When I was little, I used to stare at Barbie’s nose.
Small. Petite. Button-like.
Perfect for her pink convertible, her Malibu dream house, her American dreams.
I’d pause the movie and look in the mirror—
What the hell was that thing on my face?
Then I saw my mother’s nose—slim but with a proud bump.
The classic Iranian style.
My father’s? Straight and chunky. Built like him.
I was screwed.
My nose genes weren’t looking too promising.
I used to pray—literally pray—that I’d somehow be spared.
That I’d wake up with a small, perfect nose that didn’t scream
Middle Eastern. Persian. Immigrant. Other.
I fantasized about nose jobs. I researched clinics.
I’d do that thing in the mirror where you push the tip up and think:
"Maybe if I just shave off the bridge and slim the sides..."
I wasn’t vain.
I was tired of being told I looked “ethnic.”
Tired of the way boys looked past me.
Tired of the way white girls never had to worry about this.
Everyone in my family did it—the surgery.
Most of them, anyway.
And yet something always looked... off.
I watched cousins go under the knife.
I saw noses shrink but faces lose their anchor.
They looked… not bad. Just—unfamiliar.
The small nose didn’t match their big eyes or thick, dramatic eyebrows.
It was like a puzzle piece from a different box—technically pretty, but misplaced.
They looked like they borrowed someone else’s reflection and forgot to give it back.
So I waited.
And a miracle happened.
My nose fat deflated (thanks, puberty).
The bridge sharpened. A small bump appeared.
Suddenly, it wasn’t so bad.
Not perfect. But not ugly.
Just… mine.
And one day, it hit me—
This nose wasn’t just mine.
It was Cyrus the Great’s.
It was Xerxes’.
It was Artemisia’s. Atoosa’s.
It had crossed empires, ruled kingdoms, outlived invaders.
It had been kissed by fire and history.
Why would I erase that?
For what?
To look like everyone else?
I had wanted to look less Persian.
But now I realize—my nose was the most Persian part of me.
And that’s not a flaw. That’s a birthright.
I feel the way with my hair. I grew a mustache when I entered highschool and am starting to grow nose hairs now.
ReplyDeleteMaybe it is an honor to show my heritage but also to stay warm. xD
I can definitely relate your experience. I was ready to get a nose job at 18 and then decided not to and embrace all of me. I love that you related our nose to the Zoroastrian greats like Cyrus! Definitely more proud to have my nose now thank you :)
DeleteI'm glad you didn't Kimiya, you are absolutely gorgeous!
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