Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London

Surgery? Moi?

We keep thinking that if you had enough money, you wouldn’t die. And if you’ve been been touched by the golden chalice that is fame (praise the baby Gee), you won’t die either. But, alas, it happened, sadly, to Diana and it happened to Quentin Crisp (good innings, mind, even if he did have the ignominy of popping his clogs in a Manchester suburb) and believe it or not it’s going to happen to Liz Taylor (though she’s currently looking into it). But dying after that no-brainer of a the sleb lifestyle, plastic surgery? Surely a matter for the police!

For it has sadly happened to the mother of Kanye West. Yes, people, plastic surgery can go fatally wrong, and not just in the Mickey Rourke/Burt Reynolds/Jocelyn Wildenstein manner – you know, the kind that ought to be remedied by dipping said victim into a burning pyre, marshmallow-on-a-stick-style-y, thereby melting off the offending art work… et voila! But no, plastic surgery can be the final chapter even for the untouchables (irony noted).

Of course, plastic surgery can be a force of good (Lesley Ash is no longer a ubiquitous presence on our screens), but you can’t just drive into MacDucks and ask for a set of double F hooters (‘Do you want thighs with that?’). Jordan, Pamela Anderson, and good old Chesty Morgan (now those were the days) all had to risk their lives for their, erm, art.

So let this be a lesson to us all: plastic surgery kills if it ain’t done right or if, let’s face the crumbling cookie, it ain’t your day. Maybe it is not such a bad idea to remain, as one wit described Mae West, ‘a plumber’s idea of Cleopatra’.

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One comment to “Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London”

  1. *cancels impending tit job*

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