I’ve been practicing psychiatry long enough to witness the changing face of suffering. In recent years, I’ve seen more and more patients — often young, intelligent, and outwardly successful — who arrive not to discuss their inner pain, but their plans for yet another “minor” cosmetic procedure. A few years ago, it might have been a small touch-up; now it’s a full list — fillers, nose refinements, jawline contouring, body sculpting — all in the pursuit of some elusive perfection.  Many of these perceived flaws are invisible to anyone but the person who bears them. Yet they feel deeply real —sometimes overwhelmingly so. They come to me anxious, restless, and unfulfilled, convinced that once they “fix” this next imperfection, the fog of self-doubt will finally lift. But it rarely does.

Meanwhile, I see rising rates of depression, anxiety, and substance and behavioral addictions. Loneliness has reached epidemic levels. Suicides among the young have become a recurring national tragedy. And amid this growing emotional crisis, access to quality mental health care remains limited, often inaccessible or unaffordable.  Paradoxically, people are willing to spend thousands of dollars and countless hours on their physical image, while they often hesitate to invest even a fraction of that in their mental or spiritual health. As a psychiatrist, this contrast is both revealing and heartbreaking. It tells me that we have slowly replaced the language of inner growth with that of outer enhancement. We used to speak of building character, cultivating peace, and discovering purpose. Now we speak of contouring, enhancement, and visibility. The mirror — once a tool for grooming — has become a kind of therapist, judge, and confessor.

This isn’t just vanity. It’s a cultural symptom. We are living in a time when the external self is constantly broadcast and measured — liked, commented on, validated — while the inner self remains starved of attention and care. The more we curate our surfaces, the more neglected our souls become.  And the body, no matter how sculpted, cannot carry the burden of an unhealed mind.  Every society has its alarm bells. The current wave of cosmetic obsession and the simultaneous rise of emotional distress may be ours. They point to a deeper misalignment — a collective confusion between appearance and essence, between being seen and being whole.

When I meet patients struggling with this inner conflict, I sometimes ask: “If you could see your soul in the mirror instead of your face, what would you want to change?” The question often stops them. It’s not meant to shame, but to invite reflection — because the truth is, the serenity and confidence many seek cannot be injected or sculpted. They must be cultivated, often through the harder work of self-understanding, compassion, and connection.

Perhaps it’s time we, as a society, ring the alarm. Not against plastic surgery itself — there is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to feel good in one’s body — but against the growing imbalance that has made us forget where true healing begins.  Mental health is not a luxury. Inner peace is not a cosmetic accessory. Until we revalue these truths, we risk becoming a generation that looks flawless in the mirror — and feels hollow within.