I’m beautiful on the inside*, okay?

*of my nose

Taking out of account, all of the crappy beauty and fashion magazines I read; the endless scrolls on social media; the fact that I am surrounded by beauties from all around the globe, and finally, my own insecurities, girls nowadays, myself included, are feeling the pressure more than ever to look ‘beautiful’.

The interpretation of beauty is something that is different to everyone. Just like any other adjective, ‘beautiful’ is a subjective thing. Just because I find something downright hilarious, doesn’t mean that you will too. You might not even find it remotely funny, and yet, we seem to be more accepting of this, yet hurt or left feeling rejected and dejected when someone does not consider us beautiful. It is impossible for everyone, to find everyone beautiful. What is beautiful to me, might be downright ugly to you.

Even though I know this, I still think that there is absolutely no problem with wanting to look your best. I want to unlock my maximum potential. And for this very reason, I frequent the beauty salon for a range of treatments every month. I get my eyebrows threaded and tinted, eyelashes done, hair coloured, manicures, pedicures, massages, (pretty much, you name it, I get it) etc etc. in the hope that I will feel my ‘best’ version of myself.

Whenever I feel a bit down in the dumps about the way I look, I tend to have a girly night in with a wide range of face masks, or head to the salon for a pick me up. So, last week, I went to the salon next door to my apartment, for my monthly maintenance.

The lady that I visit there is the absolute Beyoncé of Brows, and she is the only one who I trust to let near them. So as usual, I am lying there while she threads away. There’s the usual chat that they give you in <Dubai> salons, “Madame, you have boyfriend?” It’s agony, honestly – the conversation, I mean, not the actual eyebrow threading itself, which is actually less painful. So, as she begins to apply the tint to my eyebrows,as I am dozing off, she just casually drops into the conversation, “… and erm… your nose, ma’am…?” My nose? What about my nose? Has she accidentally gotten tint on my nose? My nose???

“My nose? What about my nose…?” She replies, “Your nose, Madame. Do you want me to do your nose?”

Absolutely horrified, I realise she is asking me if I want her to de-fuzz my nose. OhmyGOD, do I have some hairy beast nose? I don’t think I have ever in my life, noticed a girl with a nostril hair, now that I come to think of it. Am I the lucky exception??? Has everyone noticed MY nostril hair? And omg, is she politely trying to tell me that I have hairy beast nostril syndrome, (a syndrome mainly only suffered upon, by men) – were all of my friends thinking it, but just too polite and kind to tell me??? FYI, I am going to start looking at everyone’s nostrils, silently comparing our noses.

“Does mine need done? Is that a thing…? I didn’t even know that you could get that done…?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I show you.” I took her yes to mean, yes to all three things, but mainly, yes to <you need it done>.

Next thing I know, she’s coming towards me with a cotton bud dipped in what I can only describe as what looked like melted Nutella, but was most certainly not melted Nutella, and shoved it up my left nostril, giving it a little twist, eyes glinting as she went.

Those sixty seconds of awkward silence, where I was lying there mercilessly with a cotton bud dipped in wax shoved up my nose, felt like an eternity. My palms were literally sweating. I was staring at the ceiling wondering if I was in a beauty salon or wether I was in the dentist about to get a tooth extracted. Next thing, she tells me, “Okay, Ma’am, big breath!” (WHAT!? BIG BREATH ALWAYS MEANS PAIN IS ABOUT TO ENSUE!!!) and before I know it, theres a strange sensation, a bit like someone is trying to pull my brain out of my left nostril, and then it’s over just like that. I look up at Beyoncé of Brows, and she is positively beaming at me whilst brandishing a disgusting cotton bud towards me, and eagerly showing me the after effects in the small handheld mirror. “Now your make up will sit better.” (I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I do not foundation the inside of my nostrils, but thank you anyway).

And then, on closer inspection in the mirror, I realised that my nose did indeed look better! And even better than that I could breathe so well! It was like, I had literally just Olbas Oiled my nose. I felt like a new woman! I bet Kim Kardashian gets this done, I thought to myself as I paid. In fact, she probably gets her nostrils lasered. See, money does make people look better, because you can afford to get all this weird, obscure crap that you don’t even think you need done, done. I mean, probably no-one else would even notice, but when you look at them, and you think to yourself, “they look perfect”, it’s because they pay attention to all these minor details. Like nose hair.

Later that afternoon, sat in my friends flat, gossiping as usual over a cuppa, I told them what had happened with Beyoncé of Brows. “Yeah, I get mine threaded.” one of my friends says, as if it’s just a normal thing. “And thats what ______ get’s done to his nose every time he’s at the barbers. It sounds a bit extreme to me… But, Pam, doesn’t your nose feel weird now? I mean, nose hair keeps out all the germs and stuff, and now you’ve got none.”

I told her that actually, my nose felt so clear that I was sure that if I wasn’t too careful, I could start accidentally inhaling her clean laundry straight off of the clothes horse in the hallway, while we were sat here in the living room, with just one deep breath – socks flying up my nose and everything. HAHA! “I quite like my baldy new nose – who knew the air conditioned air of Dubai was so fresh all this time!? I might just keep getting it done, you know.”

Fast forward one week, and I have caught myself a cold. A cold! In Dubai! In the summer! During 43 degree heat! Coincidence? I think not.

I think it’s safe to say, I’ll just save myself the AED30, and the watering eyes next time, all the while telling myself that I am beautiful on the inside anyway.

 

 

 

 

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