision, a reminder of my permanent place among the ranks of the average-looking masses. I mean, there I was, a unique and poetic soul with dreams of being wooed by the prince of a small nation or swept away on horseback to the halls of Pemberley to be adored by the modern day equivalent of Mr. Darcy, and all the time I was saddled with this monstrosity of cartilage and bone–a fleshy, immovable barrier to my transcendental designs.
That was years ago, though, and I think that my nose and I have finally made peace with each other. It no longer jumps out to surprise me from pictures (a nasty habit it developed in the eighties), and somehow I won my princely Mr. Darcy despite its stubborn refusal to mutate into a cute little button nose set over a pair of pouty, bee-stung lips. (Lips, however, are a subject for another day.) At last, I’m able to claim my nose with some measure of acceptance and yes, even pride.
So many people have boring noses.
Jennifer Grey, for example, should have spent more time in self-reflection before subjecting her distinctive schnoz to the knifework of Hollywood surgeons, becoming just another pretty face in a town full of them. Her nose used to be a beacon of individuality and spirited self-assurance. We all watched her with fond delight as she flouted convention to cha-cha with Johnny Castle in Dirty Dancing and ditched school to catch Ferris Bueller red-handed, faking his ninth sick day of the year.
Where did she go? She disappeared, or so I thought until the Internet Movie Database revealed her to be the forgettable flight attendant in the Ben Affleck/Gwyneth Paltrow vehicle, Bounce. Gone forever is the cute little hook on the front of her face, and, seemingly, the hook that snagged her the juicy character roles we remember her for.
So I guess I’ll keep my nose. It may never net me a speaking part in a movie, but Paul seems rather sentimental about it, and I am kind of attached to it.
Besides, I spent all my plastic surgery money on sushi and scrapbook supplies.