Body And Soul

By TAD BARTIMUS

First came Dolly the sheep, then CC the cat, and now, four female rabbits. Clones are an exact genetic copy of a single parent, so no sexual reproduction is required, which makes this scientific achievement seem superfluous since it involves not only rabbits, but French rabbits.

So far, no one has duplicated a human being. But increasingly, a lot of people out there want to look like clones.

ABCâs news show, "Downtown," aired a sequence recently that quoted a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon as saying he gets so many patients asking him to copy movie starsâ features that he compiles an annual list of their favorites.

Dr. Richard Fleming told the ABC interviewer that this yearâs hottest nose belongs to Nicole Kidman; eyes, Heather Graham; and on the male side, jawline, Johnny Depp; and chin, Russell Crowe. Britney Spears has the most-wanted female physique, while Will Smithâs is the most admired male model.

Frankly, Iâm thrilled when I periodically diet my two chins down to one, score a good haircut and wiggle into a dress one size smaller. This stampede in southern California, and maybe even in Emporia, Kansas, to spend thousands of dollars and suffer pain to be cut and pasted into somebody elseâs shape puzzles me, especially since Fleming hinted that some of those idealized body parts might not be original, either.

If I got Nicoleâs nose, Britneyâs abs, Cate Blanchettâs chin and Halle Berryâs cheeks, who would I be? Certainly not myself; nor them, either. Each of us is unique. We got that way not only because of our genes, but because of our journey.

We wear our lives ö a pencil stab in the thigh from a fellow third-grader, carpal tunnel surgery at both wrists, a kick in the jaw from an angry horse -- as evidence of how far we've come. If I looked like Britney Spears, the world automatically would assume Iâd walk, talk, think and act like her. That perception would negate my relationships and personal experiences, thereby blurring my true identity

Despite his pain and money, Michael Jackson still isnât Diana Ross.

One of Dr. Flemingâs female patients told the "Downtown" interviewer: "Out here (in Los Angeles) everybodyâs beautiful and ·a lot of people pay for it · Itâs all about how you look."

I strongly urge this woman to move to Cleveland or Milwaukee or Houston for an immediate reality check. Life is not about how somebody looks, but who they are. If you believe otherwise, get your head examined instead of your tummy tucked.

Makeover nonsense devalues the genius of Stephen Hawking, the wisdom of Maya Angelou, the spirit of Nelson Mandela, the joie de vivre of the Queen Mother Elizabeth, the talent of thousands, the contribution of millions.

The wonder of this claptrap is that we devote so much attention to it. Who, besides a spoiled, pampered percentage of the population, cares? Most of us are so busy earning a living, raising kids, remembering birthdays, tending to aging parents and trying to keep up with Oprahâs Book Club that we forget to pluck our eyebrows and, some days, brush our teeth before we fall into bed a lot later than weâd intended.

My witty, wonderful and deeply missed friend Suzan, who practiced what she preached, dismissed the idea of plastic surgery: "Bright red lipstick and big earrings," she said, "will take a woman anywhere." Iâm sure sheâs wearing them in heaven.

Forget the body; concentrate on the soul.

© 2002 The Women Syndicate

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