Dear Mariella

Dear Mariella

A 43-year-old mother of two is dismayed by the fact that she's looking older. Should she opt for the surgeon's knife? Mariella Frostrup reveals why plastic surgery is rarely the path to happiness
    • The Observer,
    • Jump to comments ()
woman face scalpel plastic surgery
"You can spend £50,000 on your face and still wake up the next day in a state of emotional bankruptcy": Mariella Frostrup advises a woman worried about ageing. Photograph: Getty Creative

The dilemma I'm a 43-year-old happily married mother of two. I just can't stop thinking about having plastic surgery. I look tired, my jaw line's moving south and I seem to have a permanent frown and deep "smile" lines either side of my mouth. I never look good in photos any more; also, men on the street don't give me a second glance. When I pull my face back in the mirror I look a million times better, and Botox would do the trick with my frown. I've got money saved, but a face lift (which I really want) would cost a year's school fees, and what if it went wrong? My husband would be furious if he found out, but it would make me feel amazing. I joke about it with friends (it seems to be all we talk about), but I'd never tell them if I decided to do it. I know the answer is to concentrate on the things I have in life, but with surgery so acceptable, it feels more like essential maintenance. Am I being superficial and anti-feminist? 

Mariella replies The sisterhood will despair, but that's not the problem. I have only one surefire tip for happiness in this life, and it's to avoid coveting things you can never have. Eternal youth figures very high on that list. As sure as we're going to die, we are ageing every day that precedes that final moment. Contrary to popular belief, it's not the end of the world! There's a wonderful magic-realist story in Jackie Kay's recent collection Reality, Reality that charts the misery of a woman who, cursed to stay forever young, is euphoric when she finds a grey hair.

It's not as simple as embracing the inevitable. I'm no advocate for the devil-may-care "let my roots grow out and my face start to resemble a scrotum" school of ageing. We all do what we can to maintain bearable grooming levels. Nowadays, particularly for the affluent minority, advanced means of enhancement are available. Others are using life savings to embark on procedures they believe will raise their happiness levels, improve the quality of their lives, attract a fitting partner and give them a body like Jennifer Aniston's.

If only it were that easy. New face, banish wrinkles, great life. It's just not the case. I've yet to meet anyone whose life as opposed to reflection was enhanced by a pair of fake boobs or biceps. We don't start out perfect, so the belief we can go to our grave closer to that state is plainly ludicrous. Which is what makes it all so confusing.

Advances in science are to be embraced, and it's certainly good news that women can have babies later, fewer children are dying thanks to new drugs, and prostate cancer doesn't need to be the end of a man's hopes for a family. But where do we draw the line? No one wants to end up like Jocelyn Wildenstein, and one of the great ironies of surgery addiction is why so many people end up looking far worse than they would with a cluster of wrinkles and an individual nose.

You're far from unique, as you point out. There's an avalanche of first-world residents turning to clinical procedures in order to stave off gravity's attack on the skin we're wrapped up in and the perceived "ravages" of ageing. This creates a divide between the clinically altered (note that I don't use the word improved) and those who throw vanity to the side and stride on into the gloaming wearing their emotional history and lifestyle choices for all to see. You are certainly not the only woman (and indeed there are plenty of men) deluded into thinking that if you could face the knife your future happiness would be assured.

Yet those iconic totems of physical perfection, the super- race which Hollywood exalts are no example of an inner peace resulting from surgically enhanced perfection. Our daily diet of celebrity misery – marriages collapsing, addictions flourishing and careers in jeopardy – fails to focus us on the subliminal message we are being sent. You can spend £50,000 on your face and still wake up the next day in a state of emotional bankruptcy.

The lucid advice is to steer clear; more realistically, if you're already committed, tread with caution. We are merely mortal – we burst into bloom, gather wisdom and experience, and if we're lucky fade gently away. Only in sci-fi nightmares are we immortalised as a plastic-fantastic super race, clinging to but never returning to our perceived glory days. The irony is that middle age has never been more attractive; we are in the majority, more affluent than any preceding generation, with rapidly increasing life spans. That's an excess of blessings to take advantage of, and far superior to squandering our children's inheritance on trying to look like them!


Today's best video

Today in pictures

More from Dear Mariella