EX-MEMBER of Parliament Tan Cheng Bock recently wrote to another newspaper lamenting the fact that some doctors now practise aesthetic medicine. This whole deal is dedicated to looks, not healing, the physician said.

Of course, this would apply, above all, to plastic surgeons who operate on well- functioning bodies. How do they justify it? When plastic surgery first tried to establish itself as a legitimate sub-specialty, it claimed that cosmetic emendations to the body can actually heal the mind. It was suggested that changing the external appearance changed the patient's psyche. Fixing the body allegedly fixed the mind too.

And since altering the outside did not really change the inside - for better or worse - plastic surgery did no harm to the patient either, it was claimed. Thus its practice complied with the rule that doctors must do no harm.

The implied model was of a man or a woman with an unchanging self inside a changeable body, whose appearance for the better may make the alterable mind happier but not change its essence.

There is no scientific proof for the existence of this three-part model of the human - unchanging self, changeable body and alterable mind.

Nevertheless, the plastic surgeon came to be seen as more than just fixing the 'cosmetic'. Instead, he morphed into an artist whose deft scalpel sculpted your persona, while assiduously respecting the person inside. The real you just looked better - thus mirroring the great person you were inside, presumably.

Of course, one was only talking about slimmer bodies (liposuction), younger looks (botox, facelifts), more femininity (breast implants) and more Caucasian features (nose jobs). All in a day's invasive procedure for the harried plastic surgeon.

When the Health Ministry intimated that it might regulate aesthetic medicine, plastic surgeons - ensconced in their own legitimacy - attacked general practitioners (GPs) who offer chemical face peels, and specialists who dabble in some aesthetic procedures on the side. But they scrupulously avoided any mention of beauty therapists who offer the same procedures that GPs do - and more.

Intrigued by this, I spent some time recently - with my better half acting as a decoy - visiting these paraprofessionals. I have now concluded that beauty therapists - from cosmetics counter ladies and aromatherapists to day-spa aestheticians and massage therapists - may well provide a more useful healing service, for the mind at least, than do plastic surgeons.

To establish subtly some form of authority, beauty therapists dress in uniforms, usually white lab coats. One waits in a lounge to be called as one would at the doctor's clinic. Various certificates are on display on the lounge walls, lending an air of professionalism to the establishments. There are magazines to flip through, as at the doctor's or dentist's.

When called, you are led into a tranquil space with mood lighting, candles and soothing music. You are ministered to with light-based hair removal devices or lasers to zap away skin blemishes. Human hands also touch you, waxing your legs, giving you 'lymph drainage' massages or wrapping you in seaweed-camphor-menthol films or bandages to rid you of cellulite.

These therapists like to describe their job as more than just cosmetic. Repeatedly, they say their tasks are basically relational in nature, to soothe tempers, mend egos. 'We make women feel good' is the mantra one hears over and over. They liken their work to that of nurses' jobs.

Beauty salons and day spas are really feminised spaces. Aside from grooming and body maintenance, women can relax in these places. They are listened to and attended to from head to toe - often literally.

What these therapists offer women above all is the alleviation of stress. They pamper tired bodies and boost sagging morale. This is the secret behind the multimillion-dollar success of Jean Yip, Fil, Bella and other beauty spas here.

What the therapist engages in in these feminised spaces is 'emotional labour'. The term refers to the management - or more accurately, the suppression - of one's feelings in order that one may display positive emotions towards clients. Coined by Arlie Hochschild in her 1983 classic, The Managed Heart: Commercialization Of Human Feeling, the term was applied first to the invisible work that flight attendants did, in addition to serving air passengers with food and drink.

Actually, almost all services involve emotional labour. A waitress, for example, is expected to look nice, smile when taking your order, and remain polite even with the most difficult customer.

In the same vein, spa workers are told by management to do everything possible so the client leaves the establishment feeling she has been thoroughly pampered. They are also instructed to work on establishing and cementing personal ties with clients so that they keep returning.

The client must not be made to feel she is on some waxing or wrapping conveyor belt. She needs to be talked to with empathy - especially when she lies there with her eyes closed. Though we might gloss over such verbal interactions as 'chat', chat may be the linchpin holding the whole enterprise together. For these therapists, chat at work is, in truth, work.

By contrast, if you chat with your doctor, he might make you feel you are taking up a tad too much of his time. Emotional labour is expected of people who touch bodies, so if doctors offered total healing, they should chat too. But, of course, they feel too time-constrained these days.

Perhaps GPs in aesthetic medicine should go the whole nine yards and unabashedly set up medi-spas to practise holistic medicine - and make emotional labour an integral part of their work. Perhaps plastic surgeons would then leave them alone, as they do beauty therapists.

And this kind of healing might win the approval too of traditionalists like Dr Tan, who undoubtedly have their hearts in the right place.

This article was first published in The Straits Times on Apr 10, 2008.