Dear Fillers,Last night I saw you again.
Dear Fillers, Last night I saw you again. It was the season finale of HBO’s drama The Undoing, starring Nicole Kidman, Hugh Grant, Lily Rabe, and Donald Sutherland. I should’ve been focused on savoring the final installment of the opulent melodrama, but I couldn’t. Even as Nicole Kidman descended in a private helicopter to save her son from the clutches of her deviant spouse, I should have been sneering at the obscenities afforded the wealthy even in fiction, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t, and it was your fault. Let’s get a couple of things perfectly clear, I’m a woman, I’m 37, and I think everyone who finds themselves able and desiring should get whatever cosmetic procedure their hearts and minds deem necessary. You don’t have to be a Hollywood A-Lister to get that Hollywood’s not exactly hip to letting anyone age, let alone a woman. Heck, fillers, I’ve considered you myself and I work almost entirely from home where I live with a partner who doesn’t even like it when women wear makeup. I can’t imagine what my perspective would be if I were a person whose bread and butter relied in large part on people eager to pay for the pleasure of feasting on my face with their eyes.
