As a side effect of work stress, I’ve started fantasizing about what it might be like to exist as a very rich person’s lap dog… or cat… but that’s neither here nor there.
I don’t remember when I first heard about the short story “The Nose” by Nikolai Gogol, about a nose that detaches from its owner and forms its own identity as a man, but it was only in the last week or so that I was inspired to read a version of the full translated text. The springtime pollen allergies that I’ve had for most of my life seem to have turned into perennial allergic rhinitis in recent years, so I’ve been taking an oral antihistamine every day no matter the season. My supply ran out and I didn’t rush to replace it because I thought it wouldn’t make much difference in winter, when the trees and grasses are quiet. How wrong I was! Two days in, my nose took on an obnoxious life of its own, tingling, itching, and running in place incessantly, standing stubbornly between me and anyone I tried to converse with face to face. (I do know that I’m allergic to dust mites, and my environs may be a little dusty, but I wasn’t expecting this intensity of protest!)
For the level of surrealism in “The Nose,” I was a little disappointed that the interaction between the Nose and his former owner was so minimal. The Nose could have put the unpleasant, status-obsessed “Major” Kovalyov in his place more thoroughly by way of more extensive dialogue, rather than suddenly disappearing from place to place after a brief exchange.
The most detailed description of the Nose’s physical appearance is as follows:
He was wearing a gold-embroidered uniform with a big stand-up collar and doeskin breeches; there was a sword at his side. From his plumed hat one could infer that he held the rank of a state councillor.
Seeing the Nose dressed as one of a more senior rank, Kovalyov was unsure at first how to approach him. After a few bumbling attempts at telling the Nose that he was his nose, the latter asserted his own superiority:
The Nose looked at the major and slightly knitted his brows.
“You are mistaken, my dear sir, I exist in my own right. Besides, there can be no close relation between us. Judging by the buttons on your uniform, you must be employed in the Senate or at least in the Ministry of Justice. As for me, I am in the scholarly line.”
I also wish the Nose had been wearing a fragrance to complement his airs. What would you choose for him? I think something spicy and floral over a smoky leather base might be in order…
‘Tis the season for corporate holiday parties (some companies with shallower pockets have theirs in January, when prices are lower). I was lucky enough to be a guest at one recently, and one of the attractions was a poet with a vintage typewriter circa the 1920s, who would type you a poem on a card on any topic you chose.
“Perfume,” I requested, thinking the output would be something abstract.
“What’s your relationship with perfume?” she asked.
“I love it. I wear it every day.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
Now I was getting antsy from flashbacks of visiting perfume stores where the sales associates wanted to be helpful, while I always blanked at any names, not least because I didn’t want to be limited by anything I named. So I started explaining that I had several and rotated between different things.
She pivoted effortlessly. “What kind of notes do you like in perfumes?”
“Rose notes, flowers, woody notes, leather…” I was starting to worry that the poem would be too literal.
Instead, I was blown away.
A moment remembered
Love, don’t be shy because
The strongest reminders of a missing person
Could even be in not a perfume
But in the clouds
Or in a flowerbomb
I’m sure you all get it right away!
When the line of people getting their poems had cleared, I went back to tell her how brilliant this was. I asked her if she was a perfumista, and she said one of her friends was very into perfume and watched Jeremy Fragrance. She liked rose as well, and we could agree that sometimes the simplest forms (such as a rose oil) could be the most beautiful.
You can find more poetry by Iman Khon on TikTok @theikhon
For those who don’t recognize perfume names in thin disguise…
Love, Don’t Be Shy is by Kilian
Missing Person is by Phlur
Not a Perfume is by Juliette Has a Gun
Cloud is by Ariana Grande
Flowerbomb is by Viktor & Rolf
Nose Prose 
First I was impressed by you reading that Gogol’s story and musing about it. I didn’t think about it in decades!
I hope you took care of your nose by now and are not risking driving it away 🙂
Next, that poem was quite unexpected. I must admit that I didn’t recognize a couple of names. But it was clever. And I especially enjoyed your description of the process. I’m sure that I would have had exactly the same thoughts.
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Haha, I have often threatened my nose that I might replace it, but it doesn’t listen. 😉 It is fine now, thanks! I hope you have a great holiday!
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Quick pop in to say happy holidays and happy new year! 2024 for me will be as insane work wise as this end of year has been so don’t expect to see me much but I do miss all my perfume pals and think of you often. I too would like to come back as a house cat who is loved and cherished….pampered and spoiled 🙂
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Happy holidays to you as well! It’s good to hear from you whenever you have a moment to visit, and I hope 2024 will bring you many good things amidst work busyness. It sounds like you’ve earned some pampering!
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I’d like to think my nose might be rather noble in stature
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I’m sure it would be, and well dressed too!
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Hope your nose is better now. Love the poem too. Wish I had attractions like these in the days when I used to work in an office and the dreaded office party loomed large.
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It is, thanks! Just need to stay on the antihistamines. It seems the party event options have come a long way. You can also get your photo printed on a cookie, a latte, … you name it!
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When I was a teenager I worked in a grooming salon. I hated getting afghans booked in. They don’t need any trimming just shampooing & combing through from the paws & belly up. Then hand drying whilst combing & detangling again. A full mornings work. & to do their backs I had to stand on a stool. They are also dumb as in the least intelligent breed I’ve ever come across.
Clever poem
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I didn’t know they weren’t an intelligent breed. They can sure fake it while sitting prim with perfectly combed hair looking aloof!
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Hahahahaha like the beautiful hippie girl throwing out long words in a stream of consciousness word salad.
They’re sight hounds & pay little attention to verbal commands
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Love that poem! Brilliant! Those hounds with their flowing locks look “Hollywood” ready. I remember reading an article on Pablo Picasso and his love for Afghan hounds. I think he owned a few in his lifetime and featured them in his paintings too. Beautiful dogs, but lots of work as Flaconneur remarked.
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I wonder if he groomed them himself?
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By all accounts he was too busy with his other passions: his art, his image, his ego and his women.
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Brilliant, Nose Prose! Thank you for sharing. I love, and got the poem immediately.
I’m not a pet person, but when I was a teenager, one of my favorite dog breeds was Afghan Hounds. I can’t explain why, but my friends thought that this was a perfect breed for me, since I am completely anal retentive. They were convinced the dog would always look great. That breed is high maintenance. 😉
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Afghan hounds are so gorgeous, aren’t they? I was talking recently with someone who has one, and she was telling me she bathes him twice a week, and from shampoo to full blow dry takes 3 hours. Their hair needs to be flat ironed, too, just like a human’s!
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And that’s the reason my friends thought that if I had an Afghan Hound, they would look amazing all the time. But obviously, that’s all I’d be doing. 😂
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