An Ode to My Arab Nose

Words by Gail El-Halaby

The nose. In theory, simply a physiological necessary, but, in practise, a commodified matter of symbolic beauty and power. As a woman, I am taught to scrutinise every curve, edge and line on my body, and if I don’t, someone else will. So, in an age where each wrinkle and blemish come under scrutiny, I do not believe it is a frivolous niche for the nose to be culturally spotlighted. My heritage is Arab-Latina, and my first memory of insecurity came as a young teenager, examining my side profile and questioning why I didn’t look like the majority of my friends. Growing up in a very white, very British area often meant that my comparison pool was not extensive. As a teenager, body insecurity tore through my self-esteem, and my nose became the focus of intense self-critique. I am white-passing in skin colour, but my features are distinctly Arab; almond eyes and bold brows, dark hair (everywhere) and, of course, the nose. A nose that has ultimately always been the before picture in the rhinoplasty adverts, unavoidably and stereotypically undesirable. Google’s algorithm perfectly illustrates this reflection of the populist view; type ‘beautiful nose’ and you see an exhibition of white women with perfect ski sloped noses and buttoned- doll features. Type in ‘Arab-nose’ and you are welcomed with a plethora of rhinoplasty images and hyperbolised, borderline racist depictions of cartooned Muslim men with overtly exaggerated hooks.

Through the throes of my hormones, I argued with my Father, once culminating by hurling a malicious “why did you make me look like this, I wish I was just British,” and a theatrical slam of the door. For years, I battled with my Mother, begging her to allow me a nose job, even booking consultations behind my parents’ backs to secretly visit a surgeon, travelling to London’s infamous cosmetic surgery hotspot Harley Street under the pretence I was meeting a friend (I calculated, on my part-time job at the time, it would take me a minimum of eight years to save up. It was unsurprisingly a defeated walk back to the tube station). So, it is safe to say I have fantasised of a nose job since I was a teen and often felt like rejecting my culture and everything to do with it would cure the root of my problem.

It may sound like a pointlessly superficial affliction, yet it is more widespread than may be imagined- and I know I am not alone in this feeling. The Middle East is the number one region in the world for rhinoplasty surgery and a large nose is the leading complaint. Plastic surgeons around the world specialise in ‘Middle Eastern’ ethnic nose jobs, with specific landing pages detailing the most common contentions of the Arab nose. Lebanon reportedly conducts the highest number of rhinoplasties in the Arab world, and in 2017, the BBC reported that the Levantine region (where my family originates) has seen a sharp uprising in the number of men going for this surgery, demonstrating that it is now not only women who are being faced with these overt pressures. The reason? Permeating pressures from social media and the want to appear more desirable in the dating pool. In some countries, so much so is this normative vein that a nose job is presented almost as a rite of passage into womanhood, the regularity and not the exception to discuss facial surgery.

It took me years to realise then, that the predominant reason for this self-hatred was absolutely nothing to do with an ugly glitch in my genetics, but everything to do with the Western hijacked standard of beauty, which continues to subordinate minority women across the world. There is a reason I seldom, if ever, see Arab noses on the catwalks, brand campaigns, billboards or adverts. Aside from this, even in the Arab world, women from my region are seen as more desirable due to their naturally lighter-skinned complexes, whiteness continuing to be the unargued standard ingrained in society. So, I am particularly irked by the latest beauty trends, which favours the typically seen Arab large eyes, prominent cheekbones, larger lips and bold brow as ideal yet rejecting other typical traits. As if a pick ‘n’ mix, Western beauty ideals weave in and out of fashion, cherry picking certain facial facets of acceptance when, in reality, the majority of us cannot simply choose our looks according to the prevailing trends of the moment. The dissemination of these pillars of beauty and subsequent normalization makes ultimate self-acceptance a tough journey.

If it hasn’t become clear yet, I have spent a lot of time pondering over my nose, perhaps more than most. This is for the women out there who have also grown up hating their side and front profiles; in a world where acceptable yet contrived standards of beauty are decided by the hegemonic few, excluding the majority. We are told to simultaneously embrace our natural beauty whilst continuing to exist in a world where truly diverse rather than exotic tokenised and sexualised minority body representation remains lacking. I believe it is evolving, but we still have a long way to go for authentic heterogeneity to be commonplace, rather than the celebrated occasion being part of the mainstream media discourse. So, do I love my nose? No. Do I accept my nose? Almost, due to a long culmination of internal self-acceptance and external cultural analysis. Maybe one day the curve of my nose will momentarily meander into the mainstream trend, but, for now, I believe it represents a part of my heritage, and for that, I am proud.

(Hey women, if you’re feeling insecure about your nose, I urge you take a few minutes to check out the BigNoseLadies thread on reddit for some wholesome support and acceptance)

To see more from Gail visit @themetalfeminist

Art work by @ramaduwaji