All over the world, we're slipping towards uniformity. A new "perfect" face, born of the research of cosmetic surgeons, will become the absolute ideal of beauty. The human face has become a construction site. We sculpt human flesh like we did the stones for Mount Rushmore. What kind of sense of identity can we have with a body that has no link to the original me?
Auteure, sexologue et sexosophe
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