Just this week, former Argentinean beauty queen and model Solange Magnano died during a plastic surgery procedure. Though she had a successful career built on the proof that she was one of the world's most beautiful women, she didn't like something about her physical appearance and she wanted it changed.
From what I've read, Magnano wasn't happy about her behind and she wanted a larger, shapelier buttocks.
Pause and let that sink in for a moment.
Have we really come to the point where women, beauty queens no less, are upset their asses aren't bigger?
Most women I know spend hours at the gym trying to achieve exactly the opposite effect.
A bigger butt, really? I've got a much cheaper and safer method for you; it's called Krispy Kreme. It's been proven for years to be an effective way to make your ass look huge in those jeans.
In all seriousness, this unbelievably beautiful woman died because of insecurity about her looks and that is a tragedy. It should also be a wake up call. We've all heard it before, but just to reinforce what each of us already knows to be true, any kind of surgery is dangerous and has serious risks including death. There is nothing "routine" about going under heavy anesthesia and altering your body so stop kidding yourself.
As a teenager I was always under the false impression that it was just the United States that had an obsession with being young, tan, tight and beautiful, but clearly its nearly the entire modern world that's become utterly infatuated with beauty and youth no matter the cost or the fact that we're encouraging people to hate what they see in the mirror, and to spend thousands of dollars on dangerous surgeries to fix those pesky "problem areas."
When I was 21, a creep of a guy I made the mistake of spending too much time with told me that I'd likely need a breast lift by the time I was thirty. I'll never forgive myself for not throwing my drink in his face.
As I inch slowly closer to that number, I can still hear those words echoing in my head and silently ask myself "am I really going to need a breast lift by thirty?" But isn't that always the case?
We remember the cruel and thoughtless comments others make about our appearance but never the unprovoked compliments or admiring gazes. I can't help but wonder if it was her own misguided image of herself that led Magnano to hate what she saw or was it some jackass comment made by an idiot to whom she shouldn't have given the time of day.
Magazines and television shows have no trouble telling us where we fall short. From the condition of our hair to the calluses on our feet, there is never enough improving to be done. Even if you have the luxury of permanently altering your body there is even more you can do.
Don't bother using wrinkle cream, let a doctor cut your face off and pull your skin back.
Don't stay out of the sun to avoid reduced elesticiaty in your face, instead inject poison into it so it will be paralyzed in the position you want.
Don't bother enjoying your God-given breasts, we have balloons filled with jelly that we can put in there so they never again look or feel natural and granted you'll have to replace them every decade or so to make sure they don't rot inside your body, but hey at least they're perky!
This all sounds insane when you say it out loud. Is anyone else just dieing to find out the laundry list of long term side effects this stuff is going to have?
Neither the risks nor the costs have stopped men and women, young and old from going under the knife for the sake of beauty. It's clear we no longer believe in aging gracefully; it would be a difficult concept because we no longer believe in aging at all.
We've allowed our insecurities to send us close to the edge of sanity when it comes to looks. Are my boobs ever going to be as perky as Brittney's? No, because mine are real. Is my nose ever going to be as "perfect" as Ashley's? No, because mine is real. When did our own reality become so glossed, pulled and pinched?
The catch is I'm being a total hypocrite by pointing fingers at those that alter their natural bodies for the sake of superficial beauty because I'm just as susceptible to the magazines with forty-year-old celebrities on them that look better than I do at twenty-eight.
I know that UV rays could give me cancer, but I spent the better part of last summer soaking up the sun on Bradford Beach. In complete honesty, I've wanted a nose job since I was twelve years old. And yes, I worry that by thirty my breasts will need a lift because I haven't yet learned to defy the law of gravity.
I can think of a million different things I wish I could change about my body. Things I don't like and over scrutinize, but would I even care if it weren't for the comments of other people, or the magazines or the television shows? Would I even notice my "imperfections" if someone else didn't?
It is so easy for each of us to look in the mirror and see all that we don't like.
"This part shouldn't look like that."
"That bit should be more like this."
Says who? Who told you that?
People that point out the physical flaws of another person are those who are so deeply insecure about themselves that the only way to make themselves feel better is to bring down those around them. Didn't we all learn that in middle school?
Cosmetic surgery is a multi-billion dollar industry, because we've all become obsessive and insecure freaks that put no value in our natural beauty and try to keep up with celebrities and their bank accounts.
Not just because we believe this crap but also because the heads of cosmetics companies, magazine editors and plastic surgeons have told us we will never be pretty enough. I'm guilty of falling for it.
No, I haven't gone under the knife, but does the thought tempt me each year that I get older. Keeping up with the Joneses used to mean a manicured yard, now it means a fake body.
My worry is, just like the pesticides you use to keep that lawn looking green are leaking into your water supply, the botulism you're pumping into your face is leaking into your brain.
We've all seen the images of women that went to Botox parties and had adverse reactions because - surprise, surprise -- the doctor injecting the stuff was some hack that used low-grade chemicals, which left these women borderline disfigured.
Case in point; Priscilla Presley. Gee, wrinkles or a disfigured face... there's a tough decision.
Solange Magnano died because she didn't think her body was beautiful enough the way it was. It cost her life and cost her young children a mother and that is truly sad.
My challenge to myself and to you is to look in the mirror and find just five things you like about yourself; five things you wouldn't change if you knew the risks included death or disfigurement.
Is what you see really all that bad?
No, the OnMilwaukee.com sex columnist's real name is not Sarah Foster. (Foster is the model/actress that played an ex-lover of Vincent Chase in the first season of "Entourage.") In reality, our sex columnist is a Wisconsin native with a degree in journalism and a knack for getting people to talk to her.
Sarah never considered herself an "above average" listener. Others, however, seem to think differently. Perhaps she has a sympathetic tone or expression that compels people to share their lives and secrets with her despite how little they know her. Everyone from the girl that does her hair to people in line at the grocery store routinely spill the details of their lives and relationships to Sarah, unprompted but typically not unwanted. It’s strange to her that people would do this, but she doesn’t mind. Sarah likes that she can give advice even if it is to complete strangers.
So why the pseudonym? Simple. People tell Sarah these things because for some reason they trust her. They believe she cares and therefore will keep their secrets in a locked vault the same way a best friend or therapist would. Sarah won't name names, but that vault is now unlocked.
