We Are What We Are. Aren't We?

You know what?  We are what we are, and no manner of changing our bodies will change who and what we are, whether that change be purely cosmetic, radically identity-altering (which won't change the actual identity - just the vessel that contains it) or just sick. (cutting off limbs,  undergoing extensive surgeries for no medical reason, etc, which sounds made up but which is something some people actually do!)  (Think of Michael Jackson.) Plastic surgery has its legitimate purposes, but much of the time it's just somebody who wanted a better nose. If they've got the money, I say go for it, if that's what cranks their carcass.  What a waste of money, though, that might have been used to truly help someone....

We are a society obsessed with vanity.  Everybody wants to be beautiful.  If genetics didn't do it, money will.  And those without either, well, they'll just have to plod along, outcasts of the mirror-obsessed population.  Sadly, this isn't a joke to them.

While some cosmetic surgery is justified, what about cosmetic surgery that's done to offset the results of personal choices, ie liposuction, etc.  A person chooses to indulge, and then that person chooses to remove the consequences of that indulgence via another indulgence.  Neither requires any self-control on the part of the  person involved.  

The irony for me is that if I had the money, I would go under the knife in a whipstitch.  Genetics did not give me the chin-line I would have chosen, and the aging process has not been kind to the rest of me, either.  It doesn't really bother me unless I have a little time to think about it (or get a glimpse, yikes) but if I had money to burn. . . .

And this attitude bothers me, too.  My own attitude.  Most of the time, I fantasize about how, if I won the lottery, I'd share that money with everyone I knew who needed some, and I'd donate to all my charities, and build theatres and establish scholarships. . . oh, and get some tucks.  And then feel guilty about getting them instead of buying shoes for a  school full of shivering children.

Who among us is really completely satisfied with his/her body?  Gorgeous movie stars, perfect even without the airbrush, are not satisfied.  I don't think anybody can be objective about his/her own body; that's why we're all so obsessed with other people's bodies.  Comparison-wise, I mean.  Are there any statistics that give us a rundown on the satisfaction level of people who've "gone under the knife?"  Did it really change their lives that much?  I'd love to know.

If a nose or the size of breasts or a chin or a stomach are all that's keeping someone from being all that he/she can be, isn't that a pretty feeble excuse for failure?  It seems petty, somehow.  Cut it/them off, graft it/them on, slice a little off, suck a little out, and suddenly everything is dandy?  Somehow, I don't think it could be.  It seems to me that if people are so shallow that a body part, removed, added, or sculpted, is all they need to be fulfilled, that's sad.

Is self esteem really worth going under the knife for?  If someone had none before, would they wake up from the surgery with some?  

I kind of need to know.  You know, for when I win the lottery. . . .

 

"Don't be content with being average. Average is as close to the bottom as it is to the top."

Jane blogs as "Mamacita" at Scheiss Weekly, hitting the fan like nobody can.

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