“Your nose is too big for your face,” Dr. Fernandez commented after using a Mongol pencil to measure my nose in relation to the rest of my features. He was my parents’ skin doctor but was also a cosmetic surgeon whose clientele were mostly matronly women twice (or more) my age getting breast jobs, face and eye lift. “But the rest is in proportion,” he added. A breath of relief, I thought–at least there was still something positive to say about my God-given assets.
For the longest time, I had been known as “Ilong” to my closest friends from Assumption, who got a kick out of joking how my brains were located above my septum or how I had bad hearing because my sense of smell was too dominant, even though the constant ringing in my ears is due to drumming since I was 14. However, they were not the only ones who made a fuss of my big nose.
In the movie, Penelope, the title character (played by Christina Ricci) is cursed with a snout for a nose. In order to find a husband, her mother sets her up with high-society bachelors, who each converses with her behind a mirror, in the hope of finding a mate who will love Penelope for her intelligence and charm.
I was 21 years old when my mom suggested (for the nth time) that I consider getting it reduced. Being part-Spanish, my mom had a nicely-shaped nose and always attributed my “flaw” to my Dad’s side of the family. The Darios are known for their big noses and dark skin. But throughout the years, I declined the offer to get a rhinoplasty: my big nose had actually become my signature. Hey, Barbara Streisand didn’t get her own prominent nose fixed!
But when Dr. Fernandez explained that his style of sculpting noses was to make it a more ideal version of what the patient already has, then I felt more convinced. “People should be able to look at you and think you got a new haircut,” he explained. True enough, my schoolmates could not point out what had changed until I revealed that I had gone through a cosmetic procedure.
“Let me know if you want to push through with this,” he said. Less than one week later I was on the operating room table of the Makati Medical Center, getting my first surgery, fully-awake and scared as hell.
However, six years later, I wonder if going under the knife would have affected Mark’s initial attraction to me; so I asked him last week: “If I still had my big nose, would you still like me?”
“Di ko rin masasabi. [I wouldn’t know.]” He answered with a mischievous grin.
I wanted to slap him across his face and break his own nose. Yet somehow, this remark has managed to disturb me and make me wonder: did interfering with my looks affect my marriageability on a superficial level? Which leads to another question, “Do I deserve this or am I just a big phony?”
Left: My ID picture pre-cosmetic surgery. This was taken around 2000. Right: My nose today. This is also how I look without make-up.
We all know that physical attraction plays a role in getting people together. Girls have it easier though. We slap on make-up, pluck our eye brows, get stylish haircuts and have more fashion options than the boys. How is plastic surgery supposed to be different from regularly applying shimmery peach blush to highlight your cheekbones?
Some people will argue by saying that we should never mess with what nature has given us; that when it comes to love, your mate should appreciate you for who you are; that our insecurities with our bodies are the result of media’s influence. Yada Yada yada.
Nowadays, who is truly 100% natural?
A few years ago, I read a book called Survival of the Prettiest by Nancy Etcoff, a medical psychologist at Harvard. Etcoff debunks the entire media-as-dictator-of-beauty-standards and examines physical attraction from an evolutionary point-of-view. Men like fair skin, big hips and small waists because these are all signs of nubility. Even more intriguing, Etcoff conducted studies among isolated tribal peoples who have never been exposed to mass media and asked them to rate faces perceived as beautiful in western cultures–the results were consistent. In another study, mothers–although they will never admit if–tend to take better care of babies who are “more attractive” then their other siblings. It’s a refreshing and eye-opening examination of why we are drawn to individuals with chiseled faces and hot booties. Physical looks is not so much about culture as it is about the survival of the human race.
Defying the rules of evolution and beauty, Benjamin Button, who is born with a condition that makes him age backwards, is lovingly cared for by his adoptive mother.
So, maybe the act of agreeing to having my nose nipped, tucked and sewn for two hours an unconscious attempt to ensure the survival of my genes?
The life instinct has resulted to a billion-dollar industry dominated by fashion, beauty and cosmetic surgery. Nowadays, there’s nothing you can’t fix, whether temporarily through a lip-plumping gloss that coats your pucker in light acids, or permanently, such as “vaginal rejuvenation,” a type of surgery that essentially promises to return you to your virgin state, several babes later. Looking younger–pointed by Etcoff as another important factor in race survival, which encourages the caring instinct of individuals towards people with childlike features–is as easy as getting shots of Botox in between your eyebrows or having a Brazilian wax, revealing you pre-puberty self below that 20-year old forest of pubic hairs. There really is something behind that line that I’ve heard Mark say several times: “Parang masarap siyang alagaan [It would be nice to take care of her] .” What’s a couple of thousands, not to mention a little procedural pain, in the greater scheme of race survival? It’s not impossible to steal a little bit of that youthful glow in order to make ourselves remain attractive to the opposite sex.
I may not be 30 yet, but wrinkles are starting to become a problem as I begin noticing very small lines beneath the corners of my eyes. Lately, my beauty regimen has started to include products with the word “anti-ageing.”
That’s when I realized that I will not forever be the young, 21-year old girl, who Mark met in 2004.
Remarking on the abundance of cosmetic options at our disposal, a family friend commented that in this day and age, if you're ugly, it's your fault.
“What would you do if you meet a cute 21-year old when I’m already wrinkled and full of stretch marks from having kids?” I asked Mark.
“I’ll just look,” he said, “but I won’t touch.” The good thing is, both of us have a clear understanding that it is in our nature to admire other people. For the past 5 years, we have been very open about acknowledging other people’s beauty to each other.
“You will always be that ‘young girl’ to me,” he added–and I believe in the sincerity of his words. Still, the reality stands: I will not be able to cling to my youth forever, nor will Mark. Both of us will grow old. Yet I still believe that with this commitment to each other–plus a little help from my bikini waxer and a bottle of Elizabeth Arden Prevage–our survival in this crazy world will be ensured.
– Punky
By the Book Wedding 