Our graduates n Preston
smo girl it in ?
liposuction on her back just to fit into an Oscar dress?
Which leading actress had
Shhh!
MAKE ME
TAKE 1
Arriving at my boutique Beverly Hills hotel, looking distinctly more Jet-Lag than J-Lo, I notice
world, casting
ising your entire have had surgery, the unwritten law.” nable standard
wood wannabes. ung women ch up, they’re ng other factors, esteem problem,” xecutive of the
National Eating Disorders Association in America. It’s a worry that’s confirmed by the latest figures, which show the number of people being hospitalised for eating disorders in the States is up 18% since 2000. So if a normal girl like me wants to
look the Hollywood part, what would it take? To find out, I jetted over to the cutting edge of LA body image: the plastic surgeon’s office. Aſter all,
nobody knows the industry standards better than the celeb sculptors themselves. With my cover story sorted – I’m a wannabe Hollywood TV reporter, desperate to join the influx of Brits who are making it there right now – I have consultations with three different plastic surgeons. I want to know, incision-by-incision, exactly what they’d change to get me noticed… and how much it would cost me.
the same things I always do about LA: the tans are deeper, the hair glossier, the limbs leaner… and that’s just the men. With salon blow-drys, manicured nails and pearly smiles, the women are Barbie-doll pristine. I don’t feel inferior as such – I’m a healthy size 10 and generally happy with my appearance – but everyone in LA looks on-screen perfect. Feeling somewhat nervous, I hail a cab to
take me to my first consultation with a bona fide Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. Situated above a chic shopping mall, the building is more like a grand hotel than a medical
establishment. The receptionist asks me to fill out a form with some medical details, then I take a plush leather seat in the waiting room. Immediately the other two women in there give me the Hollywood once-over. Then one cuts to the chase: “What are you here for?” she asks. But, before I can answer… “Nose job?” she adds in a posh Californian drawl. Ouch. I have complained about my nose before – I think it’s podgy at the end and has a bump on the bridge – but my boyfriend has always batted potential hang-ups out of the park by saying it’s cute. I’m shocked. I haven’t even been in LA three hours yet, but already this place is casting its judgements on my looks. Manning up, I smile and say, “I’m not sure – maybe.” Openly discussing your ‘imperfections’ clearly isn’t a big deal here. Having a big hooter, however, is. Thankfully, I’m rescued (for now) when my name is called. I strip down and face the surgeon in my undies, telling him I want to be a TV presenter in Hollywood but I’m not sure I’ve got the right look. Then I wait anxiously, expecting him to pounce on me with his marker pen. But instead: “You’re beautiful; I think you’d be great on camera,” he says. Oh. That wasn’t supposed to
SEPTEMBER 2011 COSMOPOLITAN * 85
What on earth do you all day? It can’t be all gossip and manicures.
It’s certainly not! I get up at 6am everyday, go to the gym then I get in the office for 9am and read all the papers. If anything I read really fires me up I will write a blog on it straight away. I also might get asked to comment on it for a radio station which is fun.
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