mommy, where’s my nose?

I consistently think about the act of plastic surgery. it’s often justified as making someone feel better about themselves - it’s their body, their choice, so who’s to judge? it’s not about beauty standards. you just hate your nose with its bump because, well, you do.

you just cannot convince me of any of that. it comes from somewhere. whether its messaging through magazine pages, your FYP, a TV series, or the ad for some bullshit off I-580.

I wonder about the children who do not see themselves reflected in the faces of their biological parents. what does that do to a child’s psyche? what does that do to the teenager who understands those implications?

even as I sit here picking the ideology apart, it still is ingrained in me, too. it is so wildly fucked up.

it’s a privilege to have yet another year on the roster. I hope one day we are all able to shed the demand to meet ever-changing standards. or at the very least, admit that they’re not unbiased, all-natural wishes.

“LOOK BETTER. FEEL BETTER. NOW! THE COSMETIC SURGICAL CENTER OF EL CERRITO.”