'I booked a lip flip before my sister's wedding. One comment from the nurse completely threw me.'

Plastic surgery talk is everywhere at the moment. One minute it's Kylie opening up about her breast augmentation. Then it's Kris Jenner's new face and Kelly Osbourne's entire transformation.

We ping-pong between "love the skin you're in" and "here's the tweak you need" at whiplash speed.

So after one particularly aggressive doom-scroll through perfect, symmetrical, suspiciously good smiles on social media, I caved and booked a lip flip.

My sister's wedding was coming up, and it felt like the perfect excuse to dip a very tentative toe into the cosmetic pool. Nothing dramatic. Just a small splash. A safe, reversible $120 tweak that would wear off in three months — which basically involves using anti-wrinkle injections to give the appearance of fuller lips without adding volume.

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I roped my sister in to come with me. It was meant to be unserious. A bit of pre-wedding fun.

So we turned up, bright-eyed and small-lipped.

The place was gorgeous. You know the type — softly glowing candles, curved white walls, marble so luminous it felt rude to walk on it in actual shoes. I half expected Lisa Rinna to glide past clutching an iced oat latte. 

I was, frankly, ready to be hot. 

We were ushered into the appointment room. 

The nurse walked in and she was beautiful in that way that makes you feel like a before photo. Shiny black hair. Skin like glass. A chin that could be used to slice fruit. 

Before we began, she offered a complimentary 15-minute facial assessment, which she assured me they offer to every client. They'd even throw one in for my sister since she'd come along.

I should have declined. But I didn't. We were already there, she was being perfectly lovely, and declining felt… unnecessarily dramatic. (Reader: I should have been unnecessarily dramatic.)

In less than three minutes, she pointed out my recessed chin, overly full cheeks, and "lack of projection" when she looked at my side profile (I didn't know my face was meant to be… projecting?) Then she cheerfully suggested a half-dozen treatments to "bring harmony" to my face, as casually as you might recommend a new mascara.

I sat there nodding, like I was at a TED Talk about a face that wasn't mine.

Now — here's the thing. This wasn't a takedown. She wasn't cruel or mean or unprofessional. She was just doing her job. But there's something uniquely disorienting about sitting in a fluffy pink chair while a stranger catalogues every flaw you've secretly suspected about yourself.

Because of course I already knew. 

I had filed them away, deep in the pit of my stomach, with all the other little insecurities I carry around like a handbag. I just hoped no one else noticed.

But now someone had. 

Someone whose entire job is to fix faces had looked at mine and said, in effect: "Oh yes, we can work with this" (for a casual $3000, of course)."

We left the clinic shortly after and, spoiler alert, I didn't get the lip flip.

Here's the part I keep circling back to: I do want the chin fix. And maybe the cheeks. And honestly, if you told me they had a special going on facial projection next week, I'd probably ask for a quote. But I can't tell if that want is truly mine — or if it was planted the moment someone else looked at my face and saw something to correct.

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Women's faces have always been public property. And now they're also algorithmically shaped — with trend cycles that move faster than you can say "clean girl aesthetic." Trying to keep up feels like playing beauty Whac-A-Mole, with your own face as the mallet.

Of course, I believe everyone should do what makes them feel good. If you want the tweak, get the tweak.

But before I book my chin appointment, I think I need to sit with this a little longer. Because I want to be sure it's coming from me, not from the part of my brain that's been trained to chase a moving target.

Or maybe I'll just wait. Maybe recessed chins will trend next year.

Stranger things have happened.

Feature: Supplied.