A dose of weight neurosis

As the Turkish proverb goes, "one madman throws a rock into the sea and 10 intelligent men fail to take it out." Wise friends who assured me that I looked "just fine, even a bit on the slim side" failed to persuade me. Ever since the disastrous words, "you know, you would really look magnificent at 45 kilos," those extra lumps of fat, spoiling everything, are all I can ever think about.

Join the club, said a dietician friend. "Why do you think I have more patients than I can handle? Most of them do not need to lose weight, but to gain some. According to statistics, 52 percent of Turkish women are overweight and three percent are underweight. My customers," she sighed, "are not among the 52 percent."

Hello, middle-class, urban, weight-obsessed female of the species, who cannot be happy unless she fits in a size 34.

"Size 34 (the equivalent of size 2) is the new size 38," said a saleswoman a chic shop in Ankara. "X small is the new medium. No self-respecting woman would like to be seen nowadays wearing a large."

I should know. One of my closest girlfriends broke up with her boyfriend after he gave her a size M sweater. "Our relationship had reached the level of intimacy that he should know that I am extra small," she complained.

Lying about size

"Wait a minute," I asked a businessman friend who made a fortune over textiles for women. "Are Turkish women getting smaller?"

"No," he replied. "Turkish women are getting taller, and consequently, larger. It is just that they are getting weight-obsessed, so we are marking down sizes."

So, as a result of this weight obsession, are Turkish women getting skinnier?

Yes, said my dietician friend "at least in the chic districts of chic towns. They are also looking younger than what their mothers looked in the same age."

In case you have not noticed, Turkish women are big on plastic surgery: Anything from those love handles to crow’s feet around the eyes can be easily and cheaply be ... eradicated. Turkey, let us face it, is a plastic surgery paradise.

"Stop bothering yourself with diets," said a surgeon friend. "We will rid you of those saddlebags, rejuvenate the waist, mm, and perhaps do something to firm the bosom ... while we are at it, can we also give you the doe-eyed look?"

The doe-eyed look that every woman over the age of 50 has in Nişantaşı, Istanbul? I mean, how do those men tell their wives apart, they all look the same to me. (As one cheeky columnist said, "They don’t.")

"Is that all?" I asked.

"No," continued my surgeon friend. "We can tuck in the knees; after all, sagging knees are one of the major indicators of age. Then we can do something to the arms, even to the back. You know, you can always tell a woman’s age by her back. Then, of course, there is the chin tuck, which you will certainly need in a few years time, then perhaps a "therma" to make the face go back up, and while at it, a bit of silicon on the lips and, if you really, really want to do a total perfection ... a nose job, to make it thinner."

"You must be nuts," I said.

"No," he added. "I have done this to all the wives of my friends."

No wonder at parties, everyone looks the same. And all those years I thought it was the effect of alcohol.

"Would a total lipo cost a fortune?" I asked.

"You can never be too thin, and I can never be too rich," he replied.