HERE IS AN EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT FROM AMANDA LEPORE’S NEW MEMOIR “DOLL PARTS” – CHAPTER 9: ALL ABOUT EVE – IN WHICH SHE DISCUSSES HER FIRST SURGERY (A BROW LIFT):

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A lot of people think that I’m addicted to plastic surgery. But the truth is, if I’m addicted to anything, it’s beauty. I suppose plastic surgery is part of that. My first psychiatrist said I was “body conscious.” The reality is, the more work I put into my look, the more right I felt. The more loved I felt. Hormones, makeup, growing my nails, anything that increased my femininity. Even buying an eyelash curler gave me a sense of hope, happiness, and acceptance.

One day I was staring at myself in the mirror at work and noticed extra skin around my eyelids. I immediately made an appointment to see my surgeon.

Dr. Reinhorn and I talked about an eye lift. It was tricky; some girls had it done and looked uneven, and the procedure also leaves a scar on your forehead, which I did not want.

So I asked him if he could just cut along the line where I draw in my eyebrows; that way I would be able to trace the scars when I did my makeup. Two birds, one surgery. He thought it was a great idea and made a plan to take a triangle of skin out along with the muscle underneath, and lift my lids that way. In theory it would give me permanent Botox. The day of the surgery I drew my eyebrow line in blue Sharpie and told the doctor, “There’s your scar.”

It was an intense procedure and I was on a lot of pain pills, but the worst part was that I wasn’t allowed to put makeup on my face for a full week after. Armen took care of me but I was driving him nuts; I was so high on pills I kept repeating myself, talking about the same nothing over and over.

After three days I’d had enough and needed to get out. Antony & the Johnsons were playing at Joe’s Pub, and I really wanted to go, plus I wanted to see how lashes were going to look on my new lids.

Armen begged me, “Please don’t fuck with the scars, it’s too soon.” But I didn’t care. I put on a huge Farrah Fawcett–style wig that covered most of my forehead. Armen helped me do my makeup since I was too high to draw a straight line, and he also helped me into a black patent leather gown.

I didn’t want to mess with the brow scars, so I left them exposed and taped pieces of black lace to my temples. It looked like my scars were part of the lace, rather than red gashes with little black stitched Xs.

Most people simply eyed my look, but when we saw Antony backstage, she got on her hands and knees to worship me. She said, “You’re an even more extreme performance artist than Marina Abramović.” It wasn’t on purpose; I just really needed to get out.

A cute, dark Italian guy at the show started hitting on me. He seemed to know only three things to say in English: “Beautiful girl, beautiful hair, beautiful body.” Isn’t it always the case that you meet the cutest guys when you can’t have sex? He was hitting on me like crazy, petting my hair and grabbing my ass, but I hadn’t even pinned my wig on the right way, so I told him it wasn’t going to happen. He kept begging me to bring him home, so I finally gave in and told him I was just getting over being sick so he had to be gentle with me.

First thing I did when we got to my place was turn the lights off and kick the wig head under the bed. We started fucking and he was very excited, loving it. Everything was going great until he pulled my hair, yanking the wig right off, so my scars were completely visible. He turned white. “OH MY GOD, WHAT’S THAT? WHAT’S THAT?!” He was screaming. I told him to calm down, that I’d just had surgery, but he kept freaking out, his dick went down, and he ran out.

It was funny seeing a guy go from being in heaven to pure hell so quickly. I really should have pinned that wig.

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You can order your copy of Doll Parts here.