Rule number 1…when it comes to any kind of plastic surgery, money should be no object. My pal Camille, ex or otherwise, taught me this. It’s not like recovering a chair, you don’t shop around for the best deal. You just go to the top-of-the-line and that’s that.
And if you feel you can’t afford to, then you wait, or remortgage your house.
What’s this all about?
A model I know, I’ll call Penny, wanted to have some fat put into her lips. She called excited because she had a coupon…would I go with her to redeem it.
Rule number 2…coupons are great for Jell-O, Hamburger Helper and Lemon Pledge…but not Botox or whatever fat-filler was being offered. Again, when it has to do with your face, you don’t go to Filene’s Basement, you go to Bergdorf on the designer floor.
I tried gently dissuading her, even offering to introduce her to Camille’s pal Bob, who happens to be a great plastic surgeon who would probably wave his consultation fee as a favor to me. Also, we’re talking lips, not rear-end or cheeks…so less is more. In other words, you don’t want to come out looking like Mick Jagger who doesn’t even want to look like Mick Jagger, but has no choice.
And Angelina Jolie was born that way, so it looks natural on her.
Why, because it is. The minute you try to emulate that pout you’re in deep trouble.
Did Penny listen?
So we go to this office all the way on the West Side, red flag number 1. A good surgeon isn’t located above a fruit stand. The velvet Elvis greeting you in reception, red flag number 2.
“Maybe he was a patient?” Penny said waving her coupon, red flag number 3 through 9.
“Elvis has been dead since 1977…unless this guy is Moses, Elvis was not a patient.”
I did say she was a model, didn’t I? And a youngish one at that. She’s practically an infant…she’s 50…
but I’m digressing.
This little guy comes out…no nurse, with teeth the size of Chiclets. “Run,” I whisper to Penny who giggles at what she calls, my funny paranoia.
12 Step streams in my good ear…Susannah, do not create a crisis NOR STOP ONE.
So, I desist all attempts to save Penny from what may be a ghastly mistake as she disappears into Dr. Frankenstein’s inner sanctum.
Ten minutes later, rather than Penny a blowfish comes out.
“How do I luke?” she said, slurring her words.
“Great,” I said, since she seemed so happy despite the pout that could be seen around the world.
“Dr. Mike said they’re just a little swollen.”
“Really, just a little?”
“And guess what?”
“I can’t imagine?”
“He’s offered you a two-for one? Isn’t that great?”
“Wow…I don’t know what to say.”
Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t let him enhance my lips eight times their original size. I thanked him politely, I’m from Connecticut remember, and took Penny home recommending she drink, and not look into a mirror…
for at least three years.