Women: I'm looking at you. Sure, some of my super human wisdom below applies to some men... but you are clearly the target here.
I don't hate plastic surgery per se. I hate what it's become. If my nose were to get ripped clean off in a freak bird watching incident, I'd want it reattached. And I'd pretty much want it to look like it does now. Not that I am Brad Pitt, I have just become accustomed to my appearance. Picking bogies out of George Clooney's nose just seems wrong.
In general, I'm opposed to any voluntary surgery. Surgery has significant risks. It's necessary sometimes. But if you even have to think about whether you need it or not, you probably don't.
There's not a heterosexual man on the planet that cares about the shape of your lips or the height of your cheekbones. Well, okay, there's probably a few, but they have some weird ass high-cheekbone, curly fish lip fetish that borders on creepy and they really are not the sort of guys you want to attract. If you're having plastic surgery -- and I mean any non-medical plastic surgery -- you're doing it not for men and probably not even for yourself. You're doing it for some idiotic Madison Avenue advertising executive that is running a campaign to tell you that you are ugly. Is this really the guy you want to impress? If Darren Stevens were to walk in the room and proclaim in front of his boss Larry that you have wrinkles at the corner of your eyes that make you look hideous, wouldn't you rather punch him in the mouth than spend $10 grand making him happy? I mean: he's such a prick to Samantha anyway.
If you don't believe that this is all some advertising plot, take a wide eyed look at The Doctors TV show, where "America's medical dream team" lives. (This week they're talking about women and heart disease with renown expert Barbara Striesand.) And what is this "dream team"? An ER specialist, an OB/Gyn, a pediatrician, and a plastic surgeon. Really? Is that really the 4 most important medical specialties you can come up with? If you say yes, you're already in need of a psychiatrist.
Facial wrinkles are a character map and express all sorts of emotive response. Trying to pull them tight or cover them up makes you look foolish. You're not fooling anyone and if you doubt me take a look at Joan Rivers or Bruce Jenner or Burt Reynolds or Micheal Jackson or ... well, I could go on ad infinitum. If your think your limited funds will buy a better job than these megastars, I've got a bridge in Jersey for sale.
I have distinct memories of my two grandmothers: one with sour, sagging wrinkles and the other with deep lines on her face that would make you think she had been laughing every minute of the previous 70 years. I can't remember the former ever being happy. The latter still has a place in my head as an attractive elderly woman -- but not in some creepy grand-Oedipus sort of way. To me this suggests that if you want to look pretty, then you need to be happy. Period.
The contrast is the ever unhappy, ever unsatisfied chick whose face is never young enough, breasts are never big enough and hair is never light enough. Madison Avenue will forever have you buying goo, hiring surgeons and attending your colorist. And all of these changes come with maintenance. You can't just fix it and forget it. You'll have to tweak and spackle and lighten until the day they do it one last time and close the casket door. And don't think for a moment you're doing it to attract a man (or please a man you already have). Men don't care. Big boobs, little boobs, medium boobs -- they're all boobs. We all like them. All of them. Think we all like blonds? We do. We also all like redheads and brunettes and everything in between. We don't care what your shoes cost and could care less who designed your dress. We'd almost all prefer to see you in blue jeans or nothing at all. Sorry, but that's the truth.
And if you, for some odd reason, have latched on the guy that cares about this trivia, then you have latched on the guy that has a pretty damn superficial view of you. He will always want you to be that 24 year old perky blond with big tits and a tight little butt. And when you turn 35 and are still trying to look 24 you won't fool him or anyone else. But it won't matter because while he smiles and says that "tummy tuck looks great honey" he's busy "working late" boinking the office slut -- who I might add is really still 24 and perky. A real man falls in love with the 24 year old and sees that same perky 24 year old when you're 73 and your teeth are floating in a fizzy concoction of Efferdent.
So, girls: don't buy it. Don't buy the $50 Armani mascara. Don't turn your hair a color that doesn't match your skin tone as that will just bring on a host of other changes. Embrace the boobs that fit your body type. We like them. Don't mess with your face. It's perfect the way it is. Don't go down the road of Jennifer Grey -- who made her place in Hollywood with one face and lost it with another.
I mean it.