I learned only recently that the plastic surgeon Jan B. Weislander passed away in December 2025. The news arrived quietly, almost in passing, which in itself felt strangely fitting.

For nearly a decade, he was a client of mine, though “client” never quite captured the relationship. I advised Dr. Weislander on how to refine his work as a photographer and photo editor – an unusual but, at least initially, productive collaboration. Much of his photographic work revolved around documenting before-and-after results from restorative surgery, material that formed a central part of his practice’s marketing. The photo above is from one of our many sessions.

In the early years, there was a certain chemistry between Jan and me. He confided many interesting aspects of his life and could be surprisingly candid about the inner workings of his practice. While he obviously brought a surgeon’s precision, I contributed technical know-how and an aesthetic framework. It was a functional exchange from which we both benefited.

Over time, however, the dynamic shifted. What began as dialogue became increasingly one-sided. This was not entirely surprising. In my experience, many physicians – particularly those operating at a high level – develop what might be described as a demigod complex.

Authority, exercised daily and rarely questioned, has a way of distorting proportion. Confidence hardens into unquestionable certainty.

With Jan, this manifested as both unwavering self-assurance and a distinctly holier-than-thou attitude that could, at times, be exhausting. It became harder to meet on equal footing, and eventually our professional paths diverged.

Still, there were other sides. When Charlotte and I were living in Mallorca, Jan and his partner Maria came to visit, and we shared a long, unhurried lunch in the hills above Palma. For a moment, professional edges softened.

A few years later, he generously invited us to his 60th birthday at Kalmar Slott, which he had rented outright. Opera singers, musicians, private chefs – an elaborate, theatrical extravaganza, entirely in character.

What ultimately distanced me, however, was the direction his practice appeared to take. There was a gradual drift away from the restraint one associates with the Hippocratic ethos, toward aesthetic procedures that seemed increasingly driven by financial incentive rather than medical necessity.

Cosmetic surgery occupies an inherently ambiguous terrain. But when the balance tips too far toward commerce, it takes on a more cynical tone – often at the expense of insecure patients persuaded that external “adjustments” will resolve internal discontent and discomfort.

That, I think, was where I lost alignment. Not because the field itself lacks merit or that everything Jan did was cynical – but because the field already operates at a delicate intersection of vanity, societal perception, and money.

And yet, looking back, it feels reductive to define a person solely by the arc of their later choices. People are rarely that linear. We are, all of us, shaped by our talents and our blind spots, our discipline and our excess. For a time, our paths ran parallel, and in that overlap, there was a genuine exchange of knowledge.

Perhaps that is what remains. Not a final judgment, but a recognition that even imperfect collaborations can leave something of value behind – if not in the work itself, then in the clarity they eventually bring.