Video: Plastic surgery through the eyes of a man
I once dreamed of piercing my earlobe. How I would look with an earring in the shape of a small silver ring! But the fear of pain (infection, gangrene, death) overpowered. A modest but cute piece of jewelry in the ear was worn by a friend of mine. And everyone began to call him handsome, but I remained just cute.
Any person, regardless of gender, dreams of making an external effect. But this desire warms men, and incinerates women. And we have different beauty parameters. A man does not know what bags under his eyes are in a woman's understanding. A man is capable of only the most general impression. The woman is focused on details. She looks in the mirror and laments that she has wrinkles, and you, deciding to be attentive, also look in the mirror to see these "traces of sadness" on your beloved face and sympathetically confirm: "Yes, honey, wrinkles!" - and you get lost. Who knows what she means: these folds in the corners of her eyes, giving her gaze a mocking and intelligent expression, or these - in the corners of her lips, thanks to which she always seems to be smiling affably. In order not to get into a mess, you are silent. In your male understanding, wrinkles are natural. You don't live with a porcelain doll! Ta is smooth but empty; and your woman contains a soul for which, by the way, you fell in love with her … You can talk as much as you like, but if she suddenly decides that it is time for her to do a "lift" - give up hopes to dissuade her. Popular wisdom (“don't be born beautiful”, “don't drink water from your face”, etc.) upsets her: “So, then, you live with an ugly woman ?!”. The statement that such imperfection in her suits you is not accepted for discussion: she is not doing it for you. She needs it, and all you need is to accept. You sigh and scurry to the chic entrance of the beauty institute. Exploration.
My idea of plastic surgery was influenced by the film "No Face". Computer, laser, vacuum masks and hell knows what else, and a few hours later the fat Travolta wakes up thin Cage. And no scars, no bruises. And everything has already healed. That's what I understand. But the reality turned out to be somewhat different.
Everything in the lobby is like in a regular clinic: reception, wardrobe. Information boards on the walls. List of services, the names of specialists. On one of the shields, in the lower part of it - photographs. I love pictures in all forms. Even among the magazines, my favorites are where there are more pictures and less text … I bow my head, study the pictures. Photos of two women "before" and "after" (as in advertisements for weight loss products). On the left side women laugh, on the right side they are serious. What could spoil their mood? An unexpected recovery from your boss, or a drop of pomegranate juice that ruined your cashmere blouse you bought yesterday? I read the headline: "Getting rid of mimic wrinkles with the help of injections of drug B …". Trying to figure out what is the essence of the procedure? It turns out that some of the muscles of the face, which are constantly tense, are injected with a portion of the poison (not potassium cyanide or hydrocyanic acid, but still …). Muscles safely numb and relax. Probably, the women who underwent this procedure reasoned like this: just think, a couple of muscles! According to the ads, we have more than 650 of them! Beauty takes sacrifice, you know. But I shuddered a little: I am afraid of death and would not want to be dead even by 0.2%. But maybe my fear of poison will be compensated by the beauty of my face? I agree to arsenic in the dentist's office, so as not to lose all my teeth. Again, this time carefully, I look at the pictures. All the wrinkles that are on the "before" pictures are also on the "after" pictures. Only their depth has slightly decreased (after all, women do not smile).A thought arose in my soul: are they not fooling me? But, having decided that, due to my masculine nature, I was simply not able to notice the changes that would certainly satisfy women, I dismissed my anxiety and went up to the second floor.
The first thing that caught my eye was that the corridor was full of women. Naturally, not men. A man even turns to an ordinary doctor only as a last resort, what can we say about a plastic surgeon! But after a second I realized that there are not so many women as it seemed to me at the first moment, but half as many. Mirrors hung everywhere in the corridor. Even the doors were mirrored. According to the owners of the institute, a person who comes to an initial appointment should see his own imperfection everywhere, so that it would be easier for him to agree to an operation. After the operation, the patient will no longer look in the mirror. Among those waiting in line, I noticed a woman who came for a dressing. Apparently, she underwent "face plastic surgery": a bandage covered her cheeks, chin and forehead, bruises under her eyes were safely hidden under huge sunglasses. Yes, it is not recommended to look in the mirror like this. Thank God it won't be long. In the film "No Face", Travolta's bandages were removed on the same day. In order not to embarrass the woman, I turned to the wall. The gaze rested on the information board, replete with photographs of postoperative bandages. I also found the one that was on the woman. It turned out that you would not have to wear it for a day, as in the movies, but for more than a month. I went cold. This is what happens: a person goes to work in harness for more than a month or locks himself at home so that no one can see him? What about your husband? The sight of a woman in curlers that cartoonists usually scare grooms with is pretty nonsense compared to that. But my gaze continued to wander through the photographs, and very soon I noticed a bandage applied after liposuction.
Who does not know, I will explain what liposuction is. If you are unhappy with your size, there is no need for diets, exhausting exercise and complicated operations. Excess fat will simply be pumped out of you. It seemed tempting to me, and even the fact that the bandage would then have to be worn for 4-5 months (!) Did not upset me: after all, not on my face. Colleagues will not notice under the clothes. And the husband will endure everything, he has nowhere to go. But then a chuckle and a snippet of a phrase reached my ears, forcing me to listen. The woman was just talking about the liposuction procedure she had undergone. It turned out that the procedure was incredibly painful. You can't pierce your ear. But the effect is not the same. I listen further. For several months, as expected, the woman heroically wore a bandage, suffered from bruises, slept in only one position. Monks wearing chains or a hair shirt would surely have envied such torture. But the happy woman's torment did not last forever. After the prescribed six months, she took off the bandage, and … again began to gain fat. Naturally, after all, neither her food, nor her lifestyle has changed. But only fat began to form not everywhere, as before, but in lumps. The thighs of the happy were covered with craters, like the surface of the moon. Doctors, without delay, suggested a new procedure: fill the craters with gel and thus level the surface. The woman agreed. It is not known how many procedures she will have to endure, but she smiled and told her story with the utmost optimism. I envied the strength and health of her spirit, which is no longer based in such a "healthy" body, thanks to liposuction. Her neighbor's spirit was broken.
She underwent breast augmentation surgery. The operation was successful, but after a while the woman noticed that the left breast became slightly larger than the right one. The surgeons were not at a loss, and introduced an additional implant into the right breast. After the second operation, the left breast was noticeably inferior. Resourceful doctors suggested increasing the lagging one a little more. The woman thought for the first time. A frightening prospect loomed of endless but futile attempts to equalize the scales (not the scales).
No one willingly wants to become Michael Jackson.But one thing I figured out for myself: Michael Jackson is not an isolated case. Plastic tightens. And not only in the case when the failures of the previous operation are trying to hide the next one. But also in case of success. If you got a new beautiful nose, why not get a new beautiful cut of the eyes as well? A woman sitting nearby could illustrate both cases.
She came to “make legs” (I don’t really know what it is; since I was eavesdropping, I had no opportunity to clarify). The woman was sitting just opposite the one with glasses and a bandage, and took out her. She asked what exactly they did to her, how much it cost, and tried in every possible way to look behind the dark glasses, explaining her curiosity by the fact that she also intended to "make eyes" soon. The hunted owner of the new face covered herself with her hands and turned away. For a while, the attention of all those present was distracted by a newly arrived woman. She was 60-70 years old. She has never had plastic surgery and came to ask the doctor if it’s too late to start? She entered the office for only a few minutes, after which she immediately left. Her case was not discussed for a long time. But the woman who decided to "make the legs" wanted to communicate, and the lady in glasses did not go to contact. I had to turn to another woman who had a plaster of paris on her nose. The new interlocutor was immediately intimidated that her nose would inevitably be ruined. The confirmation was presented with his own nose, which was once "so sharp, so thin", and after the operation became "so wide." The insidious doctor allegedly did not warn her that shortening the nose would lead to its optical thickening. The new victim began to fight back desperately: everything is in order with her nose! But the children, playing, moved the plaster cast, and now she is afraid that her nose might bend. And also, when she sneezes, stitches fly out of her nose. I felt cold. I had a vivid picture of Frankenstein's fiancee, all scarred. No, that was too much. I was reflected for a moment in the mirror for the last time - imperfect and frightened - and ran away.
In the alley, I caught up with a woman of 60-70 years old, who asked the doctor for permission for plastic surgery. The woman was just entering the church. Apparently the doctor advised her to think about the soul. After all, look - don't look, what's inside is important. You understand me, I, of course, do not mean silicone.
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