SFB's Operations Director Desiree Wichmann Heads To The UES In Search Of A Flat Stomach
I've always had a bit of a belly. Regardless of what I eat, my slight, stubborn pooch just won't go away. I'm okay with it, though. I eat what I want, exercise when I feel like it, and, aside from your standard period "ew I feel fat" days, I like how I look. I was a red-headed freckle-faced middle school math geek with huge black glasses, and not much has changed. I still wear huge glasses, my hair is bigger and more red than ever, and my favorite pastimes include (no joke) making advanced Excel spreadsheets with V-Lookups and pivot tables. My whole persona is basically built on being a big old nerd.
When it comes to vanity, I'm pretty chill. My daily uniform consists of Nike Airmax's, holey jeans and my Sicilian grandmothers signet rings. Add that to my nine tattoos, acrylic nails and black eyeliner, and the whole thing is very goth tomboy. Picture Julianne Moore's little sister meets Urkel the nerd.
But when beach seasons roll around, the belly thing starts to weigh on me (pun intended). No matter how much yoga I practice, I still don't feel great in a bikini. This past Spring, I started to look into other options. I would never, even consider plastic surgery (unless I'm watching a reality show about it on Bravo), but when I heard about Sculpsure I was super intrigued. Basically, it's a thirty minute non-invasive body contouring treatment designed to make your big old beer gut look positively vodka soda-like. No knives or needles involved.
I called the office of Dr. Diktaban and made an appointment right away.
"I'm going to get a flat stomach today," I told my boyfriend Miles the next morning.
"Cool, babe," he said, through a mouthful of eggs. I don't think he was listening.
Dr. Diktaban's office is on the Upper East Side. Considering that I live in Bushwick and literally haven't crossed Fourteenth Street since I went to The Met in college, I had to look up directions on how to get there. When I walked up the subway stairs at Madison and 59th, the first thing I saw was Cartier, Bloomingdales, and a groomed blue poodle. Definitely not in Bushwick anymore.
"I'm here for my Sculpsure," I told the receptionist. I secretly was hoping to see some famous LA celebrity in the waiting wearing huge black sunglasses, but alas — ne're a Joan Rivers acolyte in sight.
Dr. Diktaban did not have a creepy Beverly Hills Botched vibe to him at all. He was super nice and mellow, and kind of reminded me of my uncle Jim. While I was asking him what he'd been up to today ("just some fillers"), a nurse hooked me to the Sculpsure machine, which was like a weird box on wheels with four tubes coming out of it. For twenty-five minutes, these light-emitting metal plates fluctuated from hot to cold on my tummy, while I scrolled through Instagram and chatted with the nurse about Brazilian butt lifts. Supposedly, the light targets fat cells, which are then absorbed and removed by the body. While this was all going down, I tried to get Dr. Diktaban to dish about his crazy lopsided double F boob jobs Botched-like operations he's performed, but he had not one horror story under his belt. "I do a lot of fixer uppers, though" he said, which basically means that if someone gets a shitty ass implant, he does his best to make it better.
I didn't see a difference right away, but about a month later, I definitely noticed my abs looked flatter. I was so into the whole thing, that I did a striptease for Miles while he was watching a Youtube documentary about the history of a typeface. And this was AFTER a huge dinner of vegan tacos. Beer gut be damned: I'm heading to Rockaway this weekend in a brand new string bikini to guzzle Guinness by the ocean. Take that, Urkel The Nerd.