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Like reality shows, extreme makeovers make for boring TV – if you’re thinking of having a tummy tuck, have it far away from the camera
It seems that the posters put up by the well-meaning “Breast is best” campaigners, have irked the pro-bottle-feeding brigade, who are accusing the former of being “nipple Nazis” and “breast bullies” and of exerting undue pressure on Maltese women to breastfeed.
For the sake of those of you who have missed out on the offending posters (rather difficult actually), they portray a baby nuzzling away at a mother’s breast and the inevitable slogan. And that’s it. No dire warnings of grave danger to mothers or their children as to what will happen if they don’t breastfeed. No threats of night-time raids by the breast bullies who will clamp infants to their mothers’ bosoms forcing them to feed all day and night.
Yet, it is claimed that this poster and the people who put it up, have instilled a guilt complex in mothers who don’t breastfeed. For the second time this year, I feel we’re in the grip of full-blown poster paranoia, albeit stemming from different posters. Can a poster really do all this? Turn the bottle-brigade into guilt-racked shadows? Make them feel as if they’re selfish mothers denying their offspring the best nourishment available? Of course not. The very obvious truth of the matter is that both methods of nurturing have their advantages and disadvantages and that Maltese women are free to go for breast or opt for bottle. Most of them are well-informed and make the choice which is most convenient for them and their child. I don’t think that undue pressure is exerted on them one way or another. Some of the more prudish among us objected to the sight of an exposed maternal breast. They’re probably the same people who go about dusting off the “No Topless” posters and longing for a return to the time when paintings of naked angels in churches where primly covered with little daubs of paints in appropriate places. I don’t know about the effectiveness of the poster, but I found it inoffensive and rather sweet. I can’t for the life of me, fathom why it has attracted so much opprobrium. At least the “Breast is best” campaigners can take some measure of comfort by knowing they’re being talked about. That, too, makes for an effective marketing campaign.
Last Monday, Maltese audiences were regaled with the first ever episode of the nip’n’tuck reality show Arani Issa. It’s an extreme makeover kind of programme where participants get their tummies tucked, their noses nipped and their varicose veins zapped away in full view of television viewers. Liposuction, rhinoplasty, and other less invasive procedures are filmed for our delectation. Participants appear to think that the cosmetic surgery that is carried out on them will be a life-changing process. The audio blurb for Arani Issa has a woman exclaiming ecstatically, “My life has changed overnight”. She was appealing to the inner ugly duckling in each of us – the one which desperately wants to be transformed into a swan (in fact the American version of the show is entitled just that – The Swan).
That kind of pitch is going to be successful. In a world obsessed with beauty and body size, where the measure of a woman’s success (thankfully men have not yet been totally taken over by this body fascism) is whether she can fit into a seven-year-old’s jeans, who would refuse a little help to be transformed into a svelte beauty? And if the cosmetic procedure is as quick, painless and efficient as it’s made out to be, who can blame people for buying into the beauty dream? Apparently you can even pay for your new face or boobs in instalments – there’s no COD (Cuts On Delivery) requirement.
I find nothing wrong with plastic surgery. I know there are the purists who insist that beauty comes from within and that wrinkles and laughter lines add character and show a face that’s been lived in, and they do have a point. The most stunning-looking people can be crashing bores and awful people. I know someone who’s a dead ringer for Pierce Brosnan but who’s such a tiresome conversationalist and generally so annoying, that people who know him would rather scurry off and stick their heads down the nearest loo than spend two minutes in his company. But that’s the people who know him, those who have been exposed to his excruciatingly boastful natter previously. Women who see him for the first time just swoon away. That’s because first impressions do matter, and our first impressions are formed within a few seconds of seeing someone and are generally based on looks. Face it, having a pretty face never hurt anyone. If that pretty face can be achieved with a painless, safe session with a surgeon and a scalpel, so be it.
More importantly, the reasons for choosing to have a cosmetic procedure may not necessarily be due to vanity. Sometimes the correction of a physical imperfection will do wonders in boosting the self-confidence of an individual who feels flawed because of them. Why shouldn’t a child with jug ears, who is teased and compared to Plug of the Bash Street kids, have cosmetic surgery to correct that minor imperfection and so put an end to the cruel taunts? Why shouldn’t a girl with a beaked nose, have a neat nub instead? So, yes, if it’s guaranteed to be safe and you have realistic expectations about the process (it’s not going to change your life – there are thousands of the most heart-stoppingly gorgeous women who are depressed, betrayed and generally down. Being beautiful does have its limitations), why not?
I don’t really agree with those people who obsess about who’s had surgery and spend ages trying to make out surgery scars on their rivals’ faces. As the Italian showgirl Alba Parieti, no stranger to the knife herself, once said, “If I had committed a crime, I’d have done my time by now and it would no longer be news. Even though I’ve had surgery years ago, it’s all journalists ask about constantly.” So my attitude towards cosmetic surgery is “To each his own” and if you really hanker after a total overhaul, it’s your pigeon. My beef with cosmetic surgery is that it really doesn’t make for good television. It ends up looking like an overlong advertorial for the surgeons performing the surgery and contains little or no entertainment or educational content (do viewers really get their thrills watching yellowy lard blub into bloody phials?). Worst of all for a television programme, it attracts the “b” for “boring” rating.
Take last Monday’s episode for example. It featured local charismatic singer Chiara who agreed to have liposuction to remove excess weight from her chin and stomach. We followed her meeting her surgeon, having the outlines of the areas to be operated on marked on her chin, wearing a hospital gown and during the intervention. That was faintly off-putting with some shaking of a wobbly tummy and drawing up blubber into a waiting container. Finally we saw the new slim-line Chiara.
And that was it. No build-up, no suspense, no interest, no real engagement with the audience. Just going over the same old thing that’s been done a thousand times before on foreign television stations. Showing us more surgeons in medical whites, more instruments, more stultifying statements. It’s enough to make you weep. Is this the future of local television? Inane reality shows like L-Ispjun and this carve-you-beautiful cousin? Please no. Have your surgery, your tummy tucks, your liposuction, but have them far away from the camera.
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