Inject Fat Into a Tired Face and Start Spitting Out French

“I’m gonna suck the fat out of that little belly of yours and pump it into your cheeks!” This isn’t a dominatrix snarling at me from a cheesy ad-break on the Robyn Byrd show. It’s dermatological royalty, Patricia Wexler, M.D., fellow of the Academy of Cosmetic Surgery. She’s giving me a consultation and updating me on all the latest available “procedures.” And why not? Having “a bit of work done” no longer means sliding down a silicone-slathered slippery slope into the valley of Jocelyn Wildenstein. Dr. Wexler employs subtle, painless procedures designed to create a newer, perkier you.

“The reason that you look tired is because you’ve lost all the fat in your face,” said Dr. Wexler. “Let’s take that tummy fat and recycle it. It’s not collagen–it’s not silicone–you aren’t allergic to your own fat unless, of course, you have lupus.” I make a mental note to do everything in my power never to contract lupus and we continue discussing fat. Fat injections are $300 a treatment–plus a nominal fee for removal and storage.

“Why kill yourself at the gym when you can suck it out?” she asked. Another reason: If a girl with a 22-inch waist tries to exercise away her saddlebag thighs, she will, according to Dr. Wexler, “lose her breasts and face long before she loses those thighs.”

Here’s a heads-up to ultrachubbs: Patricia Wexler’s fat-sucking vacuums and crevice nozzles are deployed for body-sculpting and contouring only. No megaliposuction . “I don’t do volume,” she said. “It’s dangerous and you’ll gain it back in places you did not even know you had fat cells.”

A self-confessed obsessive compulsive, she can spot a droopy naso-labial fold at 50 paces. “I have a very funny eye–it fixates on minute irregularities.” With her male patients Dr. Wexler relaxes her anal retention, but only slightly: “A house should be lived in–but not in chaos–a face should be lived in, but a face in chaos gives you no more joy than a house in chaos. Crow’s-feet don’t bother me–but I will never say to a man, ‘God, I simply adore your jowls.'”

She often sends her patients to a plastic surgeon to get the basics done before she will apply her expertise. “If someone comes in and their neck is hanging in two directions–they’ve lost the fat in their cheeks and it’s now down by their mouth–I send them off to fix the foundation,” she said, reprising the house metaphor. “When they come back, I’m ready to spackle!”

The latest? A Cool Touch laser. Dr. Pat lovingly strokes the mysterious white machine like Dr. Evil, his albino cat. “This laser will correct wrinkles by going through the surface of the skin without peeling or burning,” she said. (In other words, it won’t turn you into a derma-ablated Freddie Krueger.) “After a couple of treatments the wrinkles start to shrink.” The Cool Touch is also good for lip lines; repeated use will eliminate your lipstick-trapping crevices (she recommended three sessions at $500 apiece) and anything else that Hawkeye Pat deems offensive.

If I ever decide to take Dr. Wexler’s advice, I will probably have to wait about 10 years for an appointment; she has over 15,000 patients in her books. The secret of her success? She offers what pushy New Yorkers crave most: good service, honesty, intelligence, wit … and fat removal.

Only bourgeois girls rush to restaurant restrooms to repair their lips. Primping in public is alluring and cheeky, especially if you use a Stila lip polish brush-tip applicator–$24 at Barneys New York, Bergdorf Goodman, Saks Fifth Avenue and Sephora. The new colors are Gleam, Glow and Twinkle.

The applicator is long and silver–a cross between a magic marker and a phallic fairy wand–and automatically catapults the user into a sensuous, glamorous beauty moment. Vivacious megarealtor Linda Stein is a big fan: “It’s very erotic–and the precision of the brush allows you to touch up your lips without using a mirror.”

Stare blankly into the middle distance while applying.

Are you conversationally impoverished, i.e., dull? Try peppering your speech with French phrases. Remember Miss Piggy’s hysterical franglais? Don’t worry about meaning–Miss Piggy used every word as if it meant “fabulous.” Do not use French to sound educated: Do it to be amusing.

Some of my personal faves: entre deux mers , le dernier cri , bête noire , au courant , cela va sans dire and recherché . Don’t forget to mispronounce it “rah-shah-shaaaah.” French is naughty, it’s decorative. It adds a je ne sais quoi to you and your personal brand-identity.

Ditsy jewelry is annoying and unacceptable. Rocks and gems should be emphatic: e.g., turquoise. It’s bold, it’s chunky, it’s bohemian–even if you’re not. It has many moods and magic properties including, some say, the power to protect a rider from a falling off a horse.

It can be beautifully woo woo : Antique Tibetan turquoise gold-wire necklaces by Kazuko are $275 to $995 at Barneys New York.

It can be chicly ridiculous: Bergdorf Goodman has a 1950’s vintage costume beetle pin with trembling, faux

diamond-sprinkled turquoise wings for $750.

Turquoise can be butch: Burt Reynolds-ish; ornate silver; Navajo-made watchbands look great on girls; eBay has a great selection of encrusted vintage cuffs that are $65 and up. You provide the watch.

I believe passionately in nepotism. I am therefore giving an unashamed–yet totally objective–plug to Jonathan Adler, genius potter and husband of moi . This Saturday Jonathan opens a store in East Hampton (631-329-6499) at 1 Main Street opposite the movie theater (the other store is on Broome Street) selling his magnificently modernist pottery, textiles and furniture. The store is splendid and he’s still young enough to have plenty of fat in his cheeks. Inject Fat Into a Tired Face and Start Spitting Out French