Oooh! Look! BUSTERS! If you’re even thinking of complaining about the sight of some mammaries, then I suggest going down the newsagents and scribbling out Nuts and The Sun’s boobies with a black marker first. And the whole of the internet (those child-lock things? Your kids know how to get by ‘em – sorry).
And so. This non-gratuitous image is taken from one of the poor women who featured on last night’s The Ugly Face of Beauty (Channel 4, Tuesday, 13 July, 8pm) which nearly saw me bringing my tea up through my nose.
That may seem harsh, seeing as this show was dealing with the sensitive issue of image and how women can undergo cosmetic surgery on the cheap as they’re so desperate to fulfil an imagined version of themselves.
However, the whole point of this show was to make you puke into submission. As someone who has never once considered plastic surgery – not because I’m a perfect specimen of humankind, but rather, the surgeon would have to hack so much away that by the time they’d finished, I’d be roughly the same size as a dormouse – this show was an exercise in the stamina of my stomach. I wretched so frequently throughout that this morning, I woke up with a gleaming 8-pack that you can bounce coins off.
Aside from the accidental by-product of the show, essentially, this was woolly statistics tarted up like one of those American public information films from the ’50s which featured people going murderous mental because the took one drag on a joint.
Of course, the message is a good one. Basically, lots of women don’t NEED plastic surgery and, if they’re thinking about doing it, best do some research first. However, this TV kindness was lost under a bunch of dismal rubbish that made the viewer lose all sense of compassion from the off.
For a start, it was hosted by Dr. Christian Jessen. This man is a walking pectoral muscle, twitching up smugness and clearly unaware of the top 4 buttons on all of his shirts. He’s a very dislikeable chap, especially given that, to prove a point, he went about setting up a pretend clinic to entrap women into saying they wanted a boob-job for 10p.
This didn’t really prove anything. The only info I gleaned from it is that one woman was a bit thick. We weren’t treated to a procession of ladies who fallen for this trap… and that’s because most humans don’t feel the need to have surgery, despite being curious about it. Humans, y’see, are much smarter than TV lets on.
That said, undoing my rosy view on the human race, Polly Hudson appeared on-screen with the generous title of ‘journalist’. Her job was to stand near someone looking to the have the biggest baps in Britain and say things like “Don’t do it,” followed up with “Well, no-one can say I didn’t try.” Her inclusion (which is the now customary ‘Dawn Porter’ section of image conscious shows) was merely to provide visual distraction from gaping sores and weeping tits. Unfortunately, she only served as a further horror to focus on whilst trying to keep your dinner in your guts.
Yet again, a concerned TV cuddle turned into a penny-peep show that ended with cod-aspirational music and a naked woman jiggling her bits at us.
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