How did you smell, Orson Welles?

Welles in "Lady from Shanghai," with his real nose.

While doing some light morning reading before I left for work, I ran across a fascinating little bit of trivia about one of my favorite artists of the twentieth century.

It turns out that Orson Welles hated his nose.

Whereas most who obsess over their nose worry that it’s too large or irregular, Welles always felt that his wasn’t big or prominent enough. I had always assumed that Welles, who was definitely of the old school when it came to acting, adopted the use of prosthetics as a method or for effect. It’s fairly noticeable in films like “Touch of Evil,” where if you don’t see the billing you wouldn’t even realize it’s Welles until about halfway through the film when his trademark style, cadence, and those wild eyes finally betray him. As it turns out, the nose was worn not to immersel himself and the audience in his character, but because of a pathological (and unfounded) insecurity.

Like so many of us, Welles’ emotional deviations from what is perceived as the societal norm were both a blessing and a curse. His trademark stubborness and perfectionism often made him difficult (and later in his life nigh impossible) to work with and hindered his career professionally, but it also produced work that to this day influences and instructs the way films are made. Unfortunately, the same can rarely if ever be said for those psychosis that manifest themselves in obsession over our physical appearance and specifically what we perceive to be minor physical flaws.

Welles in "Black Magic," with one of his many fake noses.

It certainly gave me pause. For me, my Welles’ Nose has been my mid-section and in particular the love handles I’ve had for as long as I can remember. It makes me wonder if my physical self appears to others the same way it does to me when I’m standing in front of a mirror.

We hear so many stories of young girls with crippling eating disorders that view themselves as much heavier than they really are; often unable to notice when they’ve become physically emaciated. I wonder, though, if maybe most – or all – of us have that mental quirk that warps our perception of our physical selves and/or makes us see things that aren’t really there at all.

Sort of a scary thought given our culture’s obsession with aesthetics and physical perfection, particularly in youth.

Anyway, what’s your Welles’ Nose, if you have one?