As you know, I am employed at the high-end kitchen store. The particular mall I work in is full of fabulously hedonistic stores with most products costing more than my first car. Cartier is in my mall. Gucci. Ralph Lauren. Chanel. You get the idea.
So it should come as no surprise that many of my affluent customers have spent some of that extra money not earmarked for the latest Tory Burch bag on plastic surgery.
Every day I wait on women in their fifties and sixties who have decided they are too rich for wrinkles and prefer the wind-tunnel/ scared look. Their skin is pulled so tight it resembles not so much an attractive college cheerleader, but more a Halloween mask or possibly an avant-garde European sculpture.
They are not fooling anyone. My co-workers and I do not wonder, “Did she or didn’t she?” but instead we whisper to each other after she leaves, “How much for that face lift?”
I try not to stare at these blinking mannequins too much. I do my job and I ramble on and on about some cookware promotion, reminding myself not to gawk at their unnaturally smooth skin. They do not look good or perky or youthful: they look like unfortunate victims of a car crash who ultimately went to a plastic surgeon to be rebuilt.
Or they look like strange waxy dolls.
These plasticized women are averse to aging. They think, I will go under the knife and look ten years younger! But they don’t.
Now, if you personally have had plastic surgery (or considered having it) for whatever reason, including to boost your self-esteem, then who am I to sit in judgment and tell you it’s wrong? After all, this is only my opinion.
Today, a woman came in, she was most likely in her early sixties and her face was an infinite map of fine lines, roads to laughter and wisdom and family drama. I wanted to leap across the counter and hug her and say, Don’t ever get plastic surgery! You’re beautiful! She was so real, her face resembling not so much society’s ideal vision of youth and health, but more MY vision of aging with intent.
Her intent was: This is what I look like.
And I had a little bit more respect for her because of it.
("Mannequin Or Visionary?")