Botched is a television show that follows two Hollywood plastic surgeons who specialize in repairing the mismanaged work of other, lesser plastic surgeons. One of the most common recurring characters is the Supportive Partner who is terrified above all else of saying something accidentally unsupportive. They (almost always, but not exclusively, he) cannot appear disapproving of their patient-girlfriend’s choice, but neither can they sound over-eager, lest they come across as an ogre on national television. Theirs is a narrow path beset with thorns.
The SP usually wears an unnecessary hat and a deer-in-the-headlights expression.
“I love the way she looks now, but I understand it’s important to X that her stomach no longer be full of cement, which the last doctor left in her abdominal cavity.”
“I think she looks perfect no matter how many nipples she has.”
[After Dr. Nassif jokingly suggests that he, the Supportive Partner, will prefer sex with his girlfriend after she gets breast implants] “I…whoa. I don’t know, man. I just…[physically backs away as if from an open flame]”
“She’s doing this for her. She’s not doing it for me. She’s never done anything for me. Which is a good thing. I have never expressed a preference in my life. I do not possess opinions, nor would I wish for her to do anything for me. I am content merely to sit here in this waiting room and listen to ska.”
“If it were up to me, he’d never get surgery. Which – [panicked realization] that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t get surgery. Or couldn’t. I mean, it’s not up to me. It isn’t up to me, at all. I think he’s going to look great after, but he already looks great now. And he looks great now. Not but. I should say. Not that there is anything wrong with his butt!”
“As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. I just want her to be happy. By coincidence, this would also make me happy, but that has nothing to do with the thing that makes her happy.”
“Please do not suggest in any way that I am capable of noticing a physical change in my partner. If she were a tree ghost with fourteen cloud-arms, I would honestly have no idea. I truly cannot see her. I only sense her happiness, like a heartbeat pulsing across my own face. My eyes can no longer register her physical form. Dr. Dubrow is a wonderful surgeon.”
Mallory is an Editor of The Toast.