Taking The Absolute Pierce…


You never really know what type of person you are until you accidentally rip your nose stud out 365 days after you’ve had it put in. This happened to me on Friday night, and I realised a) my pain threshold is still skyscraper high, and b) I really don’t have any major life problems if I can reduce myself to tears over a tiny piece of missing titanium.

There it was, twinkling like a lonely star on the bathroom floor tile. I promptly picked it up and tried to ram it back in, but it’s one of those weird cork-screw studs; so my stupid, panicked hands couldn’t do it. I knew I had to be out of the house in 30 minutes, and I was still in a bath towel, eyes streaming, with a bloodied hole on the side of my nose. I abandoned my attempts to reunite metal and flesh. The next day, I fought in vain to get the stud back in, further butchering my nostril.

When I originally got the piercing, the gentle giant who put a hole in my face was amazed by my reaction. My eyes didn’t stream, I didn’t flinch, and I had to ask “is it done yet?” about 10 seconds after he’d pierced me. I didn’t shed a single tear, but when I saw my face without the stud on Saturday morning, I bawled like a baby. As lame as it sounds, piercing my nose last year was a shallow attempt to turn back time, alter my appearance, and show everyone how resilient I was. Before you spit your tea out laughing at that, allow me to elaborate.

Last year, like lots of people in their mid-twenties, I felt a bit…overwhelmed. I’d submitted my final university assignment, which meant I’d have to begin searching for a full-time, (frighteningly adult) job. Romantically, I’d managed to convince myself I was unworthy of anyone’s time, and to top it all off; I was haunted by the memories of my wasted teenage years. Basically, I panicked and decided a nose piercing would simultaneously address all of these issues. With intellect like that, it’s amazing I ever managed to get a degree.

ANYWAY – I felt the same sense of panic when the stud fell out.You see, that bit of titanium and I  have been on so many adventures together. We’ve surfed in the Portuguese sea, camped together at Bestival, been to see Fleetwood Mac, and generally sassed around for the last 365 days. After a lot of panicking, staring in the mirror, and crying to my Mum (who was dumbfounded by my overreaction/immaturity), I secured an appointment at a local(ish) tattoo shop, where the wonderful resident tattooist had to re-pierce my nose, and embellish me with a shiny new stud. I left her studio feeling whole again, and with an aggressively red left nostril.

I suppose I should try to carve out some kind of moral from this story, because I’ve been a self indulgent, hyper-privileged baby for the last 600 words. Whether you’re studded or not, you’re still the same person; but if a piercing makes you feel better about yourself, don’t let it turn to scar tissue. Also, don’t wash your face so violently in future. You could’ve saved yourself a tenner!

(Only song I can think of with the word ‘pierce’ in it #relevant)

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