COLUMN: My Nose, My Nose

From Stephen Houghton's "Ecce Queer," Fall '94 My problems began at birth. When I popped out of my mother's uterus (I am sure it was not that simple, but you get the picture), the doctor tried to wipe a dark spot off my nose. You know how birth is, all that fluid and matters that sticks to the slimy newborn. Well, that "dark spot" did not come off. There is a mole in the shape of Africa on the right side of my nose, about one inch from Cairo to Capetown. The color changes from a rusty tan in the South to a deep chestnut in the North. All over Amazon rain forest region, there is a thin layer of fine black hair. Growing up with a birthmark on your face sets you apart from others, whether you like it or not. A blotch on a kid's face cannot be readily hidden with a few dabs of make up. Also, you cannot control the reactions of other children to a spotted child. Difference is something children latch onto in order to make fun of one another. Sometimes it is because girls have cooties and boys have germs, sometimes it is along racial lines, physical ability, and religious values. Thank you, Society, for teaching us intolerance. I always hated when my mother would tell me, "They're just jealous, Stephen." Sorry, Mom, they ain't jealous of my blemish. Words like "Spot," "Mr. Fuzzy," "Shit-nose," and the myriad of other insults did not conceal the slightest hint of jealousy or envy. Eventually, life was not as traumatic as it could have been. I met other people with "worse" birthmarks. As my face grew physically, the relative size of the birthmark seemed smaller. My maturity grew, too. In addition to an emotional defensive thick skin, I started to embrace the fact that I was different. One day driving with my father, he asked if I would like to have my birthmark removed. In the past I had talked about laser surgery and excision, but I responded to my father's question with a startling amount of self-confidence and poise for a sixth-grader. "No, I like my birthmark, Dad. It gives me character and uniqueness." However, this is not a story about how cool I am with my difference. Not yet, at least. Soon, I became tired of explaining myself. I wanted desperately to be "normal." I looked into cosmetics and make-up, but I was not willing to spend the time or money with a sponge dabbing foundation. In ninth grade I started looking around for dermatologists and plastic surgeons. I was betraying that wonderful little speech I gave my father. I succumbed to the pressure that had been on me since that doctor tried to scrub it off my face in 1973. To make a long story short, the dermatologist said the mole was benign, the laser surgery person said there was chance of scarring and severe burns depending how deep the melanin was, and finally some other plastic surgeon did the job. Dermabrasion is the name of the process that has twice ground away layers of my epidermus, in hopes that the healing skin would grow in "better," which I guess means pink. It worked to drastically lighten my nose. So what? I regret having given in and removed my birthmark. Even today, sometimes I think about getting my nose "done" again because the sun has darkened it a little. I stop myself and ask, "Why?" Who makes us not like ourselves? Am I considering it on my own volition or are others telling me that it is "bad"? If you run into me now, you may or may not notice the discoloration on my nose. What you do see are other obvious things. Last semester you would have seen a bald head (as in the above photo) or yellow, white, or blue hair. And then there is the nose ring. People tend to notice the eight gauge steel ring that sits dead center on my face. I have chosen to mark my body with nine piercings to set myself apart from society's standard of beauty. I embrace my difference. Each ring has meaning to me. I have given them meaning to mark special times in my life, special people in my life, and to prove that I can indeed do anything. Sure there are other people in the world and at our University who are pierced, but these are MY piercings. I have created my own aesthetic. People have told me "You would be handsome only if... Why do you do that to your face and body... You have a 'nice' body why do you hide it under those baggy clothes?" I don't need their affirmation. I like myself, my look, my clothes, and my piercings. I know that I am not the most original person in the world. Heck, I can show you many people who look just like me, but I have made my decisions to look this way. I know why I do things to myself. I chose this. You can be an individual in Gap and J. Crew and whatever "mainstream" clothing. Shaving your head and piercing your septum does not necessarily make you an individual, especially since I did that (just kidding). There is very little we can do to change certain things. Who told us that this is good and that is bad? I don't care what other people think about my looks/body/hair. You decide that you are an individual. Stephen Houghton is a Senior Fine Arts and French major from Rockledge, PA. Ecce Queer will appear alternate Thursdays.