池茹：來自整容外科前線的報道

Photographer Ji Yeo’s shots of women in the aftermath of cosmetic surgery have 1）transfixed online audiences. But has her work changed her teenage wish to go under the knife？

The photographer Ji Yeo had two dreams as an adolescent. One was to attend a 2）prestigious college. The other was to have a full body transformation， top to toe， through cosmetic surgery. She spent her school years moving between the U.S. and South Korea， and when she had achieved her first ambition， starting university in Seoul， she began pursuing her second.

In her late teens she saw several cosmetic surgeons， more than 12 in all. Now 29， she says of that time： “I didn’t like myself at all. I had very low self-esteem. I even hated my toenails！ I didn’t like my hair. I didn’t like my eyebrows.”But the consultations failed to clear up her concerns about surgery. “The more I did，” she says， “the more I questioned plastic surgery， because none of the doctors clearly explained how the surgeries would go， or the possible side effects. Not knowing every detail， I felt I just couldn’t do it...I had wanted plastic surgery my entire life， but I realised maybe something outside of me was almost forcing me to want it.”

To test this theory， she stopped the consultations， and embarked on her Beauty Recovery Room project. She contacted women through an online cosmetic surgery forum in South Korea， and asked whether they’d agree to have their picture taken in the days after surgery， when they were still bandaged. In return， in some cases， she helped look after them. Around 10 women said yes， and the results are extraordinary. The images show women at their most vulnerable： bandaged， bruised and scarred， in some cases with weeping wounds. In a culture where women are heavily criticised for looking old， out of shape or tired—but also for any obvious signs of cosmetic surgery—the photos show a part of the process that’s rarely seen， a moment when a woman is very clearly， 3）unequivocally， a surgical subject.

The photos have exerted such a fascination， that they keep on circulating—both online， where they were most recently covered by Wired magazine—and on the gallery circuit. Ji was shortlisted for the 2013 Taylor Wessing photographic portrait prize， which led to an image of a woman in surgical stockings and head bandage appearing in the National Portrait Gallery in London. She has been exhibited in Brighton， is currently on show at three galleries in the U.S.， and has just been part of a two-person show in South Korea.

In her series Somewhere on the Path， I See You， she took portraits of women in an eating-disorder support group， and is currently at work on a project depicting cosmetic-surgery facilities in South Korea. “Plastic surgery clinics are huge here，” she says. “It’s almost a hospital， not just a clinic. It’s a 14-floor building， with entertainment rooms， everything...So I’m taking photos of these interiors.”

In 2010， she dressed in a skin-coloured 4）leotard and went to the bustling Brooklyn flea market alongside a sign saying， “I want to be perfect. Draw on me. Where should I get plastic surgery？” The performance was initially 5）daunting， she says. “I was really nervous at the idea of putting myself into vulnerable situations， and I don’t even like it when people stare at me on the street.” She found， in some cases， that men were looking very closely at specific parts of her body. “But during the performance I got really comfortable that people were coming up to me and saying they were surprised at the idea of me getting plastic surgeries.” They scrawled on the leotard and on her skin， “You are beautiful as you are，”“You already are perfect”； and “Not here” along her thighs. “It felt great，” she says. “It doesn’t mean that I overcame all my fears or vulnerability， but it helped a little bit.”

Perhaps surprisingly， taking the photos for Beauty Recovery Room made her more accepting of the idea of plastic surgery. “I was really influenced by talking and interacting with the women—at the beginning I had a huge fear about surgery， about lying on the bed， but I don’t feel any fear now. I became one of them， I guess. I feel like it’s very casual， it’s not that big a deal， and I’m more fond of plastic surgery these days.”

South Korea is estimated to be the world’s largest market for cosmetic surgery， with a 2009 survey suggesting one in five women aged 19 to 49 in Seoul have had a procedure. Ji was surprised， at first， by the attitudes she encountered from her subjects， but came to understand them. “One woman was going to get a breast enlargement， and she got a bank loan for it， because she didn’t have the money.” When an examination revealed a problem with one of her breasts， Ji assumed that any surgery was off. “But instead of getting a breast enlargement， she got a nose job and chin implant. So it wasn’t about getting a breast enlargement， it was about getting plastic surgery， and enhancing their appearance. For most of them， the attitude was very casual. There was no fear， more excitement...Maybe it’s not true， but I felt even with the bandages and the pain they were more confident.”

Virginia Blum， a U.S. professor and author of the book Flesh Wounds： The Culture of Cosmetic Surgery has said that cosmetic surgery can be addictive， “because people potentially experience that swell of self-esteem， and then they want to have that experience again. I would argue that that’s because it’s located in the realm of consumption. You’ve consumed this body transformation， and have a really great feeling， and want to sustain it. I also argue， either way， that once you’re in it， you’re in it. You either have a bad cosmetic surgery result， and have to redo yourself， because the result was insufficient—or the result was really great， and you want to reproduce that 6）intoxicated feeling.”

One of the women Ji photographed had had more than 16 surgeries in the space of six months. “Women continue to experience their body as more mutable，” Blum says， because， “women are raised around a fashion-magazine culture in which we realise we can work on these different body parts， so we divide and conquer. Plastic surgery approaches the body in much the same way women are trained from girlhood to approach their bodies. And male bodies are not quite as available to that divide-and-conquer model， although I think they are becoming increasingly so.”

The power and discomfort of Ji’s images arises， at least in part， through her own ambivalence. She says the reaction to them has differed according to culture. “Audiences in the U.S. and Europe seem to be more surprised by the images than a Korean audience. Koreans usually see the photos and instantly try to figure out what they had done—so it’s a guessing game. ‘Oh， she’s done eyes and nose’ or ‘She’s done 7）liposuction’”. Living between the two cultures， Ji says she still has a desire to get plastic surgery—she might one day have a facelift—“but then there’s another me saying，‘no， you’re beautiful as you are.’ They’re always fighting.” Can she live happily with that？ “I think I’ve got used to it.”

攝影師池茹在青少年時期擁有兩個夢想。第一個夢想是入讀名牌大學。第二個夢想是通過整容手術進行從頭到腳徹底的身體改造。在求學時期，她一直往返于美國和韓國之間，當她實現了自己的第一個夢想，在首爾入讀大學后，她開始追求自己的第二個夢想。

池茹十八九歲的時候看過一些美容整形外科醫師，算起來不止12位。她如今29歲，她說當時的自己：“我一點都不喜歡自己，非常自卑。我甚至連自己的腳趾甲都討厭！我也不喜歡自己的頭發，不喜歡自己的眉毛。”但是那些咨詢并沒有消除她心中對手術的疑慮。“我越是咨詢，”她說道，“便對整容手術愈加懷疑，因為沒有一位醫生能夠清楚地解釋手術結果如何，或是可能的副作用。無法了解每一個細節，我覺得自己做不到……我一直都想要進行整容手術，但是我意識到可能是外界的力量迫使自己急切地想要接受整容手術。

為了證實這個推測，她停止了手術咨詢，并開始專注于自己的“美麗恢復室”的攝影項目。她通過韓國一個整形手術網絡論壇聯系到一些女性，并詢問她們是否愿意在手術后的恢復期接受拍攝，恢復期間她們還纏著繃帶。作為回報，在某些情況下，她幫忙照看她們。大約有10名女性同意了拍攝，效果十分令人震驚。照片拍攝的是這些女性最為脆弱的時期：纏著繃帶、鼻青臉腫、傷痕累累，有些人的傷口還在滲液。我們身處這樣一個文化中：女性不僅會因顯老、身材走樣或面容疲倦而被狠批——就是身上有任何明顯的整容手術跡象也會備受苛責——這些照片呈現出整容手術罕見的一部分過程，這時候的女人明確無疑是一個“被開刀”的對象。