I had a hard time getting to sleep last night and sifted around the million unnecessary TV stations I have. I landed on Dr. 90210. I’m a little appalled that this show exists, to be honest, but I was very appalled to read the description of the episode airing: A young model wants breast augmentation; an older actress believes her recessed chin is keeping her from success.
The older actress was the ripe old age of 30, so calling her “older” kind of made me irritated right from the start. I suppose in that industry 30 is old, but for the rest of the world (barring 5 year olds, who believe 17 is ancient) that is a very young age. How sad that a woman is already over the hill by 30 or 31. The 30s are when life starts to get good. How did Hollywood get so bass-ackwards? Anyway, I digress.
This aged actress was content with every aspect of her body except that blasted chin, which, by the way, looked just fine to me. Her husband, instead of assuring his wife that she was gorgeous as she was, agreed that her troubles would be alleviated and jobs would flow in if she just “fixed” her chin. Dr. 90210 agreed as well, and also found a couple of other trouble spots he could “fix” for her: slightly drooping eyelids or something. I wasn’t surprised he was able to find flaws where almost everyone else in the world would only see a lovely young woman.
I had to stop watching at about the 20 minute mark, so I have no idea if this poor woman attained the successes she dreamed of.
Plastic surgery, when purely, superficially cosmetic, bothers me considerably. How far people go to achieve perfection, to “fix” things that make them who they are, astonishes and scares me. I won’t lie and say I’ve never considered having the fat sucked out of my arms, because I have. I won’t do it, though. Maybe I’m odd in thinking that a flawed but genuine smile is more beautiful than a perfect but artificial one. Maybe I’m odd in thinking that imperfections are what make people interesting.