The Turner Chin

Thirtysomething female in natural habitat, from unflattering angle

One of the ways in which you can pinpoint the source of my DNA is my weak chin/double chin. This thing torments me. It’s particularly annoying when I’m overweight (as I am now and, uh, have more or less always been) because I can feel fat snuggling my neck like a skin turtleneck. Ew, I just grossed myself out.

Anyway, this chin has ancient origins, I’m sure, that I could try to track down if I put some effort into it. My great-grandmother had it and hated it so much that in her later years, she would tape up her double chin with a Band-Aid, so that it would rest suspended in a little turkey-neck hammock. My grandfather (her son) always had a robust double chin situation, and his was covered in grey stubble throughout many of my brief memories of him. My dad (his son) hides his chin under a generous layer of beard, although in recent years his facial manscaping has allowed the chin to peek out more and more in favor of a more mutton-choppy look.

As for me, I’ve gone about my life trying to hide the chin with long layers of hair that have traditionally fallen in my face so much that my grandmother has probably repeated the phrase “Get your hair out of your face!” at least two hundred times to me. (See also: “Pull your sleeves up!” and “Black attracts everything but men and money!”) I hate this damn thing but it’s one of the very few and very obvious ways in which you can draw a straight line from me to my family, so I suppose it’s endearing in its own way.

That doesn’t mean I don’t entertain fantasies of neck lipo on a regular basis.