Cosmetic surgery isn’t something that has ever crossed my mind, to be honest with you. I’ve never felt compelled to hand over cash to someone to take a knife to my face or my body with the specific aim of altering it into something that may not resemble the body I’ve grown up with. I don’t, however, have any issues with anyone who does. We all have a different relationship with our bodies: some of us love what our DNA created, but some of us don’t. And, again, both scenarios are okay.
But even as a grown-ass woman who’s fairly confident within herself, on seeing women with incredible bodies, oozing healthy lifestyles on Instagram, I often sigh – because it’s a reminder of what I don’t have body-wise since having two kids in fairly quick succession later on in life. It’s never impacted me enough that I’ll do something drastic about it, but I do have those blips where I look in the mirror and am not particularly over the moon about the body staring back at me. Those moments are rare though – I’m generally cool with what I’ve got.
However, a conversation with a mate this week reminded me of that feeling, when she mentioned that a few of our mutual acquaintances whom we both follow online had, in the past year, gone through waist sculpting surgery and other procedures to alter the look of their body – which explained their newfound confidence on the ‘gram.
My jaw dropped.
I’d been comparing myself to at least two of them for a while. So, and I know it may seem ridiculous, I think I felt slightly betrayed in some way. I suddenly realised that I had occasionally been viewing my own body unfavourably because I’d been looking at bodies that were essentially completely unattainable without surgical intervention. And the owners of those bodies hadn’t been honest about it.
There’s a lot to unpack here, so bear with me.
Firstly, these women had clearly been given a huge boost in confidence as a result of the changes in their bodies. Their joy is so evident, it’s beautiful to witness. That happiness and comfort within themselves had probably been a big part of why I was following their content. They were no longer hiding themselves, and I know I’m not the only follower or fan to have noticed. But, with such a large number of women enjoying their content, should they have been honest about the work they had done? Therein lies the question.
Part of me believes that they shouldn’t. It’s a very personal decision, so why should they announce it to thousands of people they have never met? It should be nobody else’s business.
However, when we’re consuming so much content about other people’s lives, participating in “comparison culture” can happen without you even realising. It’s an easy road for some to go down, feeling as though they’re failing in some way because they haven’t managed to achieve a certain look no matter how hard they try, when someone else appears to have done it with great ease. However, as I learned recently, the ease isn’t always down to hours spent in the gym, but the incision of a surgeon’s knife. Essentially, it’s a look that’s unachievable without funds.
The added layer to unpack is when gym content invariably starts popping up on those influencers’ feeds, giving the impression that it was secret hours spent in the gym that triggered the body transformation. As I now realise, the gym work is to maintain the effect of surgery, rather than the cause.
It’s tricky, isn’t it? It’s a conversation I had recently with my Loose Women colleague Olivia Attwood-Dack, who has spoken honestly about the work she’s had done. She believes that men and women should not feel as though they have to be honest about it, but understands the impact being silent can have on others. It’s not a cut-and-dried argument.
Irrespective of all this, what I love above everything else is honesty. Candice Brathwaite has kept her followers abreast of her health transformation for a while now, achieved through daily runs on a treadmill and different food choices, which she has documented. I’ve loved watching her journey, as through her honesty one can fully understand what’s really needed when you want to make changes not just to your health, but also to your wellbeing. If we can have more of that, and less of the cloak and dagger, perhaps more people will find that joy. I do hope so.