Mariam Vahradyan
It feels as if the Armenian nose is becoming a rare sighting, like an endangered bird that evokes delight and surprise to passersby. “Look, what a fine nose he has,” I’ll remark to friends as we stroll down Saryan Street in Yerevan. Of note: Martiros Saryan, the esteemed Armenian painter after whom the now-bustling capital street is named, owned a powerful nose himself. I wonder what he would think of the sharp, acute angles perched on the faces of today’s locals. I wonder if he would find them inspiring — if he would have any subjects left to paint.
Before you scoff, smirk, huff and puff away, let me clear the tension in this already emotionally charged digital room: this will not be a case against plastic surgery. One can fill, inject and squeeze all they want.
This will, however, be a case for the Armenian nose — the crooked, the sagging and the glorious. This will be a push for saving what remains of our bursting beaks — or what surgeons prefer to call a dorsal hump — and the stories they carry.
While Armenia does not collect official statistics on this topic, surgeons across the nation report increases in the number of cosmetic operations conducted annually. In 2017, plastic surgeon Kristina Grigoryan reported that her clinic performed 500 rhinoplasties — up from 150-200 five years prior. Another physician, Karen Danielyan, traces the boom of plastic surgery in the country to the 1988 Spitak earthquake, when reconstructive facial surgery was in high demand. In recent years, Armenian diasporans and tourists from across the globe have visited Armenia for the procedure—their version of leaving behind roots, but in the form of tissue and cartilage.
Of course, functional rhinoplasty has numerous non-cosmetic benefits: repairing nasal injuries, improving sleep quality and managing sinus problems. Some individuals who opt for cosmetic surgery are also satisfied. In a 2022 study, individuals who underwent a cosmetic rhinoplasty reported a significant increase in self-esteem — defined as one’s attitude toward oneself — post-operation, compared to those who received functional rhinoplasty.
Plastic surgery is in high demand across the globe, but nowhere else have I stopped and shuddered. Why, in Armenia, does trading our emblematic noses for those of Europeans feel like an irreversible, heart-wrenching swap?
Most babies come into this world crying; I like to think that Armenians enter telling tales. In the last century alone, we have survived a genocide, a 6.9-magnitude earthquake, life under Soviet rule, and a dark and cold transition into independence. While facing a seemingly never-ending list of disasters, we continue to not only survive but also rebuild and strengthen our communities around the world.
Despite the losses suffered over the centuries, we’ve held onto our stories — our stories and our noses. You can take away our homes, our family members and our mountains, but until recently, you could not steal our keets.
What happens to an entire ethnic group when one of its defining features becomes the perceived root cause of low self-esteem? What happens when thousands believe that their nasal bones stand in the way of success, love and confidence? At what point do we look around and no longer recognize each other? What do we do when our children bear more resemblance to ancestors we never met than to us?
I grew up listening to the Arno Babajanians, watching the Mher Mkrtchyans and reading the Silva Kaputikyans. I was raised by parents who spoke highly of our ethnic facial structure, as it was an accomplishment Armenians were inherently born with.
When I take a good look at your nose, I know who you are. Your nose is the punctuation of your face — a drooping comma or a slanted slash. Stories without punctuation are merely a nonsensical string of events, with no past or future. Bring back the crooked question marks, the thick full stops, the expansive round brackets.
When I take a good look at your nose, I hear the roaring laughter of your aunt, the long-winded toasts of your great-grandfather, and the poems to be recited by your unborn child.
This is a plea — an ode to the noses still standing and transporting large satchels of untold stories. So, I beg you: take pride in your Armenian nose. Let it punctuate the tales of generations who never had the chance to share them. It is one of the things we can still call ours.
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