Liz Jones went to Turkey for dental treatment - was it worth it?

I’ve spent my life covering my mouth with my hand. There’s not one childhood photo where I’m smiling. When my second teeth came through, they were higgledy-piggledy. An orthodontist prescribed metal braces, plus teeny plastic bands to be secured around hooks to separate my teeth while I slept. Food got stuck. My mouth ached. No boy would dream of kissing me.

In my teens and twenties, I suffered from anorexia, which meant I subsisted on four apples a day, washed down with Diet Coke. My teeth enamel eroded. Back to having a hand in front of my mouth.

But, aged 40, by then a glossy magazine editor, I could afford to go to a dentist in Harley Street (fellow patients were Martine McCutcheon and the late Dame Maggie Smith), where my teeth top and bottom were filed to stubby points, veneers glued on top.

These were fine but now, 25 years later, they are chipped and discoloured, and due to overbrushing, my gums, well, ‘long in the teeth’ is an understatement. I am again loath to smile. I admire the teeth of Margot Robbie (among many, from Renée Zellweger to Meghan Markle). I feel I deserve better teeth. Younger teeth. Something that matches the rest of me, facelifted and Botoxed as I am.

A new set of teeth and renovated gums would cost me as much as £30,000 in Harley Street, whereas in Turkey I can get the same treatment for around a fifth of the price – a total of £6,173.

So, I head to Istanbul and Dentakay, where they assure me I will not emerge resembling Rylan Clark, liable to blind you at 50 paces.

"People always choose the brightest white," says my dentist, Ayça Özdemir, a prosthetist. "We try to make the mouth natural, but perfect." 

Dentakay, established in 2009 by Dr Gülay Akay, now has six clinics in Turkey, one in Mexico (convenient for Hollywood stars), one in Saudi Arabia, and a consulting office in London, where a CT scan helps dentists in Turkey to make a treatment plan. The mushrooming of clinics such as Dentakay is all part of a shift in how our teeth, and oral hygiene, are perceived. Looking after teeth is no longer seen as a chore, but as self-care. 

Mintel reports that in 2023, the oral health market jumped by almost 9% from 2022, with retail sales reaching more than £1 billion. And it’s not just about aesthetics: good teeth mean you eat better and are more sociable. I broke off my engagement largely because my fiancé lost his front teeth due to a lifetime of smoking. The click as he put in his dentures made any trace of libido shrink and die.

Turkey has now become synonymous with teeth. That’s because there’s a lack of NHS dentists in the UK (remember Valerie Holsworth, the pensioner who told Tony Blair she had to extract seven of her own teeth? 

Dentistry has become worse: in some areas, only 30% of English adults have seen a dentist in the past two years), while private care comes with high costs. Mindful of the all too obvious teeth on Love Island, I do my research before I set off.

I opt for Dentakay, which was named Best Dental Clinic in Europe in 2022 and was reassured by the fact it treated 7,000 UK patients in 2024.

On my first day in the clinic, a 3D X-ray tomography is taken of my skull. Next, an AI-assisted probe, a CAD/CAM, goes inside my mouth to make a digital impression. I’m shown the images on a big screen. A visit here is not for the faint-hearted. Remember Trinny and Susannah’s kaleidoscope of mirrors exposing victims’ cellulite? This is worse.

My teeth look hideous: stained, chipped, and those gums! I’ve always visited a hygienist, used the best products and a circular electric brush, but nothing has stemmed the tide of time.

I’m ashamed, but the shock means no matter the injections, drilling and scraping to come, it will be worth the pain.

Dr Özdemir (the team is reassuringly female; I have another prosthetist, Dr Cansın ÇelebiKüccük, consulting) will first remove all the fillings that are lurking, discoloured, in every molar. In the Sixties and Seventies, we knew nothing of floss or mouthwash. I was raised on nut pyramids and Walnut Whips while my mum, who lived through the war and raised seven children, was given a complete set of dentures aged 45.

She thought nothing of it, though our Labrador barked ferociously when she came home toothless, face collapsed, unable to recognise her.

Dr Özdemir will also remove the veneers on every incisor, leaving me with teeny stumps (when I pop to the loo during the three-hour drilling, I’m given a mask, as the sight would floor me).My teeth are deemed too thin for new veneers.

The prescription is 22 crowns (I pick zirconium, made entirely in white, chosen for durability and a natural look over porcelain, which is still available but has a dark interior that leaves a black seam). Once my new crowns are on, I will undergo a transplant to fix my receding gums. After much high-pitched whirring, my fillings and veneers are out.

I am sent to my hotel with plastic shields over the stumps. I’m sore, but not in pain. I can slurp only tepid lentil soup. On day two, I’m fitted with plastic crowns to establish the fit and look: the shape resembles my old teeth, but slightly rounder and bigger.

Next, what colour? I choose OM3, which isa natural white. After some time adjusting the fit and the bite, more photos (a plastic retractor exposes my mouth, so I resemble Wallace of Wallace & Gromit fame) and another digital impression is sent to the Dentakay lab, where technicians will make the final crowns.

To sum up, dentistry is highly advanced here, with the best schools. Of course, horror stories do emerge of some procedures that have gone badly wrong, with patients returning with cheap crowns applied as strips, not individual teeth, or suffering from infection. There is no regulatory body like the British Dental Association, so it’s important to do your research.

In terms of the cost, you need to factor in flights and hotel stays; my hotel, the Cevahir, is ‘dry’, which I found a bit depressing, so check before you book. And although it’s called ‘health tourism’,I was mostly too sore to go sightseeing or eat much beyond tepid lentil soup.

On day three, my real crowns are fitted. I send a selfie to a friend, who replies: "Wow.Perfect but natural!"

Not a single filling, stain or chip to be seen. More photos and measurements are taken, then the crowns go back to the lab for final adjustments.Two hours later, they are cemented in place.

After another hour, I have brand new teeth. I run my tongue over them and all is smooth.

Day four is a check-up and an impression is made for a mouth guard, which I must wear for three months when I sleep to prevent grinding – and I thought my new teeth would guarantee sex.

Day five, I have gum surgery. I’m right to be nervous. It’s the worst day. It takes three hours but feels like forever. I must not floss nor use my electric toothbrush on the stitched gums for two weeks, though I can use a soft manual brush, and a medicated mouthwash. I’m to return in six weeks to have the stitches removed.

How long will my new teeth last, and how do I look after them? I’m given a Waterpik, which is great for crowns, far gentler and more eco-friendly than flossing. I’m to place my circular electric head on each tooth and gum, never rubbing, and brush away from the gums. And no mouthwash containing alcohol. My new teeth should remain pristine for a decade. 

Today, I could sing a Whitney Houston ballad, and no one would go, "Eugh, fillings!" The look is so ‘me’ that I don’t feel like David Bowie, who ruined his street cred by making over his mouth. 

I keep staring at people’s mouths, wondering why they don’t fly to Istanbul. My Turkey teeth feel like an exotic pet I need to nurture. I’m inspired to look after the rest of me.