plastic surgery happens in a culture where we are impaled on the effects
of first impressions. Such views reflected and were fed by the physiognomic
literature of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries:
Johann Caspar Lavater, author of Essays on Physiognomy, and others
dwelled on the legibility of character through surface manifestations.22
That appearance could induce character was an emergent cultural conviction
being directly countered by these seemingly reactionary physiognomic
accounts. As Richard Sennett has discussed, by the eighteenth
century it was already easy enough to transform one's identity through
fashion, mobility, and urbanization, through which anonymity afforded
all sorts of social options.
Class lines blurred because one could assume
the costume of a higher rank if one played one's part convincingly
enough: "If the oil merchant's wife or anyone else could wear a chemise
de la reine, if imitation was exact, how would people know whom they
were dealing with? . . . the issue was not being sure of a rank, but being
able to act with assurance" (69).
As cosmetics and dress in the nineteenth
century became associated with the effort to disguise one's true appearance,
one could find manuals that would enlighten men about how to
"read" the authentic female body through the contrivance of fashion.23
Photography as well participated in fixing the relationship between
character and appearance. Alan Trachtenberg remarks that, from its inception,
photography was used in the service of solving the nineteenthcentury
"obsession" with the origins, cultivation, and representation of
character (27). "Photographers adopted the notion that the exterior of a
person might reveal inner character, and conventionalized it in a sentimental
repertoire of expressive poses" (28). These poses created as much
as they reflected material and social accomplishment.
At the same time that this ability to transform value through appearance
had the merit of releasing people from the burden of heritage,
those who were born with a deformed or less attractive body might be
ostracized to a degree less likely in a close-knit traditional community,
where ties are based on birth and family connection more than on face
value. One famous plastic surgeon was strikingly candid with me about the reallife
consequences of his work: "If you want to go out and be attractive to
somebody else and start a new life, you've got to face facts the way you
look has a lot to do with whether you're going to attract somebody else.
To me there's nothing wrong with that.
Let's be pragmatic about the
fact that if a woman ceases to be attractive physically, it affects the physical,
intimate relationship. I've seen women who have not had particularly
good relationships or haven't had a relationship with men for a long
time, and I make them look younger and prettier, and they go on to get
married and have wonderful, stable relationships. There's absolutely
no question that the face-lift helped them. We live in a real, physical
world."
As he spoke I felt older, uglier by the minute. I felt the interview time
eating into my last remaining years of feminine value. I wanted him to
tell me the truth; it was a relief, really, to have this plastic surgeon be so outspoken
about the impact of appearance in the culture. Nevertheless, I
was plunged into the doubt that he articulated but did not create. I wondered
how he saw me what he would do to make me look "younger and
prettier." He spoke with such authority.
Yoked to his honesty is a kind
of fiction about the transformative possibilities of plastic surgery. You
can change her life. You can make her someone whom someone else
would be willing to love. More to the point, if she isn't succeeding on the
dating /marriage market, it must be because she's not attractive enough.
That's the most unsettling part of his account, isn't it? The self-evident
undesirability of the woman who isn't young-and-pretty. Young-andpretty.
You can't have pretty without the young. As a feminist, I am indignant. Outraged. As a member of the culture, I cannot help but
stumble.
I asked him: "Because they measurably really look better, or because
they feel better about themselves?"
"Both. People want to pretend it's all psychological, it's just how you
feel about yourself. That's not true. You know when you meet somebody
at a party, you're more attracted to them if they're good-looking. And
the more good-looking they are, the more you want to be with them and
get their ideas and interact with them." He paused, perhaps in recognition
of the implications of his argument or his sudden recollection of
just who was interviewing him. "That's not true if somebody's particularly
interesting and charismatic and intelligent if you're bright you
go beyond those things." I felt as though he was speaking directly to
me then. To avoid offending me, he interjected this point about "intelligent"
people like English professors? I see the idea is that smart
people don't need face-lifts to be loved? What a relief.
"But there's no question that the way you look has a lot to do with the
kinds of relationships you form. They don't just do better in this life because
they feel better about the way they look; they do better because
they in fact look better. And I've learned that not just from my aesthetic
patients but from my reconstructive patients too."
We spoke about the case of one young woman whose face and life he
entirely overhauled. She went from plain to noticeably pretty. I've seen
the photographs; there's no question that plastic surgery made her a
different person. "Their personality changes. When the world reacts to
you as if you're a pretty, attractive person, your personality changes, you
evolve, you become a different kind of a person, your self changes. It's
not something that is cast in stone." He dismissed Freud's notion that
our personalities are shaped entirely by the time we are six or seven. "I
think our personalities are somewhat malleable for a long time." |