Authors: Kathleen Baird-Murray
Face Value (23 page)
“Sure. Keep your pose, honey,” said Davide. “Jenny, can we have a little more powder in the cleavage, some of that gold stuff?”
Jenny, the makeup artist, picked up a black-lidded tub of powder from a tall stool to her side and selected a brush with a generous head of soft satiny hair from a roll-up brush case. She looked for Clarissa, then, seeing Kate, turned and smiled at her.
“Sorry, could you help me? I just need someone to hold this for a second.”
Kate followed Jenny onto the set until she was only a couple of feet away from Petruschka’s cleavage. Jenny handed her the powder, unscrewing the lid, then dipped her brush into it. She shook the excess off on her hand, then, without a hint of the embarrassment that had overcome Kate, she dusted it carefully in minute strokes down the center of Petruschka’s breastbone. Kate looked sheepishly at the floor, willing her to finish. Close-up, they were even better. She suddenly understood why men were so obsessed with breasts. Some men, anyway.
Petruschka sipped her water; Jenny and Kate backed off the set. Davide beckoned to Kate, holding out some Polaroids for her to approve. He stepped away from the set, turning his back to Petruschka.
“Okay, she’s a little bit heavy on the thighs,” he whispered, “but we can retouch that out. Otherwise, not bad, huh?”
Kate couldn’t see any heaviness anywhere, but she was in too much of a daze to contradict him. The picture was beautiful. Shot in black and white, it gave Petruschka’s irresolutely sex-charged physique a graceful subtlety. Artfully placed shadows protected her nudity with a cloak of sensuality. Kate pulled her shoulders up straight, suddenly aware she was slouching, and tried to look professional, like she’d been on thousands of shoots before with naked women. It happened all the time.
“It’s great.” She nodded.
“It’s a wrap!”
Petruschka jumped up and wrapped a large white toweling robe around her just as the makeup artist asked her to be careful not to get any makeup on it. Too late. She grabbed her bag from an assistant, who had been holding it patiently in case the model needed something while shooting, pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and retreated to the dressing room, her brow furrowed with annoyance. The magic was gone.
Packing the unworn G-strings back into the black bag, Clarissa turned to Kate and asked, “So, like, how come you didn’t meet JK after the show, anyway?”
“I . . . er . . . couldn’t.” She looked away. It was too raw to go into now. She busied herself with the G-strings. Petruschka’s breasts had been a welcome distraction from the mutilations she had witnessed earlier.
“Oh.” Clarissa shrugged her shoulders and grabbed the G-strings back from Kate, flinging them back into the bag. “By the way, your flight to Rio? You need to be at the airport at ten a.m. tomorrow.”
“Rio? JFK, you mean,” Kate said, gathering up her handbag and hoisting it over one shoulder. She was finding it increasingly hard to fill it with enough stuff to bulk it out and give it the requisite fullness without leaving it so full that she couldn’t find anything.
Clarissa stopped packing the G-strings, put her hand to her head.
“Oh, my Gaad, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. Professor Paracato invited you to his eco-spa just outside Rio and I thought you’d want a break after all this, so I said, sure thing, and now you’re not heading back home until Sunday. Don’t worry about Alexis, I cleared it with her already.”
“What?!”
“Is that okay?”
nineteen
Dear Alexis,
Please find to follow the main feature for the plastic surgery supplement. It’s not what you thought you were getting, and I realize I am taking a risk by presenting you with something so different. But I think it’s extremely important as I hope you will agree when you read it. I know you will understand when I say: there is no truth in beauty, but there are a lot of lies. This may not be the article our readers were expecting to find in
Darling
’s plastic surgery supplement; but if it is a reporter’s duty to expose and write, as Graham Greene once wrote, then it is my duty now to give you the unexpected and delve as close to the truth as I can, however uncomfortable that might make people feel. What started off as an article about the history of cosmetic surgery in Hollywood has morphed into something quite different. To not tell the true story would be a failure in my duty as a reporter.
Darling
’s plastic surgery supplement; but if it is a reporter’s duty to expose and write, as Graham Greene once wrote, then it is my duty now to give you the unexpected and delve as close to the truth as I can, however uncomfortable that might make people feel. What started off as an article about the history of cosmetic surgery in Hollywood has morphed into something quite different. To not tell the true story would be a failure in my duty as a reporter.
I look forward to your feedback,
Kind regards, Kate Miller
P.S.: Final feature lineup as follows:
1. When Plastic Is Not So Fantastic, by Kate Miller (copy follows below)
2. Nature and Nurture, by Kate Miller. Copy should be in by Wednesday latest. The shoot went well today—you should have some great visuals!
3. The Mystery of Marilyn’s Cheekbones: The Secrecy of Surgery for Starlets in Hollywood, by Kate Miller. Copy to follow—am having difficulties with getting anyone to talk about this. I would like to swap with:
4. (alternative story): Ten Top Surgeons in Manhattan, by Clarissa.
Or 3. (alternative story): Something on new procedures currently popular in South America, by Cynthia.
Can we discuss on my return?
Kate Miller/Darling/When Plastic Is Not So Fantastic
You’ll find her tucked away on the tenth floor of a sheltered housing project, or in the folds of a loving family, returning to live with them though well in her thirties or forties and otherwise independent. She is the woman whose social life is conducted through the message boards on plastic surgery websites; she doesn’t have a job because physically she scares away the customers. She lives in hope that someday, the man responsible for her heartache, her bitterness, her vapid anger, will be brought to justice. In truly angry moments she even hopes he will suffer the same kind of physical damage he put her through. The forgotten victim, not seen since a whole host of shows celebrating this “art form” took over our TV channels, it is hard to remember she was once a vibrant, warm, compassionate woman, someone like you or me. She is anonymous in our society. She is a victim of plastic surgery.
She may be anonymous but she is far from alone. As a society, we are generally uncomfortable with the idea that mistakes could be made with such serious consequences; however, search for “plastic surgery mistakes” on Google and over 1.4 million entries pop up. The American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons reports that 11.5 million of us underwent surgical and nonsurgical procedures last year, an increase of 446 percent over the previous decade (figures from 2006). But the same benchmarking organization doesn’t hold statistics for cases where the patients aren’t satisfied.
The thought of it going wrong doesn’t fit in with our vision of plastic surgery as being safe or acceptable now that the final taboos and secret surgeries of the rich and famous are being exposed on a daily basis, often with the tacit approval of the stars themselves, in magazines like
Us
or
Star
.
Us
or
Star
.
But is it more affordable, when the consequences of getting it wrong are so physically, emotionally, and financially expensive? Patty Patrice is one of those women secreted away from the rest of the world in the hope that she will be ever more forgotten. Now, the 33-year-old says of her treatment at the hands of Hollywood’s hottest surgeon to the stars, John Kingsley III, “He claims he did this to save me costs, but look what it went on to cost me!”
Her story began in 2006, when shortly after going through a painful divorce, she opted to have her nose neatened by Kingsley. “We met in his offices, and I was completely taken in by his charm. I guess I was vulnerable, after my divorce, so I let him persuade me to have not one, but several procedures at once.” John Kingsley III argued this would save her money on operating costs; in hindsight it was a reckless decision that ended up costing her far more than just money. A facial peel, mini face-lift, and eye lift were all recommended, in addition to the original nose job request. “He promised me he’d make me look like a celebrity,” she says, tears welling in her eyes as she recalls the painful journey to her present unenviable situation today. More than just a new look, Patty hoped this would bring her a new self-confidence, and possibly even a new life.
Plastic surgeons will be the first to tell you to be realistic about what surgery can achieve; that it won’t change your life. But Kingsley’s failure to predict the disaster that befell Patty’s face far surpassed any promises he made. Seeing pictures of Patty before and after her operations, it is hard to believe she was operated on by the same surgeon who has appeared on nationwide TV shows like
Radical Redux.
In addition, Kingsley has since gone on to win acclaim for his radical, if somewhat tasteless, demonstration at the recent Face-Off convention, attended by the world’s most notable surgeons.
Radical Redux.
In addition, Kingsley has since gone on to win acclaim for his radical, if somewhat tasteless, demonstration at the recent Face-Off convention, attended by the world’s most notable surgeons.
It is impossible not to be moved when you meet Patty for the first time. Short and petite, your perception of her vulnerability is intensified by the knowledge of what she has been through. To add insult to her very real injuries (her skin is still red-raw; her nose, barely cartilege; her eyes, a strange shape with echoes of Michael Jackson about them), JK3, as he likes to call himself, recently issued her with a bill for $57,000, with a promise to sue if it goes unpaid. Patty’s life is ruined. She lives on welfare and the kindness of friends.
We meet on a thundery Los Angeles day in August, when humid temperatures outside demand air-conditioning inside. Yet Patty’s apartment is beyond hot, kept this way because she has circulatory problems as a result of the surgery. Beads of perspiration appear on my forehead. The stuffy, clammy air makes the five minutes or so waiting for Patty to appear extremely uncomfortable. She keeps the lights down low because she’s embarrassed about the way she looks; embarrassed by the bandages on her wrists where she attempted to kill herself.
“Of course I’m aware of the stares, the whispering I get if I go out. So I don’t go out anymore. You don’t have to nowadays if you have friends, or the Internet.”
JK3 has denied any responsibility and refuses to correct his “work.” His world couldn’t be more different from Patty’s, with a huge home in Bel-Air from which he regularly throws lavish parties for his celebrity friends. But perhaps he’s just another in a long list of surgeons who has capitalized on Hollywood’s fragile relationships with actors and actresses in order to make a quick buck and achieve fame. When I met him in his office he coyly refused to name any of the celebrities he has worked on, yet was keen to show a potential client a glossy magazine cover featuring six of the world’s skinniest actresses, all of whom owe their physique to him.
Kingsley is not the first to market himself by trading on celebrity associations. In 1923 when Zieg feld Follies star Fanny Brice had her nose job, her surgeon, Henry Junius Schireson, was just starting out on his career. Overnight, thanks to her new nose, he became one of the most famous plastic surgeons in the United States, even though in later years he was to be primarily known as a “quack.” Like Schireson, Kingsley has traded on his celebrity associations, with a
Vogue
cover here, a makeover TV show there. It’s no exaggeration to say the man has single-handedly taken Hollywood by storm thanks to his charm and charisma. But although he undoubtedly reserves his skill and professionalism for these clients, for more “normal” patients such as Patty, perhaps the temptation to allow ego to overtake and let him play God steps in. JK3 talks, without a trace of irony, about “finishing God’s work” and happily compares himself with Michelangelo.
Vogue
cover here, a makeover TV show there. It’s no exaggeration to say the man has single-handedly taken Hollywood by storm thanks to his charm and charisma. But although he undoubtedly reserves his skill and professionalism for these clients, for more “normal” patients such as Patty, perhaps the temptation to allow ego to overtake and let him play God steps in. JK3 talks, without a trace of irony, about “finishing God’s work” and happily compares himself with Michelangelo.
He is not the only surgeon with a God complex. Surgeons in Los Angeles, and, to a lesser extent, throughout the rest of the world have achieved the celebrity status that rivals their Hollywood clients. On the one hand, conventions like Face-Off decry the “exhibitionism” of TV makeover shows, yet on the other hand, they encourage distinguished surgeons (including Kingsley) to appear onstage and perform live mutilations
[Legal Dept—Please check “mutilations” RE libel laws?]
before a packed audience.
[Legal Dept—Please check “mutilations” RE libel laws?]
before a packed audience.
So where does all this hypocrisy leave Patty? “I have strength, and I actually do believe I am doing something positive for women by speaking out,” she tells me. “Being raised here in L.A. I’ve seen a lot of things that are ugly, people who value the dollar more than anything else in life. But knowing there are people out there who believe in what I’m doing . . . I feel this is important.”
It would be far more convenient to believe in the safety and sanctity of cosmetic surgery and its wrinkle-free, ageless promises. But perhaps now is the time for us all to look in the mirror and kiss it good-bye once and for all. Say no to vanity, and yes to safety and a clone-free future. Say yes to a future where it’s okay to say no to the surgeon’s knife. Say no to conforming with Botox and Restylane; say yes to seeing yourself age gracefully, beautifully, originally, and the way God intended you to. Above all else, say no to surgery for Patty’s sake, and for every woman like Patty. Because there is no truth in beauty.
rio de janeiro
beauty note:
Sundress by Moschino. Handbag, big enough to work as overnight bag, by Chloé. (Note: Are Havaianas thongs too five years ago? Only they’re a tenth of the price in the airport shop.)
Complexion:
Crème de La Mer The Mist facial spritz, hydrated with Prescriptives Super Flight Cream.
Eyes:
Red Eye eyedrops by Rite Aid. YSL False Lashes Mascara.
Lips:
Baume de Rose By Terry.
Complexion:
Crème de La Mer The Mist facial spritz, hydrated with Prescriptives Super Flight Cream.
Eyes:
Red Eye eyedrops by Rite Aid. YSL False Lashes Mascara.
Lips:
Baume de Rose By Terry.
twenty
Of course it wasn’t okay. Clarissa knew it wasn’t okay. Rio de Janeiro was one thing when it was a rainy gray old afternoon in Maidstone and your only consolation was the thought that the newsagent’s on the corner might still be open on your way home from work and you could buy a Pot Noodle, smuggle it into your bedroom, deluge it with boiling water, and then tell your mum you weren’t hungry for supper. Then, Rio de Janeiro might be a welcome diversion, something to dream about, peruse the Internet about, research; marvel at pictures of the Corcovado; worry at the living cheek-by-jowlness of it all, the juxtaposition of extreme poverty next to extreme wealth; wonder whether that film
City of God
wasn’t in fact set in São Paulo; be amazed by the universality of the Brazilian bikini wax, a trend popularized by two Brazilian sisters who had lived in New York for years.
City of God
wasn’t in fact set in São Paulo; be amazed by the universality of the Brazilian bikini wax, a trend popularized by two Brazilian sisters who had lived in New York for years.
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