Barring admission to medical school or catastrophic injury, most of us will go our whole lives without much contemplating the grisly framework that enables and constrains our bodily movement. This is for the best.

It is alarming to understand oneself as a heavy, precarious pile of discrete muscles adhering to bones and skin, performing rote motions with little to no supervision — rather than as a person with ideas.

But what if, in exchange for subjecting yourself to that existential reckoning, for 285 American dollars plus tip, you could have zhuzhed cheeks and a temporary glow? Would you dare?

For an increasing number of Brooklyn residents for whom any price is a small price to pay for any good or service, the answer is a radiant yes.