The truth is…I have quite the schnozzola. It’s always been substantial and I gotta tell ya…it ain’t shrinking. As a young woman, I was self-conscious about it. In fact, there are very few pictures of me in my twenties and thirties because I didn’t want to capture for everyone to see what I saw as a shortcoming. Never mind that I was often a loud, obnoxious, sarcastic asshole. Those shortcomings don’t show up on film.
Now that I have settled into my body for the long haul, the schnoz bothers me less. But that acceptance has been a journey; one that each one of us must travel individually but that seems particularly poignant for women. So believe me when I say, I am in full and total support of a woman’s right to present to the world however she chooses.
But today, I’m looking at a picture of a broad with bleached skin, 2 ft of weave, stenciled eyebrows, fake eyelashes, face full of makeup, colored contacts, acrylic nails, duck lips, gigantic silicon boobs, 50 inches of butt and hip enhancements and wearing a waist training corset with a HUGE social media following…and I have to ask…what message are we sending to the girls and boys who are coming up after us?
I’m not looking to make a value statement about standards for beauty. Listen, there’s nothing I’d like more than having big, gigantic boobs! I wouldn’t get anything done, I’d stay home and play with them all day. Who doesn’t like boobs?
And I’m sure that all of these enhancements, if they occurred naturally, would be a lovely thing to behold. I think. It’s just that…my heart is breaking for the little girl somewhere who is looking at this tricked out physique as the ideal or even the norm. Those are tough shoes to fill…and the bras and draws ain’t no walk in the park either.
At some point, we have to say enough is enough. How much dissatisfaction can we have with the way that we were made? We can synthesize a perfect world of beautiful dolls that all look alike but we miss the opportunity to fall in love with each other’s imperfections.
Think about the people you really love. Isn’t there always some weird, quirky quality that belongs to them uniquely that makes them so damn lovable? An ex once told me that I walked like my left butt cheek was heavier than my right one and that he was afraid he’d never find that again. Really? You’d think that would be a good thing but it was this weird, knock-kneed quirk that he fell in love with first.
(Note: I know that may sound romantic but it was subsequently diminished when I later learned that he was collector of different, simultaneous quirks. And by quirks, I mean hoes.)
One day, I may go ahead and fix my schnoz…but in the meantime, I just want you folks to love and accept this big-nosed bastard for ALL of my other lovable qualities.
Ok…both of them.
Now get the hell off my back. I’m doing the best I can.