'Voice lift' goes for the throat of our insecurities
By Beth Teitell
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
I just heard some scary cosmetic-procedure news.
No, terrorists haven't contaminated the nation's Botox supply or stolen all the porcelain veneers. It's something even more frightening. A new vanity surgery has reared its smooth, unlined head: the voice lift.
After all, what good does it do to have Nicole's nose, a baby-smooth brow, Salma Hayek's bustline, feet surgically reshaped for Manolos, blindingly white teeth and thighs lipo'd free of fat if you sound like Grandpa Simpson?
When I heard about the voice lift, I involuntarily yelled, ``No - they can't be raising the bar yet again!''And then I immediately regretted it. Using the vocal cords, I learned, is precisely what makes the voice age in the first place. ``Idiot,'' I said to myself, silently.
So now, along with regretting all those days spent on the beach slathering on UVF-protection-free suntan oil, I'm bemoaning all the unnecessary yakking I've done over the decades.
Is there someone I can sue? Because, up until a few hours ago, I didn't realize idle chat was adding years to my ``vocal appearance.'' In fact, I was so clueless I never once worried about talking old. Bingo arms, yes; granny voice, no.
The question now becomes what to do about my looming problem. I could take a vow of silence or I could start saving for surgery, which would be much easier than keeping my mouth shut. And yet the prospect of going under the knife is terrifying.
What if the docs botch the procedure and I end up with the vocal equivalent of a bad face-lift? Instead of permanently raised eyebrows, I could have a voice that sounds as if it belongs to a 4-year-old. Imagine the horrible ramifications of that medical malpractice: I'd never be able to make another credit card purchase over the phone again.
I wonder if sounding young compels you to ``talk young.'' I could be stuck on ``permanent teenager.'' ``Like'' would become one of my favorite words, and the next thing I knew I'd be acting sullen and spending all my time hanging around the mall. (Oh, wait, I'm doing that already.)
But even if the voice job went well, I can foresee a problem. Because the lift has not yet achieved wide social acceptance, while you are recovering you'll have to claim you have laryngitis, or take an extended trip to Europe.
Or I guess you could stay in town and just let people wonder: Does she or doesn't she?
Only her otolaryngologist knows for sure.
