Filler Is Flattening Our Screen by Liliana Berman

Lip filler doesn’t belong in period pieces. I know I’m not the first to say this, and perhaps it isn’t my most “feminist” take, but this objection goes far beyond aesthetics or historical inaccuracy. It reflects a much deeper cultural crisis we’re facing, we are steadily losing a generation of brilliant actors to plastic surgery. There are two main forces at play here, they’re creating the perfect storm.

The rise of social media and the parasocial relationships that come with that are causing a dissolution between the real and virtual. Not too long ago, actors were visible only at a certain distance, on the silver screen, in a magazine, and maybe the occasional TV interview. ans admired from afar, but today, we expect constant access. The breakfast, the gym, the bathroom: every moment is monitored, posted, monetized, compared. From the time the food enters their mouth to the moment they shit it out, there is an expectation that it is all to be shared. Parasocial relationships, the one-sided emotional attachments fans form with media figures, are no longer niche. They’re normalized. As these relationships bud, so does the expectation that actors always look flawless, some might even say immaculate. 

The main effect of this is intense scrutiny. Everything they (stars)  do or say can be used as a metric of authenticity or failure. You have to be yourself, but only if that “you” is perfect and appeasing to the masses. And of course, needles offer solutions. Botox, fillers, or 100k for a deep plane face lift.  These surgeries become tools for not only dampening wrinkles, but for fixing that deep voice that says “I am not good. I am not enough.” Before long, there’s a creeping sense that aging, natural features, vulnerability:  things we as a society once considered signs of power or wisdom, are now deemed weaknesses. We begin to equate being young, unblemished, and “Instagram-ready” with worth. 

The second force at hand is a cultural one, we have shifted what 

“age‐appropriate” roles mean, and what “appropriate” beauty looks like. We decided somewhere along the line that 30 is “old,” that wrinkle prevention must begin somewhere between the ages of 12 and 14. We embraced the clean-girl aesthetic with open arms, the idea that skin must be perfect, lips must be full, cheekbones sharp. But “clean-girl” is far more than a trend; it is a standard that we have baked into the system. Women (men too, but let’s be honest, mostly women) are made to contort themselves into idealistic versions of themselves. Authenticity, distance from filters and surgery, or an absence from social media is penalized, when it could be celebrated. We are seeing fewer actors willing to “age in place,” because our industry treats aging as erasure. 

I want to see Nicole Kidman go through her Kathy Bates “Misery” moment. I want the rawness of natural age. There is a world of serious, mature, even comedic roles that

requires growth into them, not masking around them. We were taught that your time comes, that you build toward it. But the normalization of cosmetic alterations threatens to shorten or invisiblize that journey. We need to break out of the carousel of identical features.  Living in New York, I don’t think I ever see the same person twice. That is what should be represented within the fabric of what drives our culture:  the people who actually shape it.