Myopia Is in the Eye of Beholder
There is a new psychological sickness on the books, body-dysmorphic disorder. That means that you think you’re really ugly when you’re really not. I am not making this up.
The formal psychological diagnosis is relatively rare. It seems that most sufferers, more women than men, go to their plastic surgeons instead of their shrinks. Others just stay home, wearing sweat shirts to bed or bags over their heads.
But, believe me, this is no joke. Just ask the FDA.
After emotional testimony from those of the body beautiful and those of the body burned, the agency decided that sacks of silicone shouldn’t be implanted in women’s breasts anymore. It said it wasn’t sure if this was safe.
These bigger, more “womanly” breasts, fashion fad de rigueur , might leak. And silicone on the loose can have very sinister effects.
Not that long ago, undergoing the knife to perceptively boost self-esteem could be considered extreme--something for Hollywood, or Palm Beach, or the very rich and vain wherever they might roost.
Today, at least in this part of the country, cosmetic surgery is almost within easy reach of the working class. You, too, can try to look like Cher.
None of this, of course, is considered sick. At least not by the people who implant and suck out or tuck in, or by those who willingly offer up their bodies like so many lumps of clay.
And, the truth is, few among us would mind looking like we just stepped out of a fashion ad, preferably something for Calvin Klein.
But most of us don’t. And we never will.
So people can get psychologically out of whack. Who cannot understand why?
True, some “real people” are now on TV, but they are part of a specialty genre. We watch them on “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and we laugh at the, a-hem, unflattering shots.
Yes, I know. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But it seems that everybody’s looking through the same lens. The names of these beauty “role models” are interchangeable really. Just call them Barbie and Ken.
I don’t mean to imply that I am above it all. I am certainly not. Like most women--if the surveys are to be believed--there are parts of my body that I wish were not there.
There is a line on the left side of my face that forever reminds me of my crooked smile. I won’t get in to the rest of it, because I am not the type to really tell all.
This aesthetic training starts very young in America, the land of the free, the loose and the barely clothed. Most parents don’t really teach the beauty guidelines to their young, but the kids learn fast nonetheless.
Real life examples from my own home:
My 5-year-old daughter turns to me after observing a mannequin, the genuine plastic kind, at a department store.
“Mommy, why can’t you look like that?” she says.
“Like that ?” say I. “Why?”
“Because she’s prettier than you are,” the little one says.
She immediately realizes that she has said something not quite right. I look crestfallen. She says she didn’t mean it and throughout the day, reminds me what a knockout I really am.
Except mother and daughter still feel bad.
When I was younger--I think it was when I was in my late teens--I thought that I was fat.
I have since learned that this is “normal” for American girls and women today. The people who study these things say the fat fantasy is as common as the one about getting the man, the house and the Mercedes-Benz.
I remember looking through the fashion magazines of which I was a devotee. I clipped out a photograph of some lithe, young thing--in a bikini, I think--and taped it to my mirror where I would be forced to compare her to myself.
This was supposed to remind me what I, too, could be like.
But it didn’t work out that way. Instead it made me feel lousy to the core. This mannequin wanna-be seemed to taunt me, “Na-na-na-na- nah . Catch me if you can, but I know that you won’t.”
(In a reflexive attempt at self-preservation, I later removed the beach babe and replaced her with a photograph of an unfortunate woman who was rather huge. Then, of course, I felt smug.)
I have written about some of this before, about America’s obsession with the prevailing standard of good looks. It seems people, women especially, are touchy about such things.
Some women who have had their breasts surgically enlarged wrote to tell me that they would do it again because a bigger bust line made them feel good. Men looked at them differently and they felt more confident about themselves.
These women seemed to believe that the media, by reporting on health concerns, was part of a snide, holier-than-thou crusade.
This simply isn’t true.
The truth is most of us are a little sick--if not certifiably afflicted with body-dysmorphic disorder itself. We might never look like beach babes or the god of Calvin Klein.
In the long run, our reaction to this news can be a gauge of our health--mental and it seems, physical as well.
Beauty truly can be beheld in many different ways. So I say it’s time for a prescription change. Our national myopia needs to be fixed.
A single lens cannot possibly work for us all.
Dianne Klein’s column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Readers may reach Klein by writing to her at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, Calif. 92626, or calling (714) 966-7406.
