Kiss & makeover: the case against the case against tube tops.

• Author: Wildman, Sarah

Flip through any consumer magazine today, and you'll find numerous "makeover" ads. These typically juxtapose the before and after pictures of, say, a head-to-toe shot of a woman whose belly is bulging over her bikini bottom and another shot of her new svelte and toned physique, promising you the same transformation if only you buy the cellulite cream or diet pills being hawked. This form of sales pitch isn't new. Corset ads from a hundred years ago also advertised their products with unseemly before and appealing after images--engravings, not photos, in that day. Since the middle of the last century, the concept of the before and after has spread throughout popular culture to movie plots and daytime TV, from the heroine of the 1954 Audrey Hepburn vehicle, Sabrina, who goes away to Paris a poor girl and comes back so fashionable she wins the rich boy to Nia Vardalos's transformation in 2002's My Big Fat Greek Wedding from a frumpy diner hostess into a sharp-dressing travel agent to the makeover specials that are a staple of talk shows like "Oprah" and "Ricki Lake." The concept is now even applied to homes on "Trading Spaces," a popular show in which a drab living room or bedroom is transformed into a splendid interior through the elbow grease of its owners' neighbors, a carpenter, a designer, and $1,000.

As with the cosmetic ads of last century, the appeal of these new shows is aspirational. The promise of the makeover story is that no one has to stay stuck in his or place, that we don't have to settle for how we look today--we can change it all tomorrow. People can move up the ladder of life with a little determination and effort (and some cash to purchase whatever product is being sold).

The latest spin on the fashion makeover is "What Not to Wear" on The Learning Channel, the same station that gave us "Trading Spaces." What makes this show different is that the person being made over hasn't volunteered for the transformation--the subject is virtually forced into it, presumably for his or her own good. Each episode begins like this: A badly-dressed person, usually a woman, is recommended by friends, family, or co-workers to the network. With the help of hidden cameras, the unsuspecting naif is then surreptiously videotaped for two weeks as she runs around in flannel shirts and frumpy jeans, after which the show's hosts watch the videos, murmur their horror and plan an intervention. Together, the hosts descend upon their "victim" (as they...