Doctor, Doctor, give me the news . . .
January 6th, 2007 by 
Caroline Spector
The Dude was sick over the holidays, so instead of going out to see a movie every day of his vacation like we’d planned, I watched him play “Zelda” and snuffle. This is less attractive than it sounds.
And when he wasn’t playing Zelda, we were vegging and watching TV. Of course, it being the holidays, the pickings were slim for those of us who can only take so much Xmas cheer. This is how we ended up watching a mini-marathon of a really dreadful show called Dr.90210. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)
Dr. 90210 is a reality show about plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills. And it’s about as bad you’re imaging, but in a bizarre train- wreck -can’t- stop- watching- it kinda way. First, every show featured a woman who was having some kind of breast surgery. Most of them were augmentation, but some were reconstructions. The one consistent theme in this show is that women are really, really, really unhappy with their bosoms.
These lovely young girls with pretty figures all want enormous fake tits. I am beyond baffled by this. And I’m concerned because I’m pretty sure we’re raising an entire generation of young men who haven’t the slightest idea what a real breast looks like. (Hint: Real breasts lay down when the owner does.) And there’s a whole generation of women who think that their natural body is defective in some way.
There’s something disturbing about seeing healthy people want to mutilate their body to conform to an ideal that’s pretty much unattainable — and something even more troubling about the doctors who prey on these insecurities. I don’t believe that either group sees themselves in this light — and that’s part of the problem.
Reconstructive surgery really took off during WWI and WWII. The goal was to make injured soldiers look as normal as possible, allowing them to reenter society. From this lofty desire, we now have pneumatic breasts.
I think the reason I find this all so appalling is that in the case of “cosmetic” surgery, the person isn’t ill. They aren’t diseased. They’re healthy. Any surgery, even simple procedures in your dentist’s office, holds a risk. THINGS CAN GO WRONG. Why would anyone put themselves in that situation of they don’t have to?
And once on this slippery slope of surgery as a hobby (or a fix for some emotional insecurity), some of these “patients” will develop a habit where surgery after surgery becomes the norm.
One of the women on this show was a self-proclaimed “surgery addict.” The laundry list of her “work” was impressive. (New breasts, multiple cheek implants, Botox, liposuction, chin implant, yada yada.) And – I kid you not – anal bleaching.
Sweet Nattering Jesus! Who on earth needs to have their anus bleached?! (In doing a quick bit of research I have discovered that there is also vaginal bleaching. Hip Hip Hooray.) How do you even know you need it done? Does your significant other come up for air and say, “Hey, hon, you’re looking a mite dusky. How about a trip to the salon for a quick anal bleach.” Or maybe you get some photos back and you think to yourself, “Oh my, I had no idea my anus needed bleaching.”
But I digress . . .
For this round of surgery, the young lady in question had two agendas: fixing her cellulite and – get ready for it – having a 3 carat diamond implanted into her wrist. She wanted it implanted because she was now doing lots of outdoorsy stuff and couldn’t wear her jewelry. So the natural response to this change in lifestyle is to implant your precious gems into your flesh. What was most disturbing was her reaction when the doctor told her there was no way to do what she wanted. (The diamond implant, that is, he was happy to do the entirely unnecessary thigh smoothing.) She simply fell apart and began crying. It really was heartbreaking. There aren’t enough surgeries in the world to repair whatever is broken in this young lady.
It’s too easy to get surgery in this country. We’re an impatient people. We want everything now. And we’re bombarded with images of “perfection.” At least as it’s defined today. The goal line for that perfection is ever changing. One day it’s Angelina’s lips and there’s a rush for women to get collagen packed into their mouth. It’s Nicole’s nose. It’s Jessica’s ass. It’s Marilyn’s breasts. It’s . . . it’s . . . impossible.
There’s something brutal about how we judge ourselves. So what if our eyes aren’t the right shape, or our nose too big, or our breasts “too small.” Is that really the most important aspect of who we are? Our flesh, which inevitably becomes decrepit, must we mortify it before we are pure? Is cosmetic surgery a logical progression from corsets and the lead-face paint of the 17th century? Or is it the pathology of a nation so obsessed with the superficial that we can no longer see below the surface.
Posted in Caroline, Daily Life, Horror, Pop. Culture, Technology, The Dude | 
10 Comments »
January 6th, 2007 at 12:52 pm
My favorite train-wreck show is Airline, where people behave horribly, and then–and this is what gets me–sign waivers so that the production company can show them misbehaving on national television. Nothing like Tivo-ing a show which features grannie yelling at the Southwest Airlines clerk who can’t let her on the plane because she’s falling-down drunk.
There are some good reasons for body modification–I had a friend in her 50s whose natural breasts were so large that she had constant back-aches (this is no joke–the women who have breast augmentation never stop to consider what changing the architecture in front will do to the rest of the structure), and another friend whose breasts were of markedly different sizes. As for the rest? Eew. I am dismayed by the slow deterioration of my youthful elasticity and moderate looks, but I would not put myself under the knife so I could look like a Barbie, or a bad approximation thereof. I’ll do sit-ups if I must, but lipo is right out.
January 6th, 2007 at 12:55 pm
I laughed and laughed! So glad I missed the program but glad to read your redition.
January 6th, 2007 at 2:24 pm
Caroline!
Actually, to a certain age the breasts do not lay down when the owner does and, what is that in her hand. It’s…not a remote, is it?
January 6th, 2007 at 2:46 pm
I might, you know, have actually seen an episode of the show. Not this episode. I don’t know what is creepier, the parade of attractive women who think there is something wrong with them or the doctor who works out obsessively and seems, in his own way, equally obsessed with his looks.
I sort of want to read Beauty Junkies by Alex Kuczynski, but I keep feeling it would be admitting to myself that I’m really a completely superficial person. But did you know there’s a New York podiatrist shortens toes so her clients can fit into Jimmy Choos? I’ve never even actually seen a pair of Jimmy Choos.
January 6th, 2007 at 3:35 pm
Yeah, my left one is sagging, too. I hate it. But not my right one. Oddly enough, that’s cause I had a mastectomy when I was eighteen.
Not actually kidding.
But it wasn’t for cosmetic purposes and it did turn out to be benign.
January 6th, 2007 at 3:43 pm
We got a linkback on this post from a site that blogged it but it ended up in our spam filter. The key sentence that showed up involved “bleaching” and the site in question was about other activities with the noun that was referred to by “bleaching.”
I’ve decided to leave it as spam if that’s okay by y’all.
January 6th, 2007 at 4:55 pm
You know, I can actually understand wanting to do something about the way one looks, about feeling one doesn’t look “right.” In my case, it’s mostly bone structure — much larger upper body comparatively speaking. Dresses are an issue.
There’s also the whole aging angst, what with gravity taking its toll, the incremental loss of muscle mass year by year, the inevitable graying, etc.
But surgery is such an extreme answer. In the last month, joining the gym and shelling out for the jump-start, ass-kicking trainer, I’ve seen a significant change. Getting better.
Modern society has worshipped youth for decades, at the very least. Youth is great, I had a great time, but I wouldn’t trade 48 years of experience and learning for a tighter butt and tummy.
I actually feel the sorriest for people like Cher, who has been quoted as saying that she sees NO upside to aging, no wisdom. She’s right, in a way, that getting old does suck. But getting old and aging are far from synonymous, in my experience. Aging is mandatory; getting old is completely optional.
Having just turned 48, I can certainly agree that I’ll never look like I’m 24 ever again. But I can easily pass for someone in their 30s, and I intend to spend what’s left of my 40s and my 50s as the freshest, funkiest person I can be. To hell with getting old.
January 6th, 2007 at 5:08 pm
“I was born perfect. Been that way ever since.” –Bill Hicks
(Then again, Bill died at 32. Don’t know what he’d say now.)
January 6th, 2007 at 6:52 pm
I should have made it clear in my post that I do think there are appropriate times for this sort of surgery.
For example, breast reduction to alleviate back and neck pain. Reconstructive surgery after mastectomy. One girl on the show had breasts that were very different sizes. She was young, but I understood her concerns. We look for symmetry in mates. Though there wasn’t anything “wrong” with her, the disparity between her breasts killed her self-image.
January 7th, 2007 at 3:40 am
A friend of our’s at 50+ was diagnosed w/ breast cancer. She had to have a mastectomy. To rebuild a new breast, they carved off a section of stomach muscle, rolled it up and tucked where the mammary structure had been. It’s painful in ways I can’t even imagine. But what’s worse is it kept getting septic. Ultimately, after being in and out of the hospital with high fevers and scary infections, they eventually had to resort to a double mastectomy. Despite the horrific experience, in celebration of surviving she went on to run the Honolulu Marathon the following year. She was pleased not having the bobbling two-some to contend with.