We all have individual hierarchies of beauty and hygiene importance, which often read as superficial. But leaving it at that is shortsighted–for my writerly ass, at least. If we really consider what it is that we privilege over the myriad other options, out choices tend to spell something out about our larger values or interests.
The Sephora perfume shelves have beckoned to hordes of young girls since my own middle school days, when ones choice of perfume began to connote something more than just simply what they reeked of. My friends and I spent ample time spraying ourselves with various scents and hoarding perfume tester strips that would build up at the bottom of our purses. A detritus of aspiration, if you will—for the seemingly glamorous womanhood that was just out of our grasp.
After reading a poorly articulated article on Refinery 29 titled “Why I’ll Never Regret My Nose Job,” I wanted to counter it by sharing why I’m so glad I never went under the knife.