Bazaar
SYDNEY BIDDLE BARROWS
One week before surgery, Sydney Biddle Barrows enters Cafe Luxembourg on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, takes off her long fur coat, orders sea scallops and settles in to talk about her upcoming face-lift. This businesslike blonde in pearls, who once ran a call-girl ring and then went on to write an autobiography, a manners book and a relationship guide, is ready for a major renovation. And yet, sitting here with natural light pouring in from a side window, my first thought is, What work does she need? She looks fine.
“I know I’m not some ugly old hag,” Barrows says. “But why wait until it’s obvious that I really need work? When you’re used to being a pretty girl, it’s hard to look in the mirror and realize you’re aging. In the looks department, I’ve been lucky. Once you get used to that, it’s like getting used to being rich.”
She is candid about having had her eyes done in 1989, and a little liposuction five years before. But this will be Barrows’ first full fact-lift, and she’s getting the works. She plans to undergo a face-, brow- and eye-lift. Gore-tex chin implant, facial liposuction and laser resurfacing. “I’ll be getting this.” She says pinching her cheeks until jowls become visible. “Here,” she draws little circles around her eyes with her index fingers in a kind of Edvard Munch’s Scream moment, “and here,” she says, her hand crossing her chin in one swift movement. When I suggest that a heavy lid is kind of a Mayflower look, Barrows retorts. “It may be Mayflower, but it ain’t my look.”
Three days earlier, Barrows has gathered a group of her friends at Wilson’s restaurant on the upper West Side for a “Goodbye to My Old Face” party, which happens to fall on her 46th birthday. She wears a pink blazer, her hair cut in a snappy bob. “Are you nervous?” a friend asks her. “Nope.” Barrows responds, “My husband, Darnay, tells me, ‘Every masterpiece needs a little restoration once in a while.’”
The friend has brought along Bebe Buell, a former model who is Liv Tyler’s mother. “Is this a plastic-surgery party?” Buell asks, apparently not having been clued in. When told exactly what Barrows will be getting done. Buell says, “Wow, that’s a lot of work. She’s gonna be hurting.” She takes my notepad and writes: “Bebe’s Secrets to Youth: 1. Bob Dylan 2. beer mask 3. powdered-mils facial 4. monthly visits to CBGB.” A toast is made to Barrows: “To your new face. May you be as beautiful as you always are.”
THE BIG DAY: (The following are Barrows’ journal excerpts.) Alarm goes off at 5:30 A.M. Get everything (nightie, bed jacket, medicines, tea) pretty much laid out and ready for Nurse Carol. Leave home at 6:30 and walk across Central park. Get to the hospital and put on a shot-sleeved gown. Anesthesiologist tells me what’s going to happen. No surprises there.
At 8:30 A.M., Dr. Thomas Romo, a New York City Plastic surgeon, applies what looks like Morse code in black marker to Barrwos’ face—a series of dots and dashes that indicate where he’ll be working. For the first time, Barrows experiences a wave of apprehension. “Well, it’s not like having your nails done,” she cracks before she’s wheeled off to O.R. number 18.
The mood in the operating room is serious. “It can get pretty graphic,” one nurse whispers, as a major incision is made on the side of Barrows’ face. As Barrows lays there, under anesthesia, tube in her mouth, arms limp by her sides, painted with a yellow antibacterial paste, you have to wonder: is beauty really worth all this?
Start to come to six hours later. The first thing I notice is that my head feels like it’s been slammed down into my neck. Very uncomfortable. Wish like anything someone would come and pull my head and neck and stretch me out, but I am too out of it to convey such a request. Apparently I got up every two hours. At one point Nurse Carol was holding me in such way that I was reminded of the tango, and I pretended to tango with her: “Da da da da—bum de bum bum bum, da da da da.”
A problem develops right away: from the metal contact lenses placed in her eyes to keep her lids open during surgery. Barrows gets a corneal abrasion “so painful that it blocks out all other pain. It feels like someone took an S.O.S. pad and scrubbed my eye,” she says.
DAY TWO: Completely blind and very groggy...need help getting in and out of bed...major head support necessary.
DAY THREE: Woke up at 4:00 A.M. Feels like my poor face has swollen to the size of a pumpkin.
DAY FOUR: Can finally open both eyes with the window shades up. The right eye is not healed and is still sore enough that I can’t read or watch TV or leave it open for long. By early afternoon, the right side of my head is much more sore than the left, and my right ear is very painful to the touch. Nurse Carol gets all the blood and goop cut of my ears and cleans up the sutures. I feel a lot better. Use mouthwash for the first time since the surgery.
DAY FIVE: Woke up around 3:00 A.M. Entire head very swollen, even the inside of my throat. Try to will all that fluid out of my head. A friend brings over People with a Jocelyne Wildenstein story in it. Can’t believe J.W. went through this numerous times!
DAY SIX: Romo takes the major dressing off. My skin feels very tender and exposed. He tells me that for the next week I have to gently wash my face three times a day with Cataphil and put Crisco on it. And good news. I can take my first shower tomorrow! Romo instructs me to wash my hair very gently, no combing or brushing. It will still be messy, but cleaner.
DAY SEVEN: Called a friend who just had an eye-lift. She says it was a “piece of cake”. I assured her it would be, it’s difficult to talk for too long because my ears are so sore that I can’t touch the receiver to them. By 1:00, I need to rest. Lie down in living room to listen to Law & Order. Great show to listen to. Turned to Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Not so good because visuals are important.
It suddenly strikes me that the tightness I’m always worrying about might be the way my skin is supposed to feel...don’t like that idea. Try to tell myself that once the swelling goes down, the tightness won’t be so obvious. For the first time, I look in the mirror. My eyes appear a little slanty, especially the right one. It looks a little more pulled than the left. Then again, the right side is more swollen. Skin beginning to tingle...feeling coming back...still can’t leave my eyes open for very long, especially the right one. Must keep telling myself that in realty, it will be okay.
One week post-surgery, I step off the elevator in Barrows’ building. “To your right,” I hear a familiar voice say. Down the hall, the door is slightly ajar. As I get closer to the door, a very tender-looking, partially bandaged face appears.
The apartment is a cozy one bedroom. Mint cloth shades have been firmly closed. It’s only when I look at the photos on her mantel that I am suddenly reminded of Barrows’ old face. Before me is a new face: the brows are slightly higher, her chin juts out a bit, her eyes are more almond-shaped. Little bumps here and there have been smoothed out.
Barrows says she’s working on a book, tentatively titled Getting a Little Work Done, about the experiences of other plastic-surgery patients. Although she continues to support herself from the lecture circuit talking about her madam days and sharing secrets of call girls, “I am so over the sex thing,” she says, “I’ve had more than my 15 minutes on the subject. Enough already.” As I leave, carrying the coffee cup I brought in with me, Barrows offers to heat it up. “Let me nuke it,” she says, heading into her kitchenette. It is there, under the fluorescent glare, that I see how very raw her face is.
9:00 P.M. Cannot emphasize enough how traumatic washing my face is. I’m absolutely terrified to touch it. How am I ever going to handle doing this three times a day?
DAY EIGHT: Romo says my head staples come out in another six days or so. Looking forward to that!
DAY NINE: Nice day, feel like a walk. Can’t go by myself because I can’t see clearly. Darnay has been so terrific throughout this whole thing. We walk to Barnes & Noble, he reads to me from a few books (on plastic surgery), and we stop in a couple of food stores on the way back. I think I’m ready to eat something soft, like pasta.
DAY TEN: Will I ever have my pretty hair back? I miss my hair. This is so gross! Call a friend who says she felt “tight” after plastic surgery for over a year and that the numbness took a good year to go away. Hmmm......
DAY ELEVEN: Romo takes out some above-the-ear stitches and a few on the scalp. He says the inside of my mouth is healing well but that he doesn’t like the look of what’s happening on the left side of my face. It might be an infection.
It is. The infection, Barrows deduces, she got from putting the phone to her face. “For a while my skin was a nice pink,” she says, “and then it turned an angry red. This is no day at the beach. Anyone who thinks they can sail through plastic surgery with no complications isn’t being realistic.” A long salmon-colored “scar” appears on the left side of her face. Barrows leaves this message on my machine: “At the end of last week and over the weekend, things started getting worse.”
“It’s a nightmare. Dr. Romo has a colleague here named Dr. Bruce Katz who’s a dermatologist. Katz gave me an anti-inflammatory, and I’ve got to tell you, in 12 lousy hours, I look better than I’ve looked in weeks.”
FOUR MONTHS LATER: Barrows and I meet for breakfast at Elephant & Castle in Greenwich Village. Wearing a light blue cotton shirt, her beautifully manicured nails painted a bright red, she is surrounded by an aura of calmness. The work she’s had done is subtly effective. She reports that she’s feeling more confident, that she’s dressing up more. “I just bought a darling little Tommy Hilfiger skirt,” she says, “I want the rest of me to look as spiffy as my new face.”
A new face requires new makeup. Barrows assesses the changes: “Dark lip shades, heavy eye makeup and heavy lip liner look really wrong.” She now favors natural-looking makeup. At the Bazaar photo shoot, she picks up a tip from the makeup artist. “Instead of putting eye makeup on the hollow of the eyes. I put it on the lid,” she says. “It looks much better.”
Barrows is still in the process of interviewing other plastic surgery patients for her book. “I have yet to find a butt-lift,” she says , adding that she won’t be getting more plastic surgery anytime soon but that she has no regrets about the work she’s had done. “I first started seeing jowls when I turned 40. The doctor I spoke to at that time said I needed a face-lift. Back then, I thought, Come on, that’s ridiculous. But I’ve changed my mind,” she says. “Do it when you’re young, and then get small, subtle adjustments later on. Why go through years of hating yourself when you look in the mirror? In this day and age, it’s not if you get it, it’s when.”
The mild redness on the left side of Barrows’ face doesn't bother her: “I don't think about it at all,” she says, “I don’t even remember it’s there.” Massaging her head just above her right eye has brought the brow down a bit. “All that tightness is gone.” she says, “and I’m relieved. I knew I’d look different, but I didn’t know just how different I would feel. There was a tie after my life not feeling comfortable in my own skin. Now it finally feels like my face.”