Cosmetic Surgery

In the ‘50s when I was first married, my husband wanted me to dye my hair and wear padded bras. OK, I thought, I am a modern woman, I am not a prude. I’ll still be the same person underneath; I won’t suddenly turn into a hussy (my notion of people who dyed their hair). And so I did it. And sure enough, I didn’t turn into a hussy. But I was still wrong. I didn’t remain the same person underneath. I had denied a fundamental part of myself--the very genes I was born with.

My accommodations were mild compared to today’s enthusiastic embrace of cosmetic surgery. What can be said of the self-esteem of someone who will submit to the risks, discomfort and cost of a surgeon’s knife to remove some wrinkles? It is denial, pure and simple. An investment in illusion instead of truth.

POLLY OGDEN

San Dimas