Rupi Kaur, the world’s most popular living poet, is not going away any time soon. Her sophomore publication, a poetry collection titled the sun and her flowers, is released this month. There is no doubt that her self-empowering, feminist vers libre speaks to this generation; however, a portion of her success must also go to her enormous schnozz. It is not just the sun and her flowers that is turning heads, but also the nose and its nostrils.
Unlike flowers, these nostrils aren’t for picking. The nature of Ms. Kaur’s giant aquiline honker is such that the skin is stretched taut on the sides, so the openings to her nostrils resemble something more like a power outlet, or two coin slots.
The apex is very fleshy and bulbous and, when silhouetted in a side view, it is evident how much it droops forward, like a wet sack of cheese straining whey off the bridge of her nose.
The curve of the bridge announces itself almost horizontally between her eyes—in fact, it protrudes so quickly and sharply that one almost wonders if some of it must extend into her skull. Perhaps this is only the Tip of the Noseberg, both literally and figuratively; perhaps we can achieve some understanding of Kaur’s great poetic success if we couple it with the success she has had in growing a stupendously sizable schnozzola. In order to correctly proportion the nose based on how much of it we can ogle at externally, we would likely need to chart the actual top of her dorsum nasi all the way back into her brain.
How could someone survive into adulthood with an internally invasive nasal structure? Well, we’re not scientists. Perhaps a Spontaneous, Microcosmic Evolutionary Lump of Luck (or SMELL) occurred and the rear of the nose fused with Kaur’s frontal lobe, thereby sparking untold synesthetic epiphanies and, consequently, literary genius.
Either way, we really like old Rupi and we wish both her and her formidable schnozz all the best.