Undercover plastic surgery
My stomach is turning. They’ll realize I’m pretending - a fake.
A video store. A grocery store. A fast food joint. A plastic surgery clinic. Winnipeg really is becoming Hollywood of the North.
I walk towards the clinic door, hoping no one sees me and assumes I’ve already been plasticized. Or worse, sees me and concludes, “She’s going to have her nose done.”
The clinic is as beautiful on the inside as many of us aim to be on the outside. It's Nip/Tuck meets The Twilight Zone. And only a 20-minute walk from my house.
At 5 feet, 101 pounds, and filled with muscle, nutrient-rich foods, and years of compulsive-obsessive-health-freak-behaviour patterns, I take care of myself. Sure, I have cosmetic flaws that lycopenes, antioxidants, strong capillaries, and countless birthday wishes can’t fix. But plastic surgery? You’re only as artificial as your hair colour, says the small blond.
It’s funny … Never have I been more opposed to the media-manufactured ideals of beauty and their malign importance. And never have I strived harder to meet those stupid ideals. But if I can’t do it to myself, I don’t want to get it done.
And if I don't need it, would a doctor still do it? If you go to a doctor with a sore throat and demand antibiotics, should you get them?
“Lipo. Breast lift. Nose job.” I keep reminding myself what to ask for, or they’ll know I’m a fake. Plastic makes perfect. “Lypo. Breast lift. No …”
“Good afternoon.”
“Hi, I’m Dahlia. I have a 2 o’clock consultation.”
“Please take a seat and fill out these forms. Would you like a drink?” I notice the beverages. Generic brand. Not even the soft drinks here are real.
Shuffling through a rainforest of brochures I find Rhinoplasty. “An attractive nose is a nose that fits your face.”
I put my hand to my nose. Not loose. It fits! Gotta be attractive. Oh no. They’ll know I’m a fake.
A middle-aged woman urges her way in, fast-food lunch in tow. “It’s kind of an emergency. I have to go back to Montreal tomorrow. I need a face lift.” Too bad the receptionist only offers clients drinks. It may be more appropriate were she to ask, “Would you like fries with that?”
Immediately after, a 30-something woman enters. “My daughter needs lipo under her arms.” Daughter? My face takes on the appearance of a Botox-brow lift combo. I look closer at Miss 30-something. She's probably a 50-something, wrapped in an investment for a 30-something's body.
“Dahlia, I’ll take you in now.”
The receptionist says my name like a friend. Even pronounces it right. I’m not used to such treatment in a doctor’s office. Actually, I’m not used to being in a doctor’s office - never seem to secure an appointment.
“Cosmetic surgery” isn’t even a recognized specialty in Canada; yet, there are so many “specialists” out there. Apparently, any doctor in Canada with a license to practice medicine can be one.
It seems Fake is the new Real.
The clinic’s mission statement is on the table. Its vision: to create a culture that focuses on people instead of profit. Naturally. It’s easier to pry open one’s insecurities than one’s financial securities.
Age, Ugliness, Asymmetry, and Deformity - the cancers of Vanity and Insecurity. I don’t know about you, but if I had cancer I’d pay anything to make it go away.
Doctor's coming! Umm ... nose lift, breastoplasty … What was it again?
“How may I help you?” The doctor glances at my chart and studies my insecurity.
“I think I need a few procedures. First, a nose job.”
He explains what he would do to perfect my nose, and is already jotting down the number ‘2’ on his paper.
“Also, I think I need liposuction on my stomach.”
“You really want a mini-tummy tuck with lipo. There's not enough fat to remove to see a difference with lipo alone.”
I’ve gone from the Botox-brow-lift-look to a squint-eyed-septuagenarian-look. My stomach isn’t fat, but there’s always room for L-I-P-O. Oh, maybe if he removed a kidney I'd lose even more weight. Then I could be skinny and feel good about myself if I donate it to a fat person with renal failure.
“What type of recovery does that involve?”
“Four to six weeks of light activity.”
After four to six weeks without my friend Gym, I should have enough fat for full-on lipo.
We go on to talk about breastwork. Suddenly, Charlie Brown’s speech-impaired teacher starts talking, but instead of, “Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah,” all I hear is, “Biggerwah, wah, wah, wah.”
Why is the doctor willing to meet my unreasonable demands? Is this really like prescribing antibiotics for a sore throat unnecessarily? Or maybe it's more like prescribing a placebo for an infected mind.
Forget breast lifts and stomach reductions. For some reason self-esteem lifts and bank account reductions come to mind.
I need about $20,000 of work. Thankfully there’s cosmetic surgery financing. And most financing can be approved while you’re at the doctor’s office. So you too could be plasticized and Americanized.
I leave the clinic, after paying $53.50 - $50 for the insultation fee and $3.50 for the no good and disservice tax.
A couple walks towards the video store. Like either of them really need to sit in front of the TV tonight. As if I’m the one who needs lipo.
My stomach is turning. I’ve realized I’m not pretending - I am a fake.
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A video store. A grocery store. A fast food joint. A plastic surgery clinic. Winnipeg really is becoming Hollywood of the North.
I walk towards the clinic door, hoping no one sees me and assumes I’ve already been plasticized. Or worse, sees me and concludes, “She’s going to have her nose done.”
The clinic is as beautiful on the inside as many of us aim to be on the outside. It's Nip/Tuck meets The Twilight Zone. And only a 20-minute walk from my house.
At 5 feet, 101 pounds, and filled with muscle, nutrient-rich foods, and years of compulsive-obsessive-health-freak-behaviour patterns, I take care of myself. Sure, I have cosmetic flaws that lycopenes, antioxidants, strong capillaries, and countless birthday wishes can’t fix. But plastic surgery? You’re only as artificial as your hair colour, says the small blond.
It’s funny … Never have I been more opposed to the media-manufactured ideals of beauty and their malign importance. And never have I strived harder to meet those stupid ideals. But if I can’t do it to myself, I don’t want to get it done.
And if I don't need it, would a doctor still do it? If you go to a doctor with a sore throat and demand antibiotics, should you get them?
“Lipo. Breast lift. Nose job.” I keep reminding myself what to ask for, or they’ll know I’m a fake. Plastic makes perfect. “Lypo. Breast lift. No …”
“Good afternoon.”
“Hi, I’m Dahlia. I have a 2 o’clock consultation.”
“Please take a seat and fill out these forms. Would you like a drink?” I notice the beverages. Generic brand. Not even the soft drinks here are real.
Shuffling through a rainforest of brochures I find Rhinoplasty. “An attractive nose is a nose that fits your face.”
I put my hand to my nose. Not loose. It fits! Gotta be attractive. Oh no. They’ll know I’m a fake.
A middle-aged woman urges her way in, fast-food lunch in tow. “It’s kind of an emergency. I have to go back to Montreal tomorrow. I need a face lift.” Too bad the receptionist only offers clients drinks. It may be more appropriate were she to ask, “Would you like fries with that?”
Immediately after, a 30-something woman enters. “My daughter needs lipo under her arms.” Daughter? My face takes on the appearance of a Botox-brow lift combo. I look closer at Miss 30-something. She's probably a 50-something, wrapped in an investment for a 30-something's body.
“Dahlia, I’ll take you in now.”
The receptionist says my name like a friend. Even pronounces it right. I’m not used to such treatment in a doctor’s office. Actually, I’m not used to being in a doctor’s office - never seem to secure an appointment.
“Cosmetic surgery” isn’t even a recognized specialty in Canada; yet, there are so many “specialists” out there. Apparently, any doctor in Canada with a license to practice medicine can be one.
It seems Fake is the new Real.
The clinic’s mission statement is on the table. Its vision: to create a culture that focuses on people instead of profit. Naturally. It’s easier to pry open one’s insecurities than one’s financial securities.
Age, Ugliness, Asymmetry, and Deformity - the cancers of Vanity and Insecurity. I don’t know about you, but if I had cancer I’d pay anything to make it go away.
Doctor's coming! Umm ... nose lift, breastoplasty … What was it again?
“How may I help you?” The doctor glances at my chart and studies my insecurity.
“I think I need a few procedures. First, a nose job.”
He explains what he would do to perfect my nose, and is already jotting down the number ‘2’ on his paper.
“Also, I think I need liposuction on my stomach.”
“You really want a mini-tummy tuck with lipo. There's not enough fat to remove to see a difference with lipo alone.”
I’ve gone from the Botox-brow-lift-look to a squint-eyed-septuagenarian-look. My stomach isn’t fat, but there’s always room for L-I-P-O. Oh, maybe if he removed a kidney I'd lose even more weight. Then I could be skinny and feel good about myself if I donate it to a fat person with renal failure.
“What type of recovery does that involve?”
“Four to six weeks of light activity.”
After four to six weeks without my friend Gym, I should have enough fat for full-on lipo.
We go on to talk about breastwork. Suddenly, Charlie Brown’s speech-impaired teacher starts talking, but instead of, “Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah,” all I hear is, “Biggerwah, wah, wah, wah.”
Why is the doctor willing to meet my unreasonable demands? Is this really like prescribing antibiotics for a sore throat unnecessarily? Or maybe it's more like prescribing a placebo for an infected mind.
Forget breast lifts and stomach reductions. For some reason self-esteem lifts and bank account reductions come to mind.
I need about $20,000 of work. Thankfully there’s cosmetic surgery financing. And most financing can be approved while you’re at the doctor’s office. So you too could be plasticized and Americanized.
I leave the clinic, after paying $53.50 - $50 for the insultation fee and $3.50 for the no good and disservice tax.
A couple walks towards the video store. Like either of them really need to sit in front of the TV tonight. As if I’m the one who needs lipo.
My stomach is turning. I’ve realized I’m not pretending - I am a fake.
Back to Portfolio