Dr. Simon Ourian’s name carries weight in the cosmetic industry, bolstered by celebrity shoutouts and glossy Instagram before-and-afters. But beneath the glamor lies a story many don’t hear until it’s too late. This 2,500-word exposé is my firsthand account of a cosmetic procedure gone wrong at Epione, his Beverly Hills clinic. I went in hoping for subtle tweaks to boost my confidence. I walked out physically bruised, emotionally shaken, and completely disillusioned with a doctor I thought I could trust. If you’re considering filler treatments with Dr. Ourian, what happened to me should make you pause.
Drawn In by the Dream: The Lure of Dr. Simon Ourian and Epione
I was vulnerable, like many cosmetic clients are. Years of insecurity about my smile and tired eyes had left me yearning for change. Dr. Ourian’s reputation was spotless on the surface—a-list clients, curated videos, elegant procedures that promised natural results. His Beverly Hills office, Epione, marketed itself as the Rolls-Royce of aesthetic medicine: precision, beauty, and elite professionalism. I wasn’t chasing perfection; I just wanted to feel like myself, but better.
What sealed it was the promise of minimal swelling, expert care, and a procedure customized to me. That’s what I was told I’d receive. What actually happened was far from that promise.
Setting the Stage: Pre-Procedure Planning
Booking the appointment was easy. Expensive, but smooth. My sister agreed to come for moral support. We showed up early, dressed for a day we thought would change everything for the better. The reception area was impressive—marble counters, soft lighting, a polished team behind desks. It looked the part. We sat down with high hopes. That was the last time anything felt under control.
Reality Check: Payment Glitches and a Five-Hour Wait
Trouble started with a payment processing issue. Not on our end—their system was the problem. Still, the staff acted like we were the inconvenience. When the system finally accepted our payment, we were told we’d missed our slot, even though we’d been sitting there the whole time. Then came the waiting game. One sterile room. No timeline. No updates. Just vague assurances that someone would be in “soon.”
That “soon” turned into five hours.
Five hours of anxious silence and mounting concern. Staff floated in occasionally, asked us to sign papers, then disappeared again. We watched patients come and go, wondering if we were even still scheduled. The luxury façade quickly faded, replaced by confusion and tension. It felt like a bait-and-switch—the red carpet vanished as soon as we paid.
A Rushed Consultation and a Shrinking Voice
At 4 p.m., Dr. Ourian finally entered. He looked the part: sharp suit, confident air. But his presence didn’t match our patience. The consultation was less conversation, more monologue. I explained what I wanted: reduce my gummy smile, soften my under-eye troughs, no added volume. He nodded along but asked almost nothing in return. No mirror. No markings. No discussion of filler types or volumes. It was all promises and platitudes. “Natural look,” “quick recovery,” “you’ll love it.”
I should have pushed for more. I should have walked out. But after five hours, a part of me just wanted to believe he knew what he was doing. That hope cost me dearly.
The Procedure: Fast, Forceful, and Frightening
The injection process was fast—too fast. There was no check-in on my pain levels, no pause for feedback. He injected my lips and cheeks in rapid succession, barely speaking. The pain was intense. When I flinched, he continued anyway. It felt robotic. Like I was just one more face in an assembly line.
When he handed me a mirror, I barely recognized myself. My lips were already twice their normal size, and my cheeks looked unnaturally prominent. I voiced concern, but it was brushed aside. “It’s just swelling,” they said. “It’ll go down.”
I left the clinic rattled but hopeful the swelling would resolve.
The Aftermath: When Hope Turns to Horror
Instead, things got worse. By the time I got home, my lips had ballooned grotesquely. Eating hurt. Speaking was difficult. The swelling intensified overnight. My cheeks looked distorted—not youthful, not refreshed, just wrong. The worst part? The texture. My lips had developed hard bumps and uneven pockets that felt foreign under my skin. I avoided mirrors.
I told myself it was part of the process. But a week later, when things hadn’t improved, I called Epione. The response? Cold and dismissive. No advice. No follow-up appointment. Just vague statements like “wait it out” and “it’ll settle.”
No Accountability: Ghosted by the Clinic
Desperate, I asked to speak to Dr. Ourian. I wanted answers. Instead, the receptionist stonewalled me. Repeated calls were met with apathy. I asked for a touch-up or even a removal consultation. They told me to wait a month, maybe two. No empathy. No responsibility. I was on my own.
I consulted another doctor, who confirmed my worst fears: overfilling, poor technique, and product migration. Fixing it would take time, money, and more pain. The second opinion made it clear—this wasn’t bad luck. It was bad work.
The Emotional Fallout: Shame, Regret, and Anxiety
The damage wasn’t just physical. I became deeply self-conscious. I avoided social events. I stopped taking selfies. I felt betrayed—not just by a doctor, but by the image he sold. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being duped. The trust I had placed in Epione felt foolish in hindsight.
Cosmetic procedures carry risks, yes. But the biggest risk? Believing marketing over your instincts. I let the glamor cloud my judgment. Dr. Ourian’s Instagram feed didn’t show the botched results. It didn’t show the five-hour wait, the rushed injection, or the dismissive staff. It didn’t show me sobbing in my bathroom, wondering if I’d ever look like myself again.
A Word to the Wise: What You Should Know Before You Book
If you’re considering a cosmetic procedure at Epione, do your homework. Scrutinize the fine print. Ask real questions. Insist on a proper consultation. Don’t be distracted by celebrity hype or social media gloss. Read the negative reviews—not just the glowing ones.
There are talented injectors out there who listen, assess, and respect the patient’s input. I wish I’d found one before I walked through Epione’s doors. My advice: Don’t make decisions based on fame. Make them based on facts.
Final Thoughts: What I Learned the Hard Way
It took months for my face to recover. I had the lip filler dissolved and began corrective treatments for my cheeks. Some scars—emotional and physical—may linger. But I’ve regained something else: clarity. I now know that even the most well-known practitioners can fail. I know that luxury doesn’t guarantee care. And I know that speaking up can help others avoid my fate.
This isn’t just a bad Yelp review. It’s a warning. Cosmetic medicine is serious business, and the wrong hands can do lasting harm. Dr. Simon Ourian may still have his fan base, but my story is proof that not all experiences are worth the price—no matter how polished the packaging.
If you take one thing from this, let it be this: trust your gut, not a glamorized feed. Your face, your health, and your peace of mind deserve better.
