Kate Spicer is not happy with her face – and it’s easy to see why. When it’s not fixed into strenuous self-absorption, it’s lolling with a ‘vacant’ sign written all over it. She’s the very definition of ‘hangdog’ – but this is not because there’s anything wrong with her, it’s because she’s a cynic without wit and is permanently pulling a petulantly disappointed expression.
To confirm to herself that she’s pissed off with looking knackered, she sits herself next to a 16 year old model (Kate’s in her late thirties) to drive home the fact that she’s no spring chicken any more. She puts a panel of apparently important people in front of her to tell her why she looks worse than the model (none of whom point out that it may be because she’s not 16 any more). She makes us complicit in her disatisfaction with her own crumbling mug as the basis for this horrible injection of poison which screened on the now risible Channel 4 last night.
What is happening to Channel 4? When it’s not milking the middle class indie kid demographic, screening endless Kooks sessions, it’s pandering to the Grazia-reading prattlers who consider ‘boho’ an actual word. And part of this problem is shit like ‘Super Botox Me’ – the name itself a tiresome rip off of a pseudo-doc style that’s completely saturated.
Here, that format doesn’t even fit. She’s not subjecting herself to endless botox sessions. She’s just asking surgeons about the treatment. There would be nothing wrong with that, and with a different name for the show this could have been interesting investigative journalism. But Spicer makes it clear from the outset that she may have the surgery. Why she thinks we should care about her multiple insecurities is baffling.
But insecurity is one thing she develops by the bucketload as she chats with plastic surgeons (literally: fake doctors) who make a living out of lying to the neurotic and then charging them the earth for making them look weird. And, unforgivably, she has the surgery. Despite a couple of blips when she is subject to the voice of reason quite sensibly telling her to stop, she still ploughs on relentlessly and has injections in her jowels and forehead – and to my eye she looked no better for it. Then she had fat removed from around her eyes with a horrific implement that removed 30% of the fat on the skin it touched. ‘I’ve looked worse after a big night out’, joked Spicer. I’ve had some big nights, but the only time I’ve woken up looking that bad was after a bouncer kicked me repeatedly in the head. In Yorkshire.
So what we have here is an extended and unrequested ad for Botox. Just what the world needs.
Spicer turns up at the end to conclude, wrapping up the messy vanity project she’s just put us through. And, like… yeah – she thinks it’s not worth the hassle, but, like, she looks so much… better. She was told she looks better by an expert who’s also had surgery and looks like a swollen mannequin, so it must be true. And she’ll probably, she teases, be having more injections in the future.
Like Super Skinny Me, this is irresponsible programming in the extreme. I can’t, for the life of me, see how this footage is of any use to anyone apart from Ms Spicer herself (who was clearly after some free Botox from the off) and the shyster surgeons who make mountains of cash out of this loathesome fucking business.
It’s contemptible shite, and Spicer – lacking any journalistic integrity whatsoever – has made money out of promoting an elite form of self-harm, vanity, self-regard and idiocy. I’m moved to make my first complaint about a TV programme. Am I getting old, or is TV getting worse?