Well hello again insomnia. How kind of you to show up.
Recently while at work, I was chatting to one of my colleagues and somehow we got onto the subject of plastic surgery. And it was during this conversation that I found out about something I’d never heard of before.
Can I just say right off the bat that the length and thickness of ones eyelashes is something that I have never for a second thought anyone actually took seriously. I mean it’s a weird thing to be bothered about, what your eyelashes look like. I always laughed at mascara commercials, wondering a) who on earth would want to look like that and b) do they seriously think they’re fooling anyone into believing that it’s actually physically possible to lengthen your eyelashes using black muck in a bottle? What a joke!
Um, apparently not.
Has it become obvious that I don’t wear makeup? Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t give less of a shit what other people do and don’t put on their faces. Personally, I find it uncomfortable to have stuff on my face. I like being able to rub my eye or chew my lip without fear of smudging something. Makeup is expensive, and time consuming, and not that comfortable. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t bother with shaving my legs or plucking my eyebrows either, for the same reason. Uncomfortable, time consuming, and really does it matter that much?
But I, like everyone else in the world, care what other people think. So I make the minimum effort to be presentable, but I think makeup is unnecessary.
That’s one opinion. You can think what you like.
But back to the eyelashes.
So I thought caring that much about what your eyelashes look like to buy some expensive sticky stuff on a stick, was pretty funny. But now it would seem, people can actually have a procedure done to have their eyelashes actually, literally, lengthened. How incredibly weird! It would feel so strange. I can only imagine how weird it would be to suddenly have really long eyelashes just stuck on your face. Ugh! And what a pain they would be to look after. And how weird when you start getting older!
Yeah, the world is a funny place.
Generally, I think people can do whatever the hell they want and good luck to them. But when it comes to plastic surgery, that just isn’t for me.
There’s something distinctly odd about it. I can’t shake the feeling that plastic surgery is one of those things invented to solve a problem, that in turn was an invention itself.
Feel bad about yourself! Here’s the easy fix!
I know some girls who would honestly change so many things if they could, that they would literally be a different person. And that worries me somewhat, because i feel like plastic surgery is trying to offer a solution to the wrong problem.
I mean, let’s say someone feels bad about their nose. So they get plastic surgery to change it. The “problem” has a quick and easy “fix”. You can now go ahead and feel good about yourself.
But what about those people (and there are plenty of them) who feel bad about themselves, just generally speaking. I’m sure we’ve all had a point in our lives where we’ve wanted to switch lives with someone, anyone else. I know girls (and i am guilty of this myself) who are able to scrutinise and criticise every single inch of themselves and point out all the zillion things they want to change.
Once upon a time, this would have ended there. But now, thinking has changed, and it’s not a case of “I wish I could change myself to be a different person,” and become much more “I can and will change myself to be a different person.
Offering a “fix” to the “problem” isn’t always the right thing. Being able to change the things you don’t like about yourself so easily is kind of dangerous spiral downwards. Where does it end? There is no long term fix in this (in fact, in the long term most of that work is going to start looking seriously weird). The other solution is just to learn to live with and love whatever it is you were born with. Or better yet, realise that the way you were born is not actually the “problem” it’s made out to be.
In the same way you can’t help but watch a disaster occur, albeit with a sense of repellent fascination, I find myself fascinated by the notion of what the retirement homes of my generation are going to look like. Grannies with butterfly tattoos above the derrière, giant rock hard tits and eyelashes longer then their remaining hairs. Old men with tribal tattoos fading away on their sagging upper arms, elongated earlobes and hearing aids protruding from ears that once were filled with the thumping beats of heavy dub step.
Oh yes, it’s going to be fascinating.