Simon Cowell’s looks have been under intense scrutiny in recent years – none more so than from the man himself, it seems.

In his most honest and open admission yet, 66-year-old Simon has divulged all on his love of cosmetic procedures, revealed what he’s really had done, and shared why he’s making some big changes…

Simon’s looks have changed over the years as he’s transformed his health (Credit: Splash News)

Has Simon Cowell had Botox and filler?

In a recent interview with the Mail, Simon confirmed he has had work done — but denies ever having a facelift.

“I have heard certain things about how I’ve had a facelift. I haven’t. I’ve had Botox. I’ve had lasers and this and that. I look at myself sometimes and go: ‘Oh God, I look [bleep]. Sometimes I think I look okay. I’m more about is it real? I guess that authenticity was my main thing.”

He added in an interview with The Sun that he has had “thousands” of units of Botox over the years – but later admitted that he’s had his filler removed. “One day I saw a picture of myself and thought, oh God, I look like a real weirdo. So I had everything dissolved.”

Another factor in this decision was his son Eric, who he says went into “hysterics” over his filler use. “Enough was enough,” he said in a 2022 interview with The Sun. “There is no filler in my face at all now. Zero.” Simon has previously admitted looking at pictures and not liking his “puffy” appearance.

Simon hasn’t had a gastric band — but he does have a metal ring in his stomach (Credit: Splash News)

Simon on his more unusual treatments

Back in 2018, Simon admitted to having a £2,000 thread lift, which is a non-surgical procedure that involves sewing a thread into your face and then pulling it to tighten the skin.

“There’s lots of things you can do now. You don’t just have to stuff your face with filler and Botox,” he told the The Sun at the time. “It hurts like hell, but it gets rid of sun damage and unplugs all the [bleep].”

He also told The Sun that he has had a LINX band put in. Used for chronic acid reflux, a LINX band is a band with titanium beads and magnetic cores, according to the NHS. The band, which is placed just above the stomach, separates when you eat to allow food in, but the magnetic force holds the band together to prevent stomach acid from travelling up the oesophagus.

Most recently, however, Simon has hit headlines after sharing that he had a blood filtering treatment. “I go to this place, this wellness clinic, where they actually take your blood, they rinse it, they filter it and then they put it back into your body,” he told The Sun.

The X Factor boss is into his fitness these days and does intermittent fasting (Credit: Splash News)

What does Simon Cowell eat in a day?

Simon, who has lost three stone, also revealed that he now eats less than 1,000 calories a day. He said that he previously had “the diet of a schoolboy”, with a dietician noting that it was the “worst diet he had ever seen”. As a result, Simon shared that he has cut out sugar, dairy, red meat and gluten.

He revealed that for breakfast, he has a “green, protein smoothie with some fruits, a lot of blueberries, porridge and tea”. Lunch is “half a hot cross bun”. He then eats dinner at around 4.30pm, fasting till he wakes up at 9.30am the next day.

In his new Netflix documentary, The Next Act, Simon announces that he’s going to have half a crumpet for lunch, prepared by his chef. Looking at parter Lauren’s plate of salad, he said: “This is how differently we eat.”

As he buttered his crumpet, he added: “I have to eat half of this now and the other half for dinner.” “I’m so sorry,” Laura sighs in response. “I’m so sad for you.”

Simon had a metal rod put in his back (Credit: Splash News)

Simon’s sad reason for his health kick

In 2020, Simon got very close to being paralysed after falling from his electric bike at home. He broke his back in three places. Speaking to Elizabeth Day on her How To Fail podcast, he admitted that he “could have died”, while his surgeon feared that he’d never walk again.

The incident led to Simon having a number of medical procedures. One included putting a metal rod up his back. “He showed me the X-ray and he said: ‘Look, I’m not going to lie, Simon, I don’t know if I can fix this, which means you probably won’t walk and secondly, the operation could take 11 hours,’” he said.

“They said the obvious – it could go wrong – and all I could think about was my family and everything. In that moment you kind of realise the most important thing is your health and don’t do stupid things.”

He described the recovery process as a “wake-up call”.

 “It kind of happened for a reason because I thought I was fit but then when I had to do all the physio after, just walking, they make you walk very quickly, I pretty much couldn’t move and then I started to walk a lot and thought, oh God, I was in a really bad place,” he added.

As revealed in his documentary, Simon now follows a strict exercise regime as well as his diet, with reports that he does up to 600 push-ups per day.

“Honestly, if I could rewind, I would have gone through the whole thing again,” he concluded. “Just because I feel better now. Yeah, even though it hurt like hell at the time.”

Simon Cowell has been one of the most recognizable figures in global entertainment for decades. From his sharp suits and blunt critiques to his unmistakable facial expressions behind the judging desk, his image became inseparable from his public persona. Yet in recent years, audiences began to notice a visible change in his appearance. His face looked different—smoother, tighter, at times almost unfamiliar—and speculation quickly followed. Rumors, jokes, and criticism spread across social media and tabloids, often lacking empathy or context. What many did not realize was that behind this changing look lay a far more personal and sad story than simple vanity or celebrity excess.

For years, Simon Cowell was known for his unapologetic confidence. He built a career on saying exactly what he thought, regardless of how it landed. That confidence extended to how he presented himself. He never seemed particularly concerned with trends or public approval when it came to his appearance. His style was consistent, his grooming minimal, and his focus firmly on the talent in front of him rather than on how he himself looked. That consistency made the later changes all the more noticeable and, for some, confusing.

As public discussion intensified, Simon eventually chose to address the speculation directly. In doing so, he revealed that the motivation behind his cosmetic procedures was not rooted in ego or a desire to chase youth, but in something far more human: insecurity shaped by relentless scrutiny and personal emotional struggles. Years of harsh commentary—both given and received—had left their mark in ways that went beyond what cameras could capture.

Simon admitted that at one point, he did not recognize himself, not just physically but emotionally. The constant focus on his face, his aging, and his expressions became overwhelming. Headlines dissected every wrinkle and every perceived change with cruel precision. Jokes circulated widely, often dehumanizing him and reducing a complex individual to a punchline. Over time, that noise seeped in, eroding the self-assurance he once took for granted.

There was also the pressure of longevity in the entertainment industry. Simon has been in the public eye for more than two decades, a rare feat in a business that thrives on novelty. With that longevity comes an unspoken expectation to remain visually “relevant,” even as the body naturally changes with age. For someone whose career depends heavily on television appearances, where the camera captures every angle and expression, that pressure can become suffocating.

Simon revealed that his initial decision to explore cosmetic procedures came from a place of vulnerability. He wanted to feel more confident on camera, to quiet the internal voice that questioned how he was being perceived. What began as a small intervention gradually escalated, partly because of dissatisfaction and partly because of fear—fear of aging visibly, fear of losing control, and fear of becoming irrelevant in an industry that rarely shows mercy.

The sadness in his story lies not just in the procedures themselves, but in the environment that made him feel they were necessary. Society often treats aging as a flaw, particularly in the public eye. While women have long borne the brunt of this pressure, Simon’s experience highlights how men are not immune. The expectation to look youthful, energetic, and unchanged can distort self-image, even for someone as powerful and successful as him.

Simon later admitted that he went too far. Looking back at photographs of himself during that period, he said he felt shocked and, at times, regretful. He acknowledged that he no longer looked like himself and that the procedures did not bring the peace or confidence he had hoped for. Instead, they became a reminder of how deeply external opinions had affected him.

There was a moment of reckoning when Simon realized that his appearance had become a source of distraction rather than reassurance. Instead of feeling better, he felt increasingly uncomfortable, aware that people were focusing more on how he looked than on what he said or did. That realization was painful, forcing him to confront the emotional toll of trying to meet impossible standards.

In speaking openly about this, Simon displayed a level of vulnerability rarely associated with his tough, no-nonsense image. He admitted to feeling embarrassed, even ashamed, that he had allowed himself to be pushed so far by external judgment. That honesty reframed the narrative around his changing appearance, shifting it from ridicule to reflection.

The sadness also extends to the broader cultural context. Simon’s experience is a symptom of a media environment that thrives on scrutiny and cruelty. Public figures are often stripped of complexity, their insecurities exploited for entertainment. The same culture that celebrates success is quick to mock vulnerability, creating a cycle that leaves little room for authenticity.

Simon has since taken steps to reverse some of the changes and has spoken about embracing a more natural appearance. This decision was not just cosmetic, but emotional. It represented a reclaiming of self, a refusal to let fear dictate his choices any longer. He spoke about wanting his young son to see him as confident and comfortable in his own skin, not driven by anxiety over appearance.

Fatherhood played a significant role in this shift. Becoming a parent changed Simon’s perspective on what truly matters. He began to question the messages he was unintentionally reinforcing—not just to his audience, but to his child. The idea that worth could be tied to looking a certain way became deeply troubling to him.

There is a quiet sadness in realizing that even immense success does not shield someone from insecurity. Simon Cowell has achieved what many only dream of—wealth, influence, and global recognition—yet still found himself struggling with self-image. His story dismantles the myth that confidence is a permanent state, showing instead that it is something that must be protected and nurtured.

His openness also sparked conversations about mental health and self-esteem, particularly among men who often feel discouraged from expressing vulnerability. Simon’s admission that he was affected by comments and criticism challenged outdated notions of masculinity, offering permission for others to acknowledge their own struggles without shame.

The public response to his honesty was mixed but telling. While some continued to mock, many expressed newfound empathy. People began to see the human cost of constant judgment and to reflect on how casually they participate in it. For some, Simon’s story became a moment of self-awareness, prompting questions about compassion in public discourse.

From a broader perspective, his experience highlights how cosmetic procedures are often misunderstood. They are not always about vanity; sometimes they are about coping. While they can provide temporary relief, they rarely address the deeper emotional wounds driving the desire for change. Simon’s regret underscores the importance of addressing those roots rather than focusing solely on surface solutions.

There is also sadness in the realization that fame can distort self-perception. When your image is constantly reflected back at you through headlines, photos, and commentary, it becomes difficult to separate who you are from how you are seen. Simon’s changing look became a battleground between his internal identity and external expectations.

In recent years, Simon has appeared more at ease, both physically and emotionally. His features have softened in a more natural way, and his demeanor seems calmer, less guarded. He has spoken about prioritizing health, balance, and authenticity over appearance, signaling a shift not just in how he looks, but in how he lives.

This evolution feels significant because it represents growth rather than retreat. Simon did not simply abandon the conversation; he engaged with it, learned from it, and emerged with greater self-awareness. That process, though painful, reflects resilience and maturity.

The sadness behind his changing look is not a single moment, but a gradual accumulation of pressure, criticism, and self-doubt. It is a reminder that harm does not always come from dramatic events; sometimes it comes from years of small, repeated judgments that slowly erode confidence.

Simon’s story also invites reflection on how society treats aging. The fear of growing older is deeply ingrained, fueled by industries that profit from insecurity. By speaking out, Simon inadvertently challenged those narratives, showing that acceptance, while difficult, can be far more liberating than resistance.

There is poignancy in the fact that someone who built a career on judging others had to confront the impact of judgment on himself. This irony adds depth to his story, transforming it into something almost poetic. It is a full-circle moment that humanizes him in unexpected ways.

As time goes on, Simon Cowell’s changing appearance may fade from public fascination, replaced by new headlines and new faces. What will remain, however, is the truth he shared: that behind every visible change is an invisible story. His willingness to tell that story adds nuance to conversations about fame, self-image, and compassion.

Ultimately, the sadness lies not in the cosmetic procedures themselves, but in the pain that motivated them. Simon Cowell’s experience serves as a reminder that empathy should come before judgment, especially in a world so quick to comment on appearances. His story is not about regret alone, but about learning, healing, and choosing self-acceptance after a long struggle.

In revealing the truth behind his changing look, Simon offered more than an explanation—he offered a lesson. A lesson about the cost of constant scrutiny, the fragility of confidence, and the importance of kindness, both toward others and toward ourselves.

As the conversation around Simon Cowell’s appearance slowly shifted from mockery to meaning, what emerged was not a story about cosmetic procedures, but a deeply emotional narrative about visibility, vulnerability, and the quiet damage of constant judgment. Beneath the headlines and altered features was a man grappling with something far more complex than aging on camera. He was confronting the erosion of self-trust that can occur when the world feels entitled to comment on every line of your face, every perceived flaw, every sign that time has passed.

There is a particular loneliness that comes with being endlessly seen yet rarely understood. Simon Cowell has spent most of his adult life under bright studio lights, his expressions magnified, replayed, frozen into still images, and circulated without mercy. Over time, that exposure can distort even the strongest sense of self. When your face becomes a public commodity, it is no longer just yours. It becomes something others feel free to critique, ridicule, and reshape with words that linger far longer than they should.

What makes Simon’s story especially poignant is that he did not initially recognize how deeply the commentary was affecting him. Like many people, he believed he was immune. He told himself that he had heard worse, that he had dished out harsher criticism himself, that he was strong enough to brush it off. But emotional wear rarely announces itself loudly. It accumulates quietly, settling into the subconscious, reshaping thoughts, eroding confidence inch by inch until one day you no longer recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror.

When Simon spoke about feeling unrecognizable to himself, it was not just a reference to altered facial features. It was an admission of emotional dislocation. The procedures were an external manifestation of an internal struggle — a desire to regain control in a world that constantly scrutinized him. In that sense, the changes were not about becoming someone new, but about trying desperately not to disappear.

There is a sadness in realizing that the pursuit of confidence led him further away from it. Each attempt to “fix” something on the outside carried the hope that it would quiet the noise inside. But the relief never lasted. Instead, it deepened the disconnect, reinforcing the idea that something about him was fundamentally wrong or insufficient. This cycle is painfully familiar to many, famous or not, who chase external validation as a way to soothe internal discomfort.

Simon’s eventual regret was not rooted in shame about having cosmetic work done, but in grief over why he felt compelled to do it. He recognized that he had allowed the loudest, cruelest voices to carry more weight than his own. That realization can be devastating — understanding that the harm was not just inflicted by others, but enabled by self-doubt that had quietly taken hold.

What gives this story emotional depth is the moment of awakening that followed. Simon did not simply wake up one day and decide to undo everything. The shift was gradual, shaped by reflection, fatigue, and a growing awareness of what truly mattered. He began to understand that no amount of alteration could protect him from criticism, because criticism was never really about his face. It was about a culture that feeds on tearing down what it once elevated.

Fatherhood played a profound role in this reckoning. Seeing himself through the eyes of his child forced Simon to confront uncomfortable truths. Children absorb far more than we realize — not just words, but attitudes, anxieties, and unspoken beliefs. The idea that his son might grow up believing self-worth was tied to appearance was deeply unsettling. It reframed everything. Suddenly, the question was no longer “How do I look?” but “What am I teaching by example?”

That shift marked the beginning of a quieter, more meaningful transformation. Instead of fighting aging, Simon began to accept it as evidence of survival, experience, and growth. Acceptance did not come easily. It required unlearning years of internalized pressure and confronting the fear that relevance fades with youth. But in embracing a more natural appearance, he reclaimed something far more valuable than control over his image — he reclaimed agency over his identity.

There is something profoundly human in this journey. Simon Cowell, often perceived as untouchable, revealed that success does not insulate against insecurity. If anything, it can magnify it. The higher you rise, the more visible your vulnerabilities become. His story dismantles the illusion that confidence, once achieved, is permanent. Instead, it shows that confidence must be continually defended against shame, comparison, and unrealistic standards.

Emotionally, the saddest aspect of this story is not the procedures themselves, but the realization that kindness might have prevented them. A kinder media landscape. Kinder commentary. Kinder self-talk. The absence of empathy created a vacuum that fear rushed to fill. Simon’s openness exposes how casually society participates in harm, often without recognizing the cumulative impact of words typed in passing.

There is also a quiet grief in recognizing lost time — time spent worrying about appearance instead of presence, time spent trying to conform instead of simply being. Simon has hinted at this regret not with bitterness, but with reflection. He understands now that the energy poured into fighting natural change could have been spent elsewhere, nurturing peace rather than resistance.

As he speaks today, there is a noticeable softness in his tone. The sharpness remains — it is part of who he is — but it is tempered by self-awareness. He no longer speaks from a place of armor, but from experience. That shift has subtly changed how he is perceived, not as someone weakened by vulnerability, but strengthened by it.

This evolution matters because it challenges deeply ingrained ideas about masculinity and emotional expression. Men, particularly powerful men, are rarely encouraged to admit insecurity. Simon’s honesty disrupts that narrative. It suggests that acknowledging pain does not diminish authority — it humanizes it. And in doing so, it opens space for others to speak honestly about their own struggles without fear of ridicule.

The sadness behind Simon Cowell’s changing look ultimately reveals a universal truth: we all carry invisible battles shaped by how we are seen. Fame simply magnifies what already exists. The desire to be accepted, to be valued, to remain relevant — these are not celebrity problems. They are human ones.

What makes Simon’s story resonate is that it does not end in self-pity, but in self-compassion. He does not condemn his past choices; he contextualizes them. He understands now that they came from a place of hurt, not weakness. That understanding allows healing to begin, not by erasing the past, but by integrating it.

There is something deeply moving about watching someone step out of a defensive posture and into acceptance. It is quieter than reinvention, less dramatic than rebellion, but far more sustainable. Simon’s changing look has slowed, softened, and settled — not because he gave up, but because he let go.

As public attention inevitably moves on, this story leaves behind an emotional echo. It asks uncomfortable questions about how we consume images, how quickly we judge, and how rarely we consider the inner lives of those we scrutinize. It challenges us to pause before commenting, before laughing, before reducing someone to their appearance.

In the end, the truth Simon revealed was not just about cosmetic procedures. It was about pain seeking relief, insecurity seeking reassurance, and a man learning — later than he might have wished — that peace cannot be injected, sculpted, or forced. It must be cultivated from within.

The sadness is real, but so is the growth. And perhaps that is what gives this story its quiet power. It reminds us that even after years of misunderstanding ourselves, it is still possible to return. To soften. To forgive. To choose acceptance over fear.

Simon Cowell’s face may have changed, but what matters more is that his relationship with himself has changed too. And in that transformation lies something far more meaningful than appearance: the courage to be seen as you are, not as the world demands you to be.