by Ernest Olson
Chapter 2
If I had more money, I'd have so many facelifts that
my nose would end up on the other side of my face.
The image of a frail Clint Eastwood still haunts me. It's not that I am a big fan of Clint Eastwood, but does he have to look so bad! Hasn't he heard about cosmetic surgery? Like my friend Kathy said, "He's got all the money in the world, he could get that fixed." I suppose there is something pure about not getting a facelift, or liposuction, or a tummy tuck, a nose or a boob job. And yet, when your skin takes on the texture of a shriveled prune, and the only fat found on your face is in the tip of your nose, maybe its time for a little cosmetic surgery.
Image is important, ask anyone in advertising. It certainly isn't limited to corporate America, everybody advertises in one way or another. We constantly advertise engage in self-promotion, we are walking billboards. What is the message? People are constantly seeking companionship, friendship, sexual relations, and status. Even people who appear to be slobs are busily communicating their message: "Single, WM nonconformist, looking for single white female who enjoys trailer living and pickups." Humans are constantly sending out these kinds of messages, demonstrating what psychologists call their "need for affiliation." And so Clint Eastwood comes along with his blotchy skin, balding scalp and craggy face, and you say, "Why doesn't he do something about that?" And Clint replies in a most eloquent nonverbal manner, "I don't give a lick what you think."
I've been thinking about cosmetic surgery. I'm tired of people saying I look tired. And, since I don't have the status of Clint Eastwood, I do care what others think. I want to look how I feel, and I certainly don't feel tired. Maybe the muscles in my face are tired, maybe my skin is tired, but the rest is just fine. I stay out of the sun, use lubricating ointments, and take my antioxidants. But, time and gravity make formidable opponents, and no matter how hard I work to defeat them, they are prevailing.
Basically, I like gravity--it keeps me from flying off the planet and exploding in the vacuum of space. However, when it comes to one's appearance, gravity is the enemy! It is an equal opportunity enemy. It affects us all, men and women both. Kathy tells me that women have it more difficult than men. Her argument goes something like this: Premise 1: Women have boobs and boobs show the adverse effect of gravity more than any other part of the body. Premise 2: Men don't have boobs. Conclusion: Gravity exacts a heavier toll on women than men. She’s probably right.
I have a friend whose breasts were so tired that when she reclined they spread out like eggs in a frying pan. She practiced denial as long as possible, but eventually she decided to have them surgically energized. Knowing I was an artist, of sorts, she asked if I would help design her newer, perkier breasts. So, using modeling clay and the working end of a plumber's friend for a base, I fashioned a variety of breasts. Once pried from off the plumber's friend suction cup, they were sufficiently hollow to fit over the real breast, and sufficiently adhesive to stay in position while my friend studied them in the mirror from various angles. She eventually decided on a C-cup with a slight upward tilt. I went with her to her surgeon's office and she modeled the modeling clay breasts while the doctor and I discussed the aesthetic merits of the various designs. She underwent the procedure and when it was all done, she was ecstatic with the results. The odd thing is, after all of that, I never got to see the final products.
I've never met a woman who had breast augmentation surgery who wasn't happy with the results. I am certain there are cases where the surgeon screwed up and over-inflated, or misarranged nipples, or left noticeable scars. There are claims that silicon seepage has caused women immune system problems, but I personally haven't met a woman who wasn't happy with the results of the procedure. The same seems generally true about noses and facelifts. Then again, what I am attributing to satisfaction may just be the product of having spent a lot of money. I've often thought that these procedures cost so much, not because there is really any justification for such high fees, but rather when people spend a lot of money they are less likely to complain. It's that image thing, nobody wants to look like a fool or a pauper.
So Kathy and I were talking about how wrinkled and worn Clint was looking. That was when Kathy said, "If I had enough money, I'd have so many facelifts my nose would end of on the wrong side of my head. If I had enough money I'd be more tucked and rolled than a 1965 Impala." In a way, I can understand that sentiment. There is something appealing about surgically changing the effects of a poor roll at the genetic craps table and simultaneously thumbing your new nose at Father Time. No one wants to get old, and no one wants to be less attractive than our national standard, which I think was defined by Bay Watch. So, it’s really not hard to understand why so many people employ the services of a cosmetic surgeon. What I don't understand are those people that look at cosmetic surgery as an all you can eat buffet and just keep going back for seconds.
What is clear is that for some people plastic surgery must be addictive. First you get that blemish removed, then you have dermabrasion, then you get your nose straightened, then to balance the new nose you get a chin implant; and even though you know you should stop, you can't. You get a facelift, but your face is so tight your lips disappear. To give shape to your missing lips you get lip implants. You go on to liposuction, then breast augmentation, then you have fat sucked out of your butt and injected into your wrinkled forehead, and then, if you have one, you have your penis enlarged. You just can't help yourself.
I don't think I would ever become addicted to having my body surgically remodeled, but I am tired of being asked if I am tired, and tired of saying, "I'm not tired, but thanks for your untiring concern." Clint Eastwood showed me the future, and I didn't like what I saw. As Kathy puts it, "A stitch in time saves nine-years." And, so I am thinking about having a mini-facelift. In fact, if I actually do have this done, I intend to get the surgeon to agree to do the lift in such a conservative manner that no one will know that it was done. Just a little tuck here, a little lift there....after all it isn't very manly to stoop to cosmetic surgery. Just ask Clint Eastwood.
