Dr Maryam Zamani holds a phial of blood up to her window overlooking Sloane Street. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she says. The blood has separated like a B52 cocktail after being ‘centrifuged’, but I suppose it’s beautiful yes, in this blessed SW1 light. It’s being used for a ‘medical-grade facial’, the details of which I am given in a medical-grade lecture by Dr Zamani, a surgeon, and the kind of person who assumes everyone understands words like ‘telangiectasia’ (that’s dilatation of the capillaries to you and me).

We are in her office at the Cadogan Clinic in Knightsbridge and she’s wearing heels with her lab coat, a Patek Philippe watch and delicate sparkling jewellery. Her hair is in a neat pony, her skin polished stone. She looks years shy of 42 and I’m not surprised that her clientele includes celebrities such as Lily Allen, or that she holidays in St Barts with Wendi Deng, or that there’s a secret entrance to her office. If Ian Fleming or Roger Vadim imagined a female cosmetic doctor — she would be it.

I’m here because Dr Zamani (an oculoplastics — eye — surgeon ‘with an interest in aesthetic medicine’) is one of a new generation of cosmetic doctors. Dubbed the ‘Super Derms’, they are all united by the desire to rehabilitate the reputation of an industry seen as money-grabbing and misogynist. ‘Today we are less worried about wrinkles than quality of skin,’ she says, ‘and health.’

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