No More Barbies

When I was in 6th grade, I chipped my right front tooth in P.E. class. I can vividly remember the moment it happened -- I was bending down into a metal cage to grab a basketball, and when I brought my head up, I brought my tooth squarely in contact with the unforgiving metal lid. My smile was permanently altered that day.

I went to see a new dentist last week. Like every dentist before him, he pointed to my flawed incisor and asked me if I'd like to get it fixed. I shrugged. "No thanks -- it doesn't hurt or bother me." "Well," he said, "if you ever want to, I can take care of that for you."

Of course he can.

Because these days there seems to be a "fix" for every perceived cosmetic imperfection or inconvenience known to man. Technology is rapidly eliminating the reality of individual uniqueness and churning out human equivalents of Ken and Barbie dolls - white teeth, a nice tan, good noses and skin free from scars, stretch marks, or wrinkles.

If you ask me, it's downright creepy. Sure, Ken will never go bald and Barbie will always have large, perky breasts. But they're plastic people, mass produced to conform to the prevailing standard of what "looks right."

Where is the line that indicates where simple cosmetic vanity ends and unneccesary conformity begins? I don't know. Maybe it doesn't exist. I know that I couldn't give up my monthly eyebrow waxes. I tried those teeth whitening strips. And if they ever came up with a technology to get rid of pimples forever, you'd have to beat me off with a stick.

I suppose I could eradicate the raised, bumpy scar on my right knee that I got when I fell of my scooter in elementary school. Or, I could laser away the silver-dollar sized brown birthmark on my right hip. I could even surgically fix my left ear to curl downwards instead of flatten out (from a certain angle, I look like I'm half elf).

Or maybe I could just realize that I'm perfectly flawed.