At Cornell, perhaps one of the most recognizable students on campus was a girl simply known as "80s chick." A mane of permed blond hair with perfectly sprayed bangs framed her pale face, painted with fuck-me red lipstick and "outrageous" blue eyeshadow. Her gestures and manner of speaking reeked of the popular girls in a John Hughes high school (she used to come through my line at the campus store). A friend claims she once saw 80s chick driving through Collegetown in a red convertible blaring "Eye of the Tiger." Either she was way ahead of the trends, going back to the 80s about 5 years before the (inexplicable) comeback of turquoise and legwarmers, or she was stuck in some kind of time warp.

I have recently been considering the permanent removal of my nose ring, mostly to avoid 80s chick syndrome. To grow up. To accept that I am no longer the 19-year old girl who had a spike driven through her nose to deal with the heartbreak of a 6-month college relationship. That often when I meet friends for a drink, it is the one without the stud in her nose that seems the non-conformist.

So before my interview at Ircam on Friday, I removed the little bugger. Then I left for the country for the weekend and left the stud at home. I didn't sleep well all weekend. The room was lightless and warm, very quiet, but I was anxious. Every time I brushed the left side of my nose, the unnatural smoothness caused a bolt of panic followed by a profound sadness. It is not that different from the feeling I had watching my brother squeeze his wife's hand at their wedding, as they recited their vows. This feeling of being dragged toward adulthood unwillingly.

Last night, watching a few episodes of Grey's Anatomy in bed with AssRay, I made him pause the show. I had teared up after another brush with the unadorned nose and had to rush into the bathroom, praying that the hole had not scarred over, relieved when the ring spiraled in easily. I slept like a baby.

I always joked that my grandkids would get a kick playing with gramma's nose ring, but now I realize that it is no joke. Will I ever "grow up" enough to be able to remove it without causing an emotional meltdown? Or will I be forever known as 90s grrrl? The one who still has the nose ring. At least I no longer have any pairs of big pants or rainbow hologram sneakers, or 6-inch platform boots, or velour bowling shirts. So for now, the nose ring stays, at the risk of eternal lameness.