The Human Chin: From Anatomy to the Arts

 

 

After a session of table tennis playing, I asked my friend, an engineer involved in integrated circuitry and chip design, about iconography as is used by “etching” pathways via laser beams into a minuscule chip.

“The iconography I know goes back to Dutch and German artists carving and ink printing on wood. That was centuries ago. Is there a parallel in microchip production since the same word is used?”

After he explained the basics, he drew a parallel with biology:

“Biology fascinates me. Especially when it comes to structures and organs that are still in us but do not seem to have a critical function. There is no such thing in engineering.”

 

On my way home I thought about the human chin. A structure only Homo sapiens have, nor what biological functions it fulfills. And slowly, memories from an anatomy class came back and I realised that the words of our professor had stayed with me, albeit dormant for more than 40 years.

… “Homo sapiens have features you cannot find in other mammals nor in our Neanderthal ancestors. Your next assignment is to go to the library and learn about five such features and structures all of you have. I will tell you about three of them today.”

And he started with the chin.

“Have you seen a donkey, goat or sheep with a chin? Why do we have a chin? No scientist has an answer if it evolved for a survival purpose. It is a phenotypic trait and also called a spandrel. So we call it an evolutionary accident, although it allows the romantics in you to dream about that accident.

Next is the colour of our sclera. Have you seen a mammal with all that white in their eyes? No, we are the only one. All others have heavily pigmented sclera, especially pack hunting mammals whose eyes should not be seen by the pray. Again, perhaps “survival purpose” is for poets to dream about eyes for beauty and as windows to our soul. 

Third is our first that rib. We are unique among mammals in the articulation of that rib since it is only attached with the body of the first thoracic vertebra. All other primates and modern mammals have the first rib articulate as attached with two vertebrae; hence it is a bivertebral articulation.”

 Teaching with the humour he was known for, he summarised his message:

“So, remember – when times are rough, only humans can take it on the chin. When a smile makes you dream, it is because of the white in the eyes; and, when you fall from your donkey’s back, your first rib, because it is not rigidly articulated, is the least prone to break.”

I was amazed that I can still recall his words – that is the genius of a good teacher.

 

 

… I kept thinking about the chin and the eyes. In fact, my teacher’s message had stayed with me beyond biology, into the arts.

It was sometime in mid 2000s when I went to the TaipeiEYE theater in Taipei with a colleague who wanted to introduce me to Chinese Opera.

“You will see the unique art of Lianpu, the painted facial makeup on actors’ faces. It is all about what colour the chin is painted. Since you will not understand Mandarin, remember that the hero always has a red chin, the villain a white chin, and the thinking one has a blue chin. Now you can guess what is happening!”

Masks, be those carved from wood, papier mâché, silk or leather have been used in theater since Ancient Greece. And, as in Lianpu, the chin played a major role – not by having different colours to identify the actors’ characters, but in Greek theater the masks were designed as helmet-style headpieces including a chin and a jaw line. Historical accounts specify that actors would grab the mask by its chin to pull the helmet shaped mask over their head.

There were Tragic and Comic masks, hence the definition of tragic-comedy still used today when talking about a plot, be that theatrical or regarding movies.

Tragic masks were of more imposing sizes, giving the chin prominence with attached pointed beards for age or satirical characters. Comic masks had wide opened mouths reaching the chin to exaggerate the actors expression.

  

…Theatrical masks, first rib articulation, Chinese opera, unpigmented sclera, and chins. A simple comment by my friend at the end of a table game took me to places I once have been and memories I had forgotten.

But there was one more. Somehow all these seemingly unrelated topics got connected in recalling the opening scene of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” when Audrey Hepburn steps down from a Yellow Cab onto a deserted Fifth Avenue in New York City. Like a dream just before dawn, she glides to the Tiffany & Co. jewelry store window, eating pastry from a paper bag. The dress she wore, a sleeveless floor-length Italian satin sheath evening gown with a cut-out décolleté at the back became the most famous Little Black Dress of cinematographic history. Add to this moment the long cigarette holder Hepburn was holding, that the pastry was eating out of a paper bag to contrast the iconic dress and Hepburn’s sophisticated elegance, the tortoiseshell sunglasses and pearl necklace, Henry Mancini’s “Moon River” playing, and you have the most creative, well-choreographed and filmed romantic moment in cinema.

Hepburn’s eyes could not be seen because of the glasses. But her chin, her subtle smile and the gracefulness she embodied have have described her as “The ultimate icon of delicate beauty. She possessed a beautifully petite, softly pointed chin that gave her a famously gamine and youthful look.”

 

And I smiled, and wondered what my anatomy professor would have thought if I had come back from the medical library search (there was no internet then…) and written:

 

“Evolutionary accidents are beautiful and, when “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is the consequence, they do have a survival purpose for many Homo sapiens like me.”

 

I did not write it then, but today I would.

 

October 14, 2026

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2026

About the Photo: I took this shot in Taipei, in 2007 with a Mamiya 645 1000S during an evening walk. I first thought there were three mannequins in the clothing store.