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THE
death of hip-hop artist Kanye West’s mother following
plastic surgery has once again unleashed our demons—at
least the ones that focus on our dysfunctional
relationship with beauty.
Surgeon
Jan Adams has said he performed a tummy tuck and breast
reduction on Donda West, who died earlier this month.
What followed was an avalanche of gossipy speculation, a
media scavenger hunt for court documents, arrest records
and unhappy patients, and a seamy display of
coldheartedness in the face of one family’s tragedy.
As the
public conversation moved from the specifics of West’s
death to a more general dialogue, the underlying message
became that indulging in plastic surgery is inherently
selfish and narcissistic. In short, we seem to believe,
the patient is courting tragedy by her unwillingness to
age gracefully, lose weight through diet and exercise or
get a grip on her self-confidence issues through
therapy. This is a culture that craves so-called easy
answers and then assails those who take them.
As
plastic surgery has become more accessible, even to
those of modest means, it has become both a way of
combating cultural prejudices, as well as exacerbating
them. Giving in to youth culture has its rewards—job
opportunities, financial gain, flattery. But it also
makes the emphasis on youth even more inescapable.
With all
of Hollywood nipped and tucked into ageless perfection,
“perfection” has become the standard. Who wouldn’t be
speed-dialing a plastic surgeon in a panic?
The
Internet is clogged with derisive commentary about which
celebrities are looking old or unappealing. But it is
also filled with speculation about which celebrities
have had work done—and how terrible it is. Celebrities
are trapped: mocked if they look bad, mocked for trying
desperately to look good.
Increasingly, that standard applies elsewhere, too: in
the boardroom, in politics, in suburban neighborhoods.
In the
last weeks, plastic surgeons have cranked their
public-relations machines into high gear, explaining the
risks of cosmetic procedures while also touting their
safety. One medical expert helpfully noted that despite
the widespread availability of cosmetic surgery, it was
probably not a good idea to sign up for major surgery at
a mall.
Yet
despite the popularity of cosmetic surgery, West
remained, on the surface, an unlikely candidate. She had
not developed a reputation for partying with her famous
offspring or of being more enamored of the loot that her
son could bring home than with his well-being. She did
not appear to be a stage mother living vicariously
through her son’s success. She was, instead, a former
English professor at
Chicago State University.
Academia comes with its own set of stereotypes, of
course, not the least of which is the assumption that
its acolytes are completely uninterested in anything
pertaining to fashion or style.
And
there is also the issue of ethnicity. Of the 11.5
million cosmetic-surgery procedures performed last year
on men and women, only 6 percent of the patients were
African-American, according to the American Society for
Aesthetic Plastic Surgery. Black women are less likely
than whites to compare themselves with the Hollywood,
fashion magazine, air-brushed standard of beauty.
So how
is it that this black academic, who left the university
life in 2004 to run her son’s literacy foundation,
decided to have cosmetic surgery?
There’s
no way to know what was going through West’s mind. But
her death makes one marvel at the way in which popular
culture pushes, pushes, pushes people toward an ideal.
And then tut-tuts when they take the bait.
No
matter that the most conscientious surgeons emphasize
that cosmetic surgery cannot transform a patient’s life,
the promise remains. With a snip and a tug, faces can be
made younger and more attractive. The patients believe
they will not only look better but also feel better,
which will lead to greater confidence, which will
strengthen their cultural currency.
Audiences like nothing more than a beauty makeover. The
ugly duckling turns into a swan. Cinderella got a fairy
godmother of a stylist and won the heart of the prince.
It was beauty that charmed the beast—not the young woman
with the scintillating personality.
But
beauty makes folks envious. They want to be assured that
others work hard to maintain their appearance (even if
they’re looking for the easiest ways to maintain their
own). Consider the notion of aging gracefully. What does
that mean, really? Folks are demanding that the enduring
beauty of matrons and dowagers be earned. They want them
to maintain a six-day-a-week workout schedule that
includes walking on a treadmill to nowhere and a life
that is devoid of meat, dairy, alcohol, sunshine, sugar
and anything else remotely pleasurable. Is that natural?
Is that grace?
There
are virtually no women who have the genetic good fortune
to arrive at age 60 looking like a Catherine Deneuve,
Sophia Loren or Diahann Carroll without a surgeon’s
expertise. Most people in the public sphere do
something, Botox to boot camp, to fend off the effects
of time. They are encouraged and expected to take
action. If they don’t, they will be judged harshly. But
they must take care not to let the effort show—don’t
reveal any hairline scars or improbable perkiness.
Otherwise, our judgment will be even harsher. |