Suppose, for a minute, that what we say all the time is really true: that God grants us everything--all our time, our talents, our bodies, everything we have (including our money).
Doesn't it make sense, then, that He might want an accounting of what we did with the gifts He gave us?
I can imagine sitting down with God and having to report (since you can't lie to Him): "Well, I didn't like the body you gave me, so I spent a lot of my money and time modifying that body to make it look a way that would get me a lot of worldly attention."
I think I would be embarrassed to say that.
God: "What did you do with that extra $5000 I blessed you with? Helped a poor man go on a mission? Helped pay for a temple in a remote place so families could be together forever? Got a father some education so he could support his small family? Saved for a mission in your retirement? Built up your food storage? Paid off your house? Helped a family keep their home? Went to school yourself? Developed your talents? Made a great artwork?"
His daughter: "Uh, no. I got a boob job. The ones you gave me weren't big enough."
God gave us life to experience--as a gift. And our culture lately seems anxious to skip experiencing the childhood part, and then the teenage part, in order to get to the adult part as quick as possible. And then, when we get there, we miss experiencing the adult part because we're too anxious trying to reclaim the parts we skipped--including by doing everything in our power to refuse to grow older (or at least refuse to look like we did).
Do I really want my children and grandchildren to get up at my funeral and say, "Well, she had great breasts when she was 40" or "You know, I can't think of anything lasting my mother accomplished, but she looked young and thin until the day she died, and you should have seen how thick her eyelashes were!"
Is anyone remembered from generation to generation because they looked 30 when they were 65?
Most of the people we revere, or even remember, are people who did great things for other people, people who had developed their talents, people who sacrificed, people who taught us wonderful things that have made us happy (and never have I heard someone say, "Oh, I will never forget my beehive teacher. She taught me how to put eyeliner on to make that cat-eye look."). Do we remember (or even CARE about) their bra size, makeup, skinny thighs, or the shape of their rear end or lips?
What a waste of the chance to experience life. We're missing it. Blink and it's gone, and then what do you have? Silicon implants that will even be there after the rest of your body decomposes. And I don't think that counts as immortality.