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Terry Prone: As a plastic surgery addict, I think Jerry Hall needs her model head examined


Jerry Hall.

Jerry Hall.

Jerry Hall.

It's just as well the photo of me alongside this article is small.

Even if you squint, you can't see that I'm pathetic and insecure. Well, Jerry Hall might. She's in the headlines this week for comments that actresses who have plastic surgery are precisely that.

She understands the pressure for older actresses to "have work done".

But normal women who have plastic surgery? Jerry says they risk their lives and end up not fooling anybody, but look instead like a grotesque caricature of themselves.

I am that "normal woman". I've had a facelift, a brow-lift and lasers on skin and eyes. When I had money, I had a lot of work done.

These days, I couldn't afford a one-finger-manicure, but if I win the lottery, some of the money is going to go on personal panel-beating, and if you want me to go down on my knees and confess to being pathetic and insecure, forget it.


Not only is my self-esteem in pretty good shape, thank you very much, it's in even better shape since I had the plastic surgery.

I started it after a car crash rearranged my face. The surgery returned me to looking vaguely familiar in the mirror, which was good.

But it did so much more than that. It took away the railway-track wrinkles deeply dug into my forehead. It removed useless spare skin that was giving my face roughly the texture of an elephant's hide.

I was hooked. Anything I could afford, I went for. Everything I could afford worked, in different ways. The eye surgery meant I could throw away the glasses that made me look like a deranged bluebottle, because they were so thick, me being legally blind.

The Botox improved my relationship with the people I work with - if you can't frown, you can't frighten people - and killed off my migraine headaches.

None of them made me look younger. They did, however, slightly reduce the impression that I would otherwise give: of being an exhausted, raddled, jowly, ratty oul' bag lady.

Jerry Hall's untypical venom about plastic surgery, in that context, is just plain odd.

As a top model, she has spent 40 years of her life sitting in a chair with a towel around her shoulders while someone makes her up to be even more beautiful than she naturally is.

But she doesn't describe the make-up and hair-dye routine as driven by her being pathetic and insecure. She knows it makes her look better, even if it takes hours, day after day, week after week.

What on Earth does she have against plastic surgery, which makes you look better almost immediately after you have it?

She seems to have two immediate worries. The first is that, as she puts it, women who go for it are "idiotic" to "risk their lives" in this way.

Jerry, honey, I hate to tell you, I've had more procedures than I could count and I'm not dead yet. On the other hand, the way she tells it, I've become so stupid, it's a wonder I can stir my coffee.

"Every time you have anaesthesia, you're killing a lot of brain cells," she says. "Why would you do that? You could get infections, you could die."


If you think there's something wrong there, you're right. Nobody gets infections from killing brain cells.

Let's not tackle the rest of the argument.

"If men want to leave their wife for a 19-year-old, they're gonna do it anyway. All the facelifts and botox in the world isn't going to change that guy, you know?"

Now, isn't it interesting that Jerry Hall would assume that those of us who get a bit of repair work done are terrified our men will leave us for a teenager?

Some of us don't define ourselves by our husbands/partners. Or care what they think about our plastic surgery.

We do it for us. Because we can and because it keeps the face in the mirror familiar to us.