Face-lifts that can make you feel better

Press, 5 April 1989, Page 15

Face-lifts that can make you feel better

I have just finished reading a feature about plastic, surgery ... again. Most women’s magazines seem to have a story or two about the fantastic plastic nowadays, but they are very different from the ones that used to appear. The old stories about plastic surgery used to dwell almost entirely on the negative aspects of surgery. The horror stories of botched nose jobs or chests that mysteriously sank without a trace months after the operation. Thank goodness these stories have also almost sunk without a trace. Plastic surgery can finally come out of the closet and be the invaluable beauty aid that it is.

Cher has allegedly spent more than $50,000 on cosmetic surgery. She has stated quite bluntly that if she needs it, she’ll have it. After all, she has said, it’s her face and she’ll do what she likes with it. It’s an attitude I admire. Why look your absolute worst when you could look, if not your absolute best, at least better. Life is far too short to spend half of it trying to disguise a nose, eyes, or chest that makes you cringe every time you peer into the mirror. Some people mistakenly label those who choose to have pieces lopped off or added on in the quest for a better self as vain. This

confuses me. I have always thought of a vain person as someone who was more than satisfied with their appearance. The last thing a truly vain person would do would be to mess about with a face or body they already consider near to perfect. It is people who are a little —0. k., sometimes a lot — insecure about their physical appearance who trot off to see their local plastic surgeon. In my journey toward self improvement of the physical kind I have visited a plastic surgeon twice. The first time he corrected a definite slant to the right on my chest. Being a plastic surgeon of the thorough kind, he also filled a large hole left by an earlier operation

and generally tidied up. Several years later I went to see him again. This time I wanted a facelift. He laughed. I com-

promised. How about a tweak around the eyes, so I could stop looking so tired? How about a good night’s sleep instead, he asked.

He agreed, however, that a tweak about the eyes would make a difference, and proceeded to do the necessary.

The difference for other people was slight. For me, it was enormous. This is what good plastic surgery is all about. I have no wish to end up looking drastically different, I just want to look better. Nor do I want to look younger. Just less tired.

The cost of my eyes was a couple of hundred dollars. Less than a good jacket, about the same as a new pair of winter trousers. They do not require drycleaning, will not go out of fashion, and I get to wear them every day.

For many New Zealanders, fiddling about with the face or body God gave you is not really on. It would appear that it is something that only rich Americans do when they get tired of dyeing their poodle to match the new lounge suite.

While I doubt I will go as far as one English woman who has had 23 separate operations to date, I have by no means finished. I dream of Linda Evans’ cheekbones.

While others put their new winter suits on layby, I slyly drop another handful of loose change into my piggy-bank and wait for the day.