Michael Jackson's Prosthetic Proboscis Knifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Author: Lanford Beard

What's in a face? A nose in any other shape smells just as sweet.
No, that's not quite right.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose nose is narrowest of them all?
Or how about this one?
Once upon a time in Gary, Indiana, a long, long time ago (or 1958, as it were), a young prince who would be King was born to a man named Joe Jackson. Joe was a tyrannical, villainous father, and he made his children work for their food - and not just any work, they had to sing and dance!
All in all, there were five: our hero, Jackie, Jermaine, Tito, and the littlest one, Marlon. This was no ordinary all-singing, all-dancing family from Indiana. Why, they were an all-singing, all-dancing family sensation! They were the Jackson 5!
Breaking records and racial boundaries is no easy task, though, and being a slick, crafted entertainment package didn't come as easily then as it does today. Just ask the Partridges and the Bradys - they earned their stripes.
Tragedy struck our little prince - called by the angelic name of Michael - regardless of all his chutzpah and pizzazz. He was cursed with one fatal flaw: a wide nose.
You may ask, what's so wrong with that?
Well clearly you didn't grow up in Diana Ross's dresses, I mean, house.
This, my children, is the divine tragedy of the rise and fall of that famous nose. And by fall, I literally mean fall. The damn thing has collapsed.
Thus begins our story of the infamous man-boy and his even more infamous nose.
It all began with "Ben," Michael's first solo single in 1972. Ominously enough, the song was a cutesy ode to a rat. (Making this initial hit even more frightening is the fact that the rat was Michael's only friend - if you, like me, believe the television movie "The Jacksons: An American Dream.")
Despite the pressures of being a celebrity, a few pimples and a scary dad, Jacko coulda been a contender. With buckets of personality and magnetic charisma, he was poised for superstardom. He even had the potential for normalcy, but as his hits and public persona got bigger, his nose began a very conspicuous downward spiral, first shrinking then disappearing entirely.
But we mustn't get ahead of ourselves.
The height of Jackson's solo success came during the era of "Off the Wall" and "Thriller". Donning the infamous single glove and those red-hot leather jackets, Michael's talent and flashy accessorizing were still enough to detract from his shrinking nose and the perpetually pre-pubescent pitch of his voice.
Flash forward to 1987 - Jackson literally begins cutting off his nose to spite his face.
Rumors are flying - stop me if you've heard this one: America is the only country where a poor, black boy can become a rich, white woman.
The name "Wacko Jacko" joins popular circulation as the public believes that America's fallen angel takes hormones to preserve that boyish charm and little-girl voice.
Though his reps refuse to comment on that speculation, they do state publicly that Michael has a rare skin condition, Vitiligo, that zaps the skin of its natural pigment. Fair enough.
Flash forward a few more years to 1993 - Michael morphs from his sister LaToya to an eerie Judy Jetson aesthetic. Somewhere along the way, he has purchased the elephant man's bones and robbed Paul McCartney of the rights to the Beatles' catalogue.
So let's catch up: Michael's first song was dedicated to a rat, he buys the elephant man's bones, his skin is changing shades regularly, and the golden glow of fame is receding rapidly.
Animation for thought: Next time you watch Peter Pan, look at those Lost Boys and consider Michael Jackson's growing seclusion in his Neverland Ranch. Of course it's not a coincidence. The man is, or at least wants to be, a cartoon. Or Liz Taylor. It changes daily.
Clearly, MJ is the Lost Boy who can't find his marbles. Molestation charges and Lisa Marie aside, his everyday behavior is completely bizarre. Michael starts wearing a surgical mask during public appearances "to protect his throat from pollution and germs." My wager is that it's to cover his rapidly decaying nasal tissue.
Somewhere in between Motown, Neverland and the Ninth Circle of Hell, Jacko seems to have lost grip on reality.
Stop me if you've heard this one: Where is Michael Jackson's nose? In the wastebasket of a medical facility in California.
You'd think his new nurse wife (a.k.a. the mother of his ambiguously Aryan children) would have warned him not to go under the knife that last time. I guess she's not that kind of nurse.
According to Dr. Edward Domanskis, a Newport Beach, Ca., plastic surgeon, "He probably should have stopped three or four noses ago. But it becomes very difficult with a person who is powerful and wants his way. There are enough plastic surgeons out there who are going to feel special if he comes to them that he is probably always going to find someone willing to operate."
Now it is 2003, his children are dangling from hotel balconies in Germany, his record company is "racist," lawsuits fly left and right, television capitalizes on an increasingly loopy logic and Jacko fully immerses himself in the Sphinx stage of nasal evolution.
Well, like the rest of America, I, too, look at the man in the mirror, Michael. And it's friggin' scary.
So what lesson have we learned today, kiddies?
Never trust the Joker's plastic surgeon.