Whenever I go to the toilet I inevitably end up thinking about plastic surgery. This pondering is less due to some deep seated inadequacy than it is about the Ralph calendar hanging on the wall in the loo. The more and more I sit and stare the more I wonder which bits are real.
The airbrushing is one thing. I'd be fascinated to see the before and after photos. For a start I can't figure out how they are all so shiny and completely hairless. You begin to wonder if boys haven't been spending too long lusting after their sisters' Barbie dolls. Or probably bratz dolls given the lollypopesque silhouette that seems to be in favour.
Aside from the airbrushing there has to be a significant proportion of these girls sporting prosthetic breasts and suctioned thighs. The breasts in particular are fantastic, by this I mean almost entirely based in fantasy. Some of these girls must have got absolute bargains on plastic surgery, apparently airbrushing can't help the fact that both breasts point in completely different directions.
I know a lot has been made about what this is doing to girls and their self confidence. What I want to know is what is it doing to the boys? Imagine being brought up surrounded by all this imagery of firm, tanned, slender yet well endowed man made creatures only to finally lure a bog standard girl to a darkened corner and find that things are not entirely as or where you'd expected. It could even be dangerous. Imagine jumping onto bed thinking it's an innersprung mattress only to find out, on impact, that it's a waterbed... You could put your back out at the very least.
There was a time when beauty was considered a gift and one with a time limit. Now we have equality, of a sort, provided you can front with the cash. And age is no limit, you can have a face like a freshly stretched canvas into your nineties. Of course there is a danger that your orifices will no longer match up with the organs but at 90 your eyesight has potentially deteriorated to the point where having to look at people through your eyelids is not the drawback it once would have been. After all what's the point of a full, rich, fascinating and varied life when you could have a face like a 20 year old. Or a face that looks like a plastic bowl that's been put in an oven, depending on the surgeon.
Is there a moral to this story? Not really. I'm not condemning people who have plastic surgery. I am however not averse to having a good laugh at people who have become caricatures of themselves. There are degrees in everything and a nip, tuck or tweak is ok some of the time. I guess it's much easier to mock other peoples insecurities than it is to ignore your own. So would I go under the knife? Hell if someone found a way to make me permanently browner than your average sheet of paper I'd be tempted... and I wouldn't mind if my legs were a couple of inches longer...
The airbrushing is one thing. I'd be fascinated to see the before and after photos. For a start I can't figure out how they are all so shiny and completely hairless. You begin to wonder if boys haven't been spending too long lusting after their sisters' Barbie dolls. Or probably bratz dolls given the lollypopesque silhouette that seems to be in favour.
Aside from the airbrushing there has to be a significant proportion of these girls sporting prosthetic breasts and suctioned thighs. The breasts in particular are fantastic, by this I mean almost entirely based in fantasy. Some of these girls must have got absolute bargains on plastic surgery, apparently airbrushing can't help the fact that both breasts point in completely different directions.
I know a lot has been made about what this is doing to girls and their self confidence. What I want to know is what is it doing to the boys? Imagine being brought up surrounded by all this imagery of firm, tanned, slender yet well endowed man made creatures only to finally lure a bog standard girl to a darkened corner and find that things are not entirely as or where you'd expected. It could even be dangerous. Imagine jumping onto bed thinking it's an innersprung mattress only to find out, on impact, that it's a waterbed... You could put your back out at the very least.
There was a time when beauty was considered a gift and one with a time limit. Now we have equality, of a sort, provided you can front with the cash. And age is no limit, you can have a face like a freshly stretched canvas into your nineties. Of course there is a danger that your orifices will no longer match up with the organs but at 90 your eyesight has potentially deteriorated to the point where having to look at people through your eyelids is not the drawback it once would have been. After all what's the point of a full, rich, fascinating and varied life when you could have a face like a 20 year old. Or a face that looks like a plastic bowl that's been put in an oven, depending on the surgeon.
Is there a moral to this story? Not really. I'm not condemning people who have plastic surgery. I am however not averse to having a good laugh at people who have become caricatures of themselves. There are degrees in everything and a nip, tuck or tweak is ok some of the time. I guess it's much easier to mock other peoples insecurities than it is to ignore your own. So would I go under the knife? Hell if someone found a way to make me permanently browner than your average sheet of paper I'd be tempted... and I wouldn't mind if my legs were a couple of inches longer...
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