01 / Where I come from
Mississippi.
And a few detours.
I was born and raised in Mississippi. I spent my childhood trying to get to New York or LA and much of my adult life wishing I was home. My father is a surgeon, my sister a gastroenterologist, my momma an interior designer. I love human faces and my dogs’ tails. Beauty, for me, has never belonged to just one part of my life.
I went to Florida State because I loved palm trees and theater. My momma researched which school had more palm trees. That helped settle it. My majors included theater, English, history, political science, psychology and biology. I was looking for that thing I couldn’t quite name.
In our family, the rule was to stay in school or get a job. I didn’t know what job I wanted, so I took the prerequisites and the MCAT and applied to medical school. When my dad asked what I would do if I got in, I didn’t know. But I knew to go.
I wish I had a better story. But I think there are enough of those. If you are still looking for your thing, I understand that feeling.
02 / Finding my work
I couldn’t believe
this was a job.
Choosing facial plastic surgery was the easy part. I honestly couldn’t believe it was a job. Four years of medical school, five years of head and neck surgery residency and a year of fellowship gave me the training. Twenty years of faces have kept me learning. I would do it all again.
I can become completely immersed in redesigning a room or a face. My momma can find the carpet that makes a historical stairwell beautiful again. I look at a face and see the angles that make shadows, the places light reflects, the thing that is already beautiful and wants a little room to shine.
I see the good first. Her eyes are beautiful. I love the dimple on her cheek. There will be something, and I want to work everything around that beautiful thing.
I don’t need a ruler.
Rulers are for measuring furniture.
You don’t want everything around your most beautiful feature to be perfect. You don’t want it to distract from what is so pretty. And that is different on everyone.
03 / The person in the chair
And it’s two-way.
My grandmother was my lighthouse. I could tell her the same stories, the same feelings, over and over, and she would ask me to tell her more. The lessons she taught me still guide me. She had one regret she spoke of: she never fixed her neck. I think about her when someone tells me that what they see in the mirror doesn’t feel like them. I want women to be able to make their own choices without guilt or other women calling them names.
I learn so much by watching your face when you talk. A photograph can’t give me all of that. Sometimes it’s a little smirk that changes everything. I love a little smirk line. Preserving it helps keep you looking like yourself.
Your face should be looked at by someone who talks to you, understands you, knows where you are in life and wants you to thrive. If I make a decision without hearing where you are, I can’t give you the best thing.
I can look at a face and see options. But it matters to me that you are part of the conversation. I don’t think it’s my decision whether you have a facelift. I think it’s my responsibility to say: here are your options, and here is what they can do.
I see every detail on every face, the shadows and the light, and this is my gift. I can operate, inject, or laser to redirect shadows, remove extra skin, or smooth skin texture—but the real magic is seeing the light of happiness shine from inside when someone looks in the mirror and sees themselves smiling back. Not a stranger. The outside reflects the inside. That is peace. This is the feeling I wake up for.
Melanie
