My positively stunning friend Judith was just told by a dermatologist that she was “the perfect candidate for Botox.” I don’t yet have the full story, so I don’t know if the remark was solicited or simply offered as helpful “medical” advice, but knowing Judith, it was the latter.
The perfect candidate? Don’t you love how they make it sound like it’s a privilege to get to inject botulism toxin into your face? I’m the perfect candidate! Oh, yay! How can I convince you, Mr. Cosmetic Dermatologist, to deign to allow me pay you hundreds of dollars so you can stick a needle between my eyes and paralyze my facial muscles? Honey, did you hear I’m a candidate? I’m so glad I’m a candidate!
I know that some people see Botox as a boon, and are grateful its out there as an option. That’s fine–I’ve done electrolysis in places you don’t even want to know about, so I’m the last person to judge anyone for how much pain or expense they’re willing to go through to feel that they look prettier.
I also get that the word candidate used in this context means that the patient is likely to have a good outcome with the procedure.
But I just can’t stand the bullshit marketing that’s meant to make Botox sound like something only a privileged few are fortunate enough to be allowed to do. Candidate my ass (no, that’s not where I had electrolysis)! You’re a candidate for the presidency. You’re a candidate for a competitive fellowship. You’re even a candidate for a medical trial, if you meet all the criteria.
You’re not a candidate for Botox, even if some people might have better results than others. You’re a potential customer, just like you are for a new car or a carpet steamer or a lug nut. The idea that anyone would make it seem like an elite opportunity to de-pleat your face makes me annoyed. In case you couldn’t tell.
Do they have Botox for grumpiness?