The tragedy of Jocelyn Wildenstein

When I saw that Jocelyn Wildenstein, aka the Bride of (art dealer Alec) Wildenstein, had died at the age of 84, I began compulsively flicking through the widely-shared galleries of horror photos depicting the three-decade plastic surgery odyssey for which she was known. But the picture that struck me most – more, even, than the hideously gnarled, ferocious face with its pinched eyes looking out at the courtroom at her divorce trial – was the one of her when she was young. Namely, in her 30s, with Hollywood golden-age good looks; wonderful bone structure, bright eyes. And one more: as a gamine 15-year-old who looks like a supermodel in waiting.

That this beautiful girl, who went on to be a strikingly gorgeous woman (albeit one determined to marry a rich man and live a jetset life of international luxury) felt so inadequate about her appearance and what her husband thought of it, that she embarked on an obsessive, multi-million dollar, multi-decade campaign of self-mutilation, is devastating.