My nose can be described by sexy words like crooked, bulbous, and has-a-little-bit-of-a-hook. It’s a triple threat. I once gazed up at the Burj Khalifa and it gazed right back at me and said (or, like, whispered to me through the wind) “damn” which I think must have been out of sheer intimidation. There are people who feel obligated to say nice things about my nose as if it’s their civic duty, and I have a sneaking suspicion they’re doing it because they think I need to hear it.
Well, I don’t.
- I was a Girl Scout for a whopping year before I realized the job entailed more than just eating your own cookies. As an exercise in aggressive femininity, our troop leader gave all of the girls in our troop diaries and asked us to go around and write one thing in each person’s. I didn’t know any of the other girls so I wrote what everyone else seemed to be writing – “you’re pretty!” I returned to my seat expecting the same results in my own diary only to discover five instances of “you’re funny!” and one “your nose is cool.” Do they give you patches for being little dicks?
- I once proudly suggested to a friend that I had kind of the same nose as Sofia Coppola. She didn’t realize I was bragging and immediately tried to console me by naming other attractive large-nosed celebrities (there are three), which kind of made me feel like if a sexy landfill was masquerading as a human being and someone pointed out that they were obviously a pile of garbage and aren’t fooling anyone. (No offense to landfills.)
- A co-worker once saw me put on lipstick and said “you know, you remind me a lot of Chelsea Peretti.” Like a totally sane person who sometimes doesn’t notice that she has the viscera of a collapsed burrito running down her hands, I responded with “why, John? Because I have a gigantic nose? Is that why?” He mumbled something about how we both wear lipstick. To be fair, he could be nose size-blind and I’ll never know if that was the truth, but I’m 98% sure I never got a lipstick compliment before Chelsea Peretti released her Netflix special.
- I was throwing out ideas for a Halloween costume and a friend suggested I be a witch. I’ve never gone as a witch, though I was a dalmation for roughly eight years in a row in my childhood attempt to be all one hundred and one of them. Surely this friend couldn’t know how hard thirteen-year-old me cried during Wicked when Elphaba (spoiler alert) defied gravity [read: societal expectations of what size facial features women should have, probably]. “I think you’d make a great witch,” he said, his eyes flitting so momentarily to the center of my face. Bet I’d show him if I got four rhinoplasties and went as a 1960s witch who does magic with a wiggle of her cute BUTTON NOSE.
- I had dinner for the first time with an ex-boyfriend’s family and his mother said “you don’t eat pork right? I mean, you look like a nice Jewish girl.” I’ve never dated a proboscis monkey, but I think I should because at least his parents wouldn’t say a goddamn word.