Nose piercing

For many years, since I was a teenager, I have thought about getting my nose pierced. Despite my rebellious nature and lack of conformity, I always hesitated, however, and decided against it as perhaps being something that ‘nice’, educated, middle class women did not do. I did get my left ear pierced 3 times and my right ear pierced 2 times but then for many years I wore hardly any jewellery at all – earrings or otherwise (primarily because of an allergy to many types of metal).

Then 4-5 years ago, at a time when I was neither working nor studying (a brief hiatus in my life), I suddenly decided I would just do it. I have read elsewhere that it is reasonably common for women aged 40 and over to have their nose pierced, and similar. For me, it was that freeing up of any sense of judgment about myself, a lack of anything left to prove about my place in society, having strived so hard in my 20s to both find myself and make my mark in the world. I had more confidence to do what I wanted without caring what anyone else thought. Perhaps a more solid sense of my own identity. Or perhaps a mid-life crisis.

So, one morning I took myself off to the most respectable-looking place nearest to my home to have my nose pierced. There was a slight ‘discussion’ at the beginning as I was asked to sign a declaration saying I would not sue them under any criminal, civil or common law for any injury arising from the piercing. I argued that this was not legal, that they could not deny any responsibility for any personal injury caused. Once we had got over that slight hurdle, and I had assured myself of the sterile nature of the needle etc., I had my nose pierced on the left side with a very small, unobtrusive stud put it.

My God it hurt! Why did I not think it would be so painful? Putting a fairly thick needle right through the cartilage on the nostril, then trying to thread a curved stud through it – of course it would hurt. I would have taken loads of painkillers beforehand if I had thought ahead at all. Still, it was done – straight to Boots for painkillers, then home.

That afternoon I went to pick up my son from school. The first thing he saw was my nose stud.

‘What on earth is that? he asked. I tried to explain. He thought it was so offensive, so embarrassing that he literally could not look at me in the car on the way home. He just peaked at me out of the corner of his eye with his face covered by his hand.

‘Mum, you look ridiculous’, he said. Not for the first time (usually when I am dancing along to Bollywood songs on a DVD).

In time, my son got used to it and so did I. Then I started a new job, in a profession not noted for its liberal nature, in an office environment where business dress was expected most of the time. I decided the piercing would not look good and may alienate clients. I considered, and tried, a clear plastic ‘invisible’ stud to wear to the office – but decided that too would be too noticeable. Instead, I decided to remove the stud for work, but put it back in during home and leisure time. Sadly, it didn’t work and after only one week, the piercing in my nose (so hard and painfully won) had closed up and I couldn’t put any more studs through it.

But at work there were a couple of women of Asian origin who wore nose studs. In fact, there are many Asian women who do so and it is considered quite normal and respectable.

So, what is the difference? Why did I, as a white English woman, feel rebellious and non-conformist in deciding to have my nose pierced? Why did I think that it was something that ‘nice, middle class, educated’ women did not do from my ethnic background?

I am slightly comforted by a study from Southampton in 2001 that could not associate the present of body piercing (of any type) with any socioeconomic class, method of contraception, number of partners or presence of any genital infection. The study showed that it was probably just done for purely fashion reasons (International Journal of STD & AIDS, 2001, 12(6):358-360).

But in a rapidly globalising world, how is it that women in India, and women of Indian origin here in the UK, have a choice of clothes: from salwar kameez, saris, jeans and kurta, leggings and kurta and western-style jeans and T-shirt. They can have their nose pierced, or not – and it wouldn’t be a sign of rebellion or otherwise.

For women of English origin, though (like myself), we have no such choice – without seeming ‘hippy’, ‘rebellious’ or just plain weird. If I wear a shalwar kameez, I feel slightly self-conscious, like I am trying to make a statement (I’m not – I just like them). Similarly if I have a stud in my nose. I haven’t even tried a sari yet, for fear of coming across like a Hari Krishna groupee.

Why is it OK one way and not the other? Maybe I will go and get my nose pierced again but this time take a lot of painkillers beforehand.