WWhen I heard the news last week that mother-of-five Alice Webb, 33, had died in Gloucestershire Royal Hospital after a non-surgical “Brazilian butt lift”, I felt both sadness and immense empathy, because I too had gone all out. to change the appearance of my bottom through non-surgical cosmetic procedures.
I was 23 when I took the day off in London to take two trains and a taxi to a beauty salon just outside Birmingham. I didn’t tell anyone I was going, and I haven’t — until now. The trip took six hours and I was in the lounge for no more than 45 minutes. I had found the location on Instagram, but the reality was a much less polished than the photos suggest.
I walked through an empty salon and up a narrow carpeted staircase to reach the main door, covered in peeling advertising brochures. Once inside, I removed my jeans and lay on my face while an esthetician used a machine to massage my thighs to my cheeks with the idea that this would make them look tighter, curvier, bigger — and (in mind me at least) more accepted.
I was working in beauty marketing at the time, and like many of us, I was surrounded by images of “ideal” bums — lifted, round, and big. Mine, by comparison, was more like a pancake than a peach — too small, too flat, not enough. After years of surfing the internet, a part of me that I had barely noticed before felt gradually more and more flawed. I felt unwanted and desperate for change.
No cosmetic procedure has defined the last decade like the Brazilian butt lift, or BBL as it is known. It reflects a generation of women aspiring to get the curvy, sharp back seen in pop culture, in the hourglass figures of celebrities like Jennifer Lopez and Kim Kardashian.
This cult of bigger, taller, curves has made BBL surgery one of the fastest growing cosmetic procedures. It involves removing fat from the stomach, waist or thighs and then injecting it into the buttocks. The procedure has steadily become a favorite of celebrities and influencers alike, raising the bar of beauty for us all. In its wake, a number of non-surgical versions have sprung up, promising similar results, luring women like Webb and me.
In my case, I was getting ready to go on holiday to Spain and I couldn’t bear to be in a bathing suit in front of people, my insecurities were showing. I wasn’t sure why I cared so much about random people or my friends, but I would have paid any amount to dissolve the dread building up in my stomach.
Like many, I didn’t have the money to spend on surgery, so I found the RF body contouring alternative on a discount site. It promised to tighten, lift and tone – while the heat and pressure redistributed fat from my thighs to my bottom. With the train fare, I spent almost £400.
Other women I’ve talked to since then took out loans or charged off credit cards to pursue their beauty goals — and they took bigger risks than I did. A recent Times investigation found that Turkish clinics are using unregulated meetings in Britain to sign people up for cut-price cosmetic surgery in Turkey.
A 2017 study put the global mortality rate of BBL surgery at 1 in 3,000, although through increased awareness and education the ratio is improving. However, thousands of women fly to Turkey, Miami, the Dominican Republic and Mexico for cheaper treatments, with 150,000 British women traveling to Turkey each year. TikTok shows videos of long queues of BBL patients at airports in wheelchairs or on their knees during a flight, with bums being lifted into the air.
Then there are “liquid BBLs,” like the one dispensed to Webb. They are also offered as a cheaper, more accessible alternative to surgery and involve injecting hyaluronic acid filler – usually used in the lips, cheeks or chin – into the buttocks.
Instead of the usual 0.5-1ml amounts injected into the face, a BBL liquid requires up to 300ml of chemicals to be placed into the body. Unlike its surgical equivalent, the administration of this procedure is completely unregulated in the UK, meaning that anyone can carry out the treatment, regardless of medical training.
Watch the trailer for The Substance, starring Demi Moore
Like me, Webb worked in beauty and likely felt similar pressures to endlessly self-improve. As in the recent film The Essencestarring Demi Moore as an aging actress desperate to hold on to her youth, makes it clear that you start to believe that perfection is just an injection away, a visit to a cosmetic surgeon, or a Faustian pact.
Between 2015 and 2019, the number of BBL surgeries increased by 90 percent, and in 2021 BBL reached its peak as the fastest growing cosmetic surgery in the world.
In 2022, a UK-wide study by Origym found that one in five 16 to 24-year-olds wanted to change their derriere with either implants or a bum lift. These findings are reinforced by Google’s search data, which shows that searches for “bum lift” increased by 69 percent from 2021-2022 in the US.
Body shape trends don’t so much change now as accumulate, each adding to the list of desirable qualities. While researching my recent book, Pixel Fleshabout how our toxic beauty culture is harming young women, I interviewed women about why they BBL.
Mia, who spent almost £10,000 on her bum over two operations, said she was influenced by celebrities such as Nicki Minaj and, after trying diet and exercise, decided surgery was her only option to achieve her ‘ perfection”.
Once my procedure was over in Birmingham, my thighs were bruised from the pressure. The cameras stopped spinning and I was instructed to stand in my underwear next to the photo set. The beautician moved around me with her phone before placing my before and after images side by side.
I couldn’t see any discernible difference. Devastated and ashamed and several hundred pounds poorer, I began my long journey home. On my next holiday in Spain, I sat in an ankle-length skirt hiding the bruises while I enviously watched my friends cool off in the pool. I wondered what it would be like not to care.
