People who can create things with tools fascinate me; well, to be honest, most kinds of creative people who can make do with a few tools and a lot of ingenuity have my sincerest admiration– and considering I’m more into Zen Sarcasm, that is saying quite a bit. Right now the TV is busy telling me about ignition keys with transponders and all kinds of nifty things; I think we’re watching “MotorWeek”. Before that, we witnessed the drama in “American Hot Rod”, which I find even more lachrymose than your average soap opera, and yet über-cooler by miles because they are all macho men who take dull pieces of metal and make them into amazing works of art. I was also reading about Mr. Adi Dassler and his amazing shoes which he at first had made by hand (by other people, that is). I also read about his innovation and work ethic, and his dedicated work alongside the athletes for whom the shoes were intended. His inspiration for coming up with athletic works of art, pioneering innovation after innovation (and avoiding financial trouble whenever possible after Mr. Dassler’s passing) are things that rank up there with the whole “making things from scratch” deal. It’s entrepeneurial and admirable. And I am becoming an adidas junkie.
And then at the other end of the “creativity” spectrum there are cosmetic surgeons. The other day while watching “Dr. 90210”, the people who tiressly work at improving nature and giving Her bigger boobies were gushing in the O.R. about what amazing artists and creators they were; what works of art their fake 500 c.c. (double-d lookalike) boobies are, or how much rhinoplasty is like sculpting. And I honestly cannot marry both concepts in my mind.
I can understand how (good) plastic surgeons can be artists. If we’re talking about reconstructing someone’s severely burned/scarred/damaged/non-existent features to make them look like normal or near normal people, bravo! I mean… it’s amazing that we even have that technology handy to help people formerly ravaged by accidents or disease. I admire plastic surgeons deeply and I would never begrudge anyone who went under the knife for medical or restorative purposes. Huzzah for plastic surgeons.
But not so fast, for behind the silvery halo of the plastic surgeon lies his/her Evil Doppelgänger: The Cosmetic Surgeon. And yes, I have a problem with cosmetic surgery. There, I said it. I think it’s creepy. I think it’s usually unnecessary. And I think that in most cases (please note the “most”), people who go to the cosmetic surgeon ought to better invest their money in sessions with a therapist. Because I am telling you: people who willingly submit themselves to the bigger-boobs-tummy-tucks-galore-and-while-you’re-at-it-can-you-suck-some-fat routine have …. issues of low self-esteem. Yes, they do. Yesyesyesyesyes they do. I don’t care how many people claim to say that they just do it because they “enjoy” surgery: no one enjoys the possibility of dying with nothing but a paper gown on, people. No one “enjoys” the recovery period and the bruises and the possible complications. And finally, no one truly enjoys the possibility of coming out worse that they went in (paging Bruce Jenner). And a large number of people who get some form of plastic surgery for cosmetic purposes tend to be repeat offenders (stats will come sometime, but in the meantime just look at Michael Jackson). And so, when cosmetic surgeons gush happily about being artists, I kind of have a problem with it. It’s true that they may be very talented. For the sake of their patients, I hope they are skilled and that the end product comes out nicely, too. I can imagine there is a reasonable sense of pride in a job well-done. But artists? For the main part, you are starting with a canvas that is already pretty good: the human body is already something quite amazing and awe-inspiring. And you’re dealing with people who do not need your services. They think they need a slimmer nose, chipmunk cheeks, a cleft chin or Godzilla tits, but they really do not NEED them. They just want them because they feel they must fill a void (ideally with 400 cc’s of saline or silicone on either side of their chest).
So perhaps the moral of this blog is that people who are thinking about chopping off their noses, getting some fat vacuumed out or getting those cheek implants should do something productive to feel better about themselves and put their need for control to good use: they should go and build customized hot rods or start an athletic shoe empire from scratch in a basement in post-WWI Germany. So there.
**Alternate moral: I should really watch less TV.
Did Godzilla have tits?