There is a drive to look good in this society. In a previous age, you were compared with the prettiest girl in the village; these days the village contains several billion girls, and the prettiest one gets paid many thousands of dollars to get her picture taken so that it can be put on billboards to remind you that even if you buy that particular brand of clothing, you still won't look like that.
It's enough to make folks self-conscious of their looks. I know that when I'm looking at pictures of me, it's all "Oh, that one makes me look too fat. That one makes me look too gawky. I look like I'm abusing 'roids in that one. Oh, christ, why didn't I take a bit of time with makeup?" It makes it easy to understand the insecurity that makes some folks willing to do anything to look just a little prettier. Plastic surgeons make their Porsche payments because they offer a no-muss, little-fuss nip-and-tuck improvement that appeals to folks who feel awkward about their looks.
At what point does one get the feeling that one's surgeon may not be on the up and up? I mean, there are plenty of only moderately competent docs with proper offices and I-love-me walls papered with the appropriate sheepskins (Old Joke: "What do you call the guy that graduated last in his class from med school?" "Doctor.") in every city in America, so when one is being led into the basement of a residential condominium by a guy with an accent and nary a board certification to his name, does it not get one's spider sense to tingling? Is there not a warning shiver that makes one think "This guy's going to be cutting on my face! What if something goes wrong? What if the anaesthesiologist dicks up? Where's the crash cart? What if I get sucked to death? What am I doing here?"
Apparently not. Apparently the drive to be pretty can run common sense right off the road and into a ditch...