As if the media didn’t present women with enough opportunities to hate themselves, it turns out plastic surgeons have performed double the amount of cosmetic foot surgery in the past year thanks to the influence of tottering TV stars. But this isn’t surgery to correct actual problems, this is indulgent surgery to enable women to ape Cheryl Cole, Victoria Beckham et al… by squeezing into 6” and 7” heels.
The £380 operation (nicknamed the “Loub Job” after shoe designer Christian Louboutin) involves injecting a dermal filler into the toes, heels and balls of the feet, in order to cushion the feet from the spirit-crushing agony of clopping around in disproportionately high heels. The effects of the fillers last for up to six months and then the procedure needs to be repeated.
So, if you will, indulge me for a minute as I tot up the cost per wear (something fashion mags lurve to do). We know the op costs £380, and let’s now take a pair of mid-priced Louboutins, which clock in at £350. Say you wear those shoes once a week for six months (the length of time the Loub Job lasts): that comes in at £14.58 per wear. Add on the cost of the op per wear (£15.83), and that breaks down to £30.41 each time you wear those spindly shoes.
Why are some women wasting time trying to make themselves look like trash-mag fodder
On the other side of the coin, there are people who’ve genuinely benefited from treatments on their feet that are more commonly associated with cosmetic surgery. For instance, while some women have had Botox injected in their paws to numb their nerves from the pain of wearing high heels – or to deaden stinky sweat glands, there are also people who’ve seen considerable relief from having Botox injected in their feet to help with the symptoms of, for example, Multiple Sclerosis, or the pain associated with some diabetes symptoms. When you compare the two (surgery for vanity vs surgery for improved quality of life), it only makes those injecting their feet so they can squeeze into a pair of overpriced shoes look even more daft… and shallow.
I mean, honestly – haven’t women got enough to worry about? We still earn almost 20% less than men, women are hit hardest in the cuts, women of child-bearing age are still overlooked by many employers for promotion, and on and on and on… Why are some women wasting time trying to make themselves look like trash-mag fodder, who only look the way they do because they don’t have real lives?
These women who we’re supposed to be celebrating, they only look the way they do because they have nannies to look after the children, cooks to keep their diet on track, stylists to pick their clothes, personal trainers to bully them into shape, and, most importantly, they don’t have life-sapping jobs to go to. They’re not real. They’re like a cross between lobotomised Stepford Wives and Barbie Dolls (by the way, Barbie’s vital statistics are 36-18-33 which, translated into human terms, equate to the vital statistics of one in 100,000 women).
I’m struggling to think of one woman I know in real life who voluntarily wears high heels
We now have a generation of women who are intent on plasticising their entire bodies top to toe (noses, boobs, tummies, bums and more). Worse, the younger generation of girls think this is something to aspire to. But while I obviously accept that we all have different interests and priorities, I’m struggling to think of one woman I know in real life who voluntarily wears high heels. But I can think of friends who’ve made a conscious decision never to wear the crippling things again. Apart from anything else, whenever I see those troops of identikit women on a Friday and Saturday night, clopping about in bum-skimming skirts and skyscraper heels, I always think they look like they’re strapped pigs’ trotters onto the end of their legs, and can never understand why they think that’s attractive.
But what do I know? The last time I wore high heels was on my wedding day last year… and they were so numbingly uncomfortable that I spent much of the day barefoot, with my shoes kicked under a chair somewhere. Maybe I should have had £400 worth of shit injected into my feet instead, to ensure I looked better for the all-important photos?!
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