Friday, April 13, 2012

The Plastics: Vapid or Voluptuous?

Who doesn’t want to be slim and good-looking? Our society clutches external appearance so highly that if you were somehow birthed ill-fated enough to be repulsive yet bright, you still don’t hold as much value in the eyes of humanity today --not like the "pretty people are". If you were born less than blessed, or with a few too many defects or if you just need a nip here and atuck there, however, you have a a way out: Plastic surgery.

My initial reaction
The women's liberationist portion of my mind is appalled that anybody would ever want to fatten their lips, get crap injected into their cheeks, beef up their boobies with cyanogenic refuse, deliberate liposuction or get a abdominoplasty.

It’s conceited. It’s inconsiderate. It’s false advertising. See, underneath all that plastic, nothing is really “you”. After all, what happens when you have nippers and they are born ugly? Where do we draw the hereditary line? Or do we throw our hands up and say, “plastic for all”?

Bad Plastic Surgery


However…
The female portion of my psyche, the part with the rumpled self-respect assures me that if I had the money to blow, I’d be not only get plastic surgery, I'd get an overhaul. I’d get new lips, I’d get my eyes face-lifted, I’d have boob implants, abdominoplasties and liposuction galore. I’d be so plastic that my surgeon could tattoo “Made by Mattel” on my hind quarters and put me in a package with “Low Self Esteem Friend of Barbie” besotted on the front. 

You know, like this...



Why?
Because I, like so many other adult females (who would like to admit it or not) have abstruse issues with what we see in the mirror. They oftentimes stem from a lifetime of looking just a trifle ungainly, of spending time being fleshy, or of choosing to consort with an abundant line of men who always find us “deficient” in some manner. It comes from being a mouse in the rat’s labyrinth of social forked measures and coalesced messages.

“Be who you are, as long as you fit in this cast.”

And so, I find myself with a moral quandary, a conflict raging smack dab in the middle of two militant factions of my long-standing psychoneurosis. While a big part of me jeers at the plastic promenade, the less than self-assured part of me wants to be a part of it.

So, I ask you (since I can't seem to figure it out): How do you feel about plastic surgery?

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