By now you've heard of the lady who paid $20k to have a third boob installed with the simultaneous goals of: repelling men's interest and getting a reality show on MTV. Yes, . . . please pay me no mind over here with my third boob and also pay lots of attention to me about my OMGTHIRDBOOB. Obviously there was a fish afoul in all of this and the whole thing turned out to be a hoax.
When the original story broke, many people questioned this third boobage on the grounds that surgeons are ethically bound to decline performing cosmetic surgery on patients without mental health clearance. That is to say, no way could the third boob be real because the patient had mentally unfit reasons for wanting to modify her body. Upon this, I politely call bullshit.
So, the third boober is fake because she would not be able to pass a mental health clearance:
And this is real because surgeons performing cosmetic procedures are all totally ethical and wanting to change yourself into a tiger is completely sane:
I have nuanced views on cosmetic procedures. If an adult wants to spend her money on her looks I find it a little slut-shamey that people call that out when flat irons and consealer get a pass. Besides, the only difference between someone in a face of Maybelline v. one full of Botox is income level and the only difference between admiration and snark on plastic surgery is how well it turned out.
When cosmetic procedures have "good" results, people don't whip out their mental health diagnoses. People like Kim Kardashian, Christie Brinkley or any beautiful celebrity or rich person over 50 who looks 25 are all equally as "unnatural" looking as Tiger Man and Third Boob Lady. Do you even remember what teeth looked like before celebrities all got veneers? Hint: not like Chiclets.
Why do we shake our fingers at Jocelyn Wildenstein and Meg Ryan, yet not at those whose procedures fit our ideal aesthetic? Better yet, why don't we lay off criticizing people for the choices they make that don't affect us?
I suppose the argument could be made that people like Christie Brinkley set the bar too high and we all suffer from low self-esteem now because she's so great and we look like the tired old moms that we are, but two things:
1.) She didn't put herself on that magazine cover. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Blame the media and PhotoShop editors for these cultural shifts, not the model herself and
2.) If you're a person who always has to be the prettiest or the richest or the smartest, you're going to live a very unhappy life. You can't compare yourself to the most extreme "best" example. What, I'm never going to open my mouth because I'm not Einstein? I'm going to sit in the shadows of my home all day because I'm not Christie Brinkley? You know who else you're not? That guy on My 600-Pound Life who weighed over 1,200 pounds and had such a great attitude that he danced in his bed as his friends hauled it down the street the day he got married.
Hey, if it takes you four boobs to one-up that tri-boob lady, do what you have to do, but don't be surprised when your nemesis shows up to the PTA meeting ready to nurse quints and Octo-Boob makes the cover of People next year.
Humans are competitive. It's only natural.
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