The other day I was in the grocery store in Lehi (which I will now term Barbieville) and saw this woman that disturbed me for days. She was pretty, blonde, and wore the tightest jean shorts you’ll ever see with fake bling on the butt. This woman was at least in her mid 40’s, and she was wearing jean shorts with bling on the butt. My eyes traveled up to the side of her face but I only got so far as her chest. She was wearing what can only be described as a Hannah Montana shirt (but I’m sure it was something far worse) that probably fit her 13 year old. Except this mom did not have a 13 year old chest. Her shirt was stretched to the max over her huge plastic-enhanced rack.
It got me to thinking – why are we all in such a race to look like teeny boppers? Why can’t we dress our age? Then again, I did wear short pig tails in my hair this week when I went camping . . . but really, there is nothing else to do with hair this short. But anyway, why can’t we let ourselves age? And why are we all so disatisfied with ourselves?
I think plastic surgery is nasty. Disgusting, gross, nasty. I hope you’re not offended by my frankness, but c’est vrais. Plastic, lipo, botox, lifts, and fillers really freak me out. Like I have nightmares after watching Mary Murphy on So You Think You Can Dance. I think skin should move when you smile. Foreheads should crease when you’re surprised. And not everybody should look like a Barbie doll. I don’t understand why small boobs are not ok. I have had both – being pregnant and then after breast-feeding I have experienced the whole gamut of bra sizes. Why is everyon in such a rush to change the way they are? Sure, we can all go out and blame the media. The media made me do it. But is it really their fault? Or do they just promote what we’re already obsessed with ourselves.
Several years ago I worked at the cutest, chicest restaurant ever in Bronxville, NY call Underhills Crossing. Bronxville is a really rich, beautiful village and I loved almost everything about it. But I got really good and noticing and identifying plastic surgery there – nearly every guest had had something done. Lips, cheeks, eyes, nose. Sometimes it was subtle, sometimes glaring. But it bothers me so much I can hardly do it justic. Why are people messing with themselves!?
Having said that, I am sure there are so many people who can give for instances where plastic surgery saved their self-esteem or was really necessary. And I’m grateful for plastic surgeons who sewed my husband’s face back on after his car crash 6 years ago. But for cosmetic purposes – the act of changing your face or your body really bothers me.
So I’m being vocal about it. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite me like when I ripped on Wal-Mart and then found myself shopping there a couple years later. I think we should take pride in our bodies the way God made them. I think we can make improvements through eating healthy and exercising (something I really need to start up again), instead of through a knife and a syringe. And I think we need to stop looking at our bodies with such a critical eye. Happiness comes from within – not from an injection.