Person or the Persona?

I came across this article today and the catch phrase of the "person or persona" was interesting and this would be a good read from Glamour Magazine of why men crave real women over surgical or media driven.

I met Tessa* at a premiere party in Hollywood several summers ago. It was held in a decked-out airline hangar, and everything, from the stunning cocktail waitresses to the champagne fountain, was over-the-top. But even in the midst of all that glitz, Tessa was the main attraction. She was a slender, vibrant redhead in a bright orange dress—you couldn’t miss her. After a few minutes of sneaking nervous glances in her direction, I got up the guts to approach. “You’re wearing my favorite color,” I said. “I like orange because it rhymes with—”

“Nothing,” she finished. The spark was undeniable. Tessa was smart—an investment banker—and had a great laugh. Somehow, she was still single. When she casually slipped me her card at the end of the night, I was ecstatic.
On our date the following week, things got even better. Tessa wore a clingy black dress, and over dinner she lit up with stories of four-million-a-minute losses in the futures market. Sexy. When she asked me back to her place after the check came, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. Soon, as we stood in her hallway, groping each other like teenagers, my hand fumbled to her chest, anticipating the plush, nurturing flesh of her…

Wait a minute. Was her breast rippled? As I felt the telltale implant bag under her skin, I thought, Damn it—fake boobs. My mind overflowed with images of hospitals and scalpels. I froze up, and Tessa noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” she said.

“I am not. I mean, maybe I am. It’s just, um, are these, uh,” I stammered, still sheepishly groping at her chest.

“Are you frisking me?” she asked.

I stammered on.

“Get out,” she said.

Before I knew what had hit me, I was

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