Papaya Breasts

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Evening swim, Cancun.

I’ve been spending the week in Cancun at the Me Hotel of all places, unbeknownst to me a paradise for the young and beautiful who like to party all day and all night long. Also in the mix are some of us older folks, a few of which I am sure have come here to rub elbows with the party crowd, and others such as myself who are here just because it looked like a nice hotel from the photos Online.

Earlier today, Maxim hosted a party at the beach and later on tonight the party will continue indoors at the Rose Bar. As I sat on my beach-chair this morning there was an interesting dynamic going on, I could see the flow of young people slowly trickling into the roped area designated for the Maxim party-goers, and then there was that woman—an aging woman that is.

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Roped area just beyond the pool.

We’re all aging, I realize, but she looked to be at least in her sixties, so completely out of place in this specific mix of people. I first noticed her when she was desperately trying to get a Bali bed in the party zone; I watched how she talked to a few of the personnel but to no avail, there was no way that they were letting her into the young zone.

There were lots of thoughts running through my mind as I watched this play out but, for the most part I was particularly distracted by the woman’s looks. I had no problem with her wearing a very skimpy bikini. Why not? We’re not all blessed with a cellulite-free-body, and all of us are going to have flabby bits one of these days. I don’t believe that people with a less desirable figure should hide their body, or cover up completely when wanting to enjoy the sun and ocean. Some might argue that anything other than a perfect-looking-beach-body must be hidden away for good.

I could hear some of the people in my vicinity making a few snide remarks about the woman’s body and her choice in bikini wear—once again a stark reminder that anything but a youthful appearance, or what people generally deem as “perfection” is not tolerated very well. Furthermore, the woman had gigantic implants, at least DD that had already taken a bit of a plunge with stretched out saggy skin on each side. The implants though still looked stiff even though they resembled over the muscle papayas at this stage of her life.

The fake part that a person places inside their body does not age as well as the rest of their body. It’s not meant to age at all, but inevitably it does. It shifts and changes as other parts force it to do so.  Maybe what made the entire picture quite odd was the fact that this woman’s artificial breasts did not age in concert with the rest of her body. That was proof right there that tinkering with looks can eventually go very sour, because those boobs looked hideous, absolutely ridiculous. Her face demonstrated the beginnings of a Jocelyn Wildenstein look, otherwise known as “Cat Woman.”  She was another example of a woman who had gone to extremes in order to defy her own aging process, but for some bizarre reason she had taken one too many steps and turned herself into a spectacle.

I was sad for her, she looked awful and there I was looking at her and passing judgment, albeit not in the same mean-spirited way others had been doing from what my ear could pick up. They were really having a laugh at her expense while I was pitying her for thinking that she had to take all of those extreme measures in order to make herself look young and attractive when the results were terribly disappointing.

I ask myself over and over again why women do this to themselves? Have they not seen others who have altered their face or body to such a degree that they look bizarre and definitely unattractive after-the-fact? Is their desire to, either attract the other sex, or fulfill their need for high self-esteem so pressing, that they are actually blinded into thinking that all this really looks good? The dangers of surgery, the pain involved, and the fact that there are never any guarantees in terms of the outcome—all overshadowed by either, an external or internal pressure to conform to a better look.

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I wish that Donatella Versace had never touched her face, she would have still looked beautiful.

 

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