I’ve always been a vain person. I blame my mother. Growing up, she was constantly telling me how beautiful and smart I was and I believed her. Back then it was great, however, now that I’m getting older, it’s becoming harder and harder to maintain the “beautiful” part.
“But you’re still smart and funny and creative!” one might say.
Screw that, I want to be pretty!
And I know I’m not the only one. If I was, I wouldn’t be reading about people enduring things like snake massages or getting their labia trimmed because they think it will make them, in one way or another, more attractive. Some of us will do anything, no matter how insane, to combat our physical insecurities. And why?
Because in vanity, we trust.
When I turned thirty I started working for a plastic surgeon. It was like hitting the jackpot. There were all kinds of perks to the job, like for instance, having access to free Botox. Natually I went to town, getting my forehead frozen at least every three months. If ever anyone questioned whether or not I was concerned about the consequences of injecting a poison directly into my face, I would wave them off, saying it was cool in Europe. I didn’t care, it was getting rid of my wrinkles. I was sure I’d be fine.
Later when I had the chance to be involved in a training for a new cellulite treatment, I couldn’t be happier! I hated my cellulite and would do anything to get rid of it. It was a surgery, yet I barely asked what was involved before telling the doctor to “count me in!”
Jeff White was shaking his head. I remember him asking me at one point, if I knew there was a ten percent chance I might die during the procedure, would I do it anyway? Without hesitation I said yes. I needed smoother legs. That was that it. And my vanity was telling me I had nothing to worry about.
It’s not like I don’t realize that my blind enthusiasm for things of this nature isn’t at times irresponsible, it’s just that I don’t care. In my mind, the rewards are such, that I don’t take the risks very seriously. Which is why recently, when I happily agreed to be the training model for a new technology called Smart Lipo, I decided to document exactly what it entailed, to give anyone with my reckless abandon who was considering something similar, a good idea of what they were in for.
You can have a look, but keep in mind, some of this is pretty gross.
This isn’t a gross part! Just to clarify, jerk. This was in fact, my very favorite part. After two Valiums and a shot of Dilaudid, I no longer needed to rely on vanity, the drugs told me everything from then on was going to be A-OK.
This is what you look like when you’re actually laying on the operating table. Talk about insecurities. The doctor has to outline all of the different places on the area that’s being treated, where you’re a total fat-ass. I never knew this before, but apparently I’ve had two sets of boobs this whole time.
Next, the doctor makes tiny incisions throughout the treatment area and shoves a wand in you that fills you up with all sorts of numbing fluid which makes you look like you’re about to give birth to a giant doughnut.
Then the fun really starts. For a solid hour and a half your surgeon will assault you with what’s called a cannula, a thin rod that sucks out all of the fat like you can see here in this photo. My doctor informed me that there was a lot more in me than he anticipated, which is always fun to hear. However what’s even more fun, is when because of all that extra lard, the procedure takes longer than the anesthesiologist banked on and your pain killers begin to wear off before you’re off the table. For a good twenty minutes I could feel the cannula burrowing beneath my skin. As I clenched my fists and did my best to replicate something along the lines of lamaze in order to deal with the intense jabbing that I was feeling in my under belly, I thought to myself “It’s all good, cause I’m gonna be skinny!”
How insane is that?!
Apparently not that insane at all because this happens every day. I didn’t even share with you what happened later on when I got home and experienced what is commonly referred to as “leakage” because I was told by people I trust that the photo of it was too graphic.
However, because of my vanity, all of this seemed perfectly acceptable.
I wish I could say in the end, that the moral of the story is I learned that when it comes to my health, nothing is worth the risk of simply looking better, but that’s utter nonsense. Did you see how much fat he sucked out?! I actually have one of those tight little belly buttons you see on Baywatch now. I’d do it again in a second.
In fact it’s hard for me to imagine what I wouldn’t do for the sake of looking good. As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to vanity, it’ll always be alright.