It's a man's world

No-one really knows what they want to be when they grow up. I'm sure at some point I wanted to be a pterodactyl. And besides, some of us never really grow up anyway, so where's the harm in having a dream? Unless you happen to live on Elm Street.

So I don't put too much stock in the fact that many of today's teenaged girls aspire to be like Cheryl Cole or Colleen Rooney. At least it's a step up from wanting to be Kerry Katona or Rebecca Loos. But apparently, this aspiration to be a WAG or a reality TV star is a symptom of a much bigger problem in society - a whole generation of young women is growing up without any worthwhile role models.

It's an issue that weighs heavily on the mind of Dr Linda Papadopoulos PhD, who's spent the last few years working with young girls and encouraging them to broaden their horizons. She laments the fact that Cheryl, Colleen and Katie Price are all cited by the teenagers she meets as 'inspirational'. In particular, she's troubled by the fact that, when asked about men that they admire, the same girls listed Barack Obama, David Beckham and Nelson Mandela.

Rather predictably, Papadopoulos is quick to blame celebrity culture for the fact that today's young women are willing to aim so low when asked to dream high. Writing on Huffington Post, she cites a six-year-old survey of a 1000 girls between 15 and 19, which found that "63 per cent considered 'glamour model' and 25 per cent 'lap dancer' their ideal profession from a list of choices including teacher and doctor." At first glance those seem like shocking statistics, but maybe the girls who were polled had an idea of how much they could earn as a lap-dancer, compare with an NQT's salary. We might thumb our noses at the idea of someone wanting to make their fortune in a strip club, but at least the only glass ceilings they're likely to encounter will be the mirrored kind.

In Linda's opinion, the media's obsession with appearance means that a woman's attractiveness (or lack thereof) supersedes any mention of their skills or accomplishments. As a consequence, we're telling young people that "if you want to succeed, bank on your looks and not your brain- be a WAG not a PhD'". But it's a little rich coming from a woman who's already earned her PhD, and has now pursued a second career on TV thanks to her photogenic appearance.

Equally, there's a bitter irony in the fact that she's willing to take pot shots at the same reality TV machine that put her on the box in the first place. Remember, young Linda was a regular feature on the weekly 'psychological insights' edition of Big Brother, back when people still thought it was a viable social experiment and not just a 24/7 screensaver full of attention-seeking misfits. I guess this is a case of having your cake, eating it, and then blaming the media for the fact that you're still counting the WeightWatchers points.

If today's schoolgirls are looking to emulate Cheryl and Colleen, maybe it's not such a bad thing. After all, the advent of university fees has made further education even less likely than the prospect of landing a drunk footballer for the majority of 16 year-olds. And Faces is a lot easier to get into than Oxbridge. It's also worth bearing in mind that not everyone has the desire, or the intellect, to pursue academic advancement - some people simply want a better lot in life. 

Of course, the media could still be doing more to publicise the great achievements that women are making in science, business and sport. Although I'd maybe exercise a little caution when it comes to the "young female activists" that Linda wants to see celebrated. Last time the press found such a cause célèbre, the 'activist' in question turned out to be a male, middle-aged post-graduate with a thing for Syrian lesbians.

I've always thought that feminism was a principle founded on the concept of freedom and equality for women. And that means affording them the opportunity to make their own choices about their future. Lecturing them from an ivory tower that they're too ignorant to even dream properly does no-one any favours. And it comes across as more than a little sexist. 

Put your foot down

American comedienne Rita Rudner once questioned why women wear scents that smell like floral garlands if they want to attract a man. Surely, she reasoned, parfumiers were missing a trick by not marketing a fragrance called 'new car smell'.

I don't care about the fact that I lose three grand every time I drive a new car off the forecourt, nothing beats the feeling of being the one to break in a shiny new toy. It's the same as buying a new build property - what you lose in terms of character and heritage, you gain by enjoying a shower that no-one's ever pissed in. In spite of all the extra expense involved, I want a car that smells of freshly moulded rubber and uncracked leather upholstery, not James May's Scotch egg farts and a past-its-best Feu Orange.

Just like estate agents, divorce lawyers and bald referees, used car salesmen are held in universally low regard. And it's a shame, because there are countless friendly and trustworthy professionals out there who enjoy nothing more than pairing their customers with a low cost runaround. Sadly, it also seems to be a trade which attracts more than its fair share of disreputable shits - men who'd sell their own grandmother with the promise of a complimentary wax and free floor mats.

These are the guys who make buying a second-hand car such an unpleasant, joyless experience. It's like contracting Josef Fritzl to erect your new conservatory. Sure, he probably knows what he's doing when it comes to home renovations, but you don't really want to hear his ideas about extending the basement.

Given their less than progressive world-view, I'm not too surprised to see that one used car dealer in the US has started comparing his pre-owned stock with potential sexual partners. Dale Wurfel knows that when a model looks good enough, you don't really care if someone else might have already splashed their Red Bull all over her dashboard.

Perhaps concerned that a picture of a sexually alluring woman with the line "You know you're not the first. But do you really care?" might seem a little, well, sexist, Wurfel's dealership has also offered up a male alternative. What's a little harder to understand, is why they chose a picture of fashion designer Tom Ford for the new ad. Are they trying to appeal to gay car buyers, or lonely, overweight women who are still clinging onto an impossible dream?

As analogies go, comparing sexual prospect with used cars is an interesting one, and opens up a world of possibilities. When it comes to checking out Exchange & Mart, you want to know there's still some tread on the tyres and plenty of space in the boot. Equally, you might investigate whether the airbags are factory fitted, or have been recently replaced. And what about the odometer? Does it tell the truth, or have the numbers been rolled back by an unscrupulous dealer?

Whether or not you approve of the ads, this is one campaign that could run and run. Personally, I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a picture of Madonna's boy-toy Jesus Luz, alongside that industry legend "One old lady owner."

But in the interests of safety, just bear in mind that you're not the only one getting comfortable in the driver's seat. You're also sharing it with everyone else who sat in it before you.

Baby got back (and front)

When dancer and actress Claudia Aderotimi died two months ago, she inadvertently reignited the debate about the portrayal of women in R&B and hip hop videos. She'd travelled to the US in search of bargain basement plastic surgery and ultimately got her wish. Not to mention an arse full of the kind of industrial grade silicon a window fitter might use to seal around a set of patio doors.

The tabloid response was predictably apoplectic. But they seemed less concerned with the tragic death of a 22 year-old, than they were with pinning the blame on an increasingly sexualised music genre. In covering the story, they quoted Claudia's associates verbatim, printing comments like "The problem was she didn't have no butt, and she wanted a butt. She went to audition for one video shoot wearing fake booty pants and she got all the attention. But when they found out it was fake she didn't get asked back." I don't know about you, but seeing words like 'booty' in the Daily Mail is a little like hearing your Grandma talk about felching. Much like the act itself, it just leaves an unpleasant taste in your mouth.

Concerns about the sexualisation of popular music are as old as the music itself. It's just that in the 1950s people were getting all worked up about the man from Memphis and his over-expressive pelvis. These days, they're more concerned with the endless parade of barely dressed women in urban music videos, strutting around in heels so sharp they should be surrendered in the next weapons amnesty. The girls in question aren't so much treated as sex objects, as items of occasional furniture - "Don't bother with a bra, just grab a couple of coasters so I've got somewhere to set down my bottle of Hennessy."

According to the foaming-at-the-mouth columnists, our kiddies are now foaming-at-the-crotch, thanks to the music videos that occasionally squeeze into the TV schedule, in-between back-to-back screenings of Jersey Shore or My Super Sweet 16. But although these commentators purport to be condemning the objectification of women, it's still the girls who bear the brunt. Sadly, there's still a gender double standard at play, one that apes the old sluts vs studs paradox that has dogged sexually independent women for decades.

It's bad enough that some women allow themselves to be exploited in order to showcase the extraordinary virility of male hip hop stars. But the real crime is committed by the female music artists who express themselves in similar terms. In the last twelve months, everyone from Shakira and Beyonce to Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj have been attacked for their overt sexuality and suggestive iconography - even though they're fully in control of their own image.

Unfortunately, all those arguments about post-feminism, gender identity and self-expression fly out of the window like a philandering boyfriend's wardrobe, when applied to the new video by rising star Lady. Displaying more arse cheeks than a proctology convention, this three and half minute masterpiece shows off a bevy of curvalicious hotties, all fresh from the midweek lunchtime line-up of your local strip club. They try on shoes, they drink blue pop from champagne flutes, and show off g-strings pulled high enough to give them a centre-parting.

And in the eye of this perfect storm, our magnificent heroine - a woman so confident in the potency of her own libido, that she feels compelled to warn the world that "this pussy be yankin'". Thankfully, we have Urban Dictionary on hand to explain that this means she's experiencing an "exceptional level of excitement and enjoyment." But then, why wouldn't she be excited? Especially since it looks as though her mates have splashed out on four bags of Cheetos for their big girls' night in. 

If you've ever watched an old Jerry Springer episode and wished one of those screeching women would put down a chair and pick up a lyric sheet, you're in luck. To paraphrase the jewel of Rochdale, Lisa Stansfield, Lady may not be a lady, but she's all woman. And that's enough to make anyone start yankin'. 

It's (still) a man's world

Blame it on the popularity of Downton Abbey and Upstairs Downstairs. The heady stew of crinoline and corsets has got people regressing back to the good old days, when men were men, and women had to leave the room to blow their nose. 

Whilst millions of people peered through their fingers at the depiction of a world where the 'help' had to ask permission to swoon in front of their employer, the editorial team at the Daily Mail was hanging out the celebratory bunting at the fond memories it brought back.  So perhaps we shouldn't be too surprised that this nostalgia for the way things used to be, has inspired them to ramp up their campaign for a return to old-fashioned values. 

Take women in the workplace for example. In the Mail's eyes, women serve two purposes - scribbling poisonously homophobic columns, or cleaning the offices once the journalists have gone to the bar. So they're delighted to discover that women don't really want to be working anyway. According to a new survey, they'd rather be raising kids, so that Mr Big can go out and earn the big bucks. 

Across the country Champagne corks are popping, as beleaguered bosses are realising that they can finally throw out all those diversity training handbooks. No need to worry about how many women hold a place on the board; they're happier cleaning up yellow shit. 

Let's all raise a glass to Dr Catherine Hakim, who's produced incontrovertible evidence that ladies have no business in the workplace. Her research on behalf of the Centre for Policy Studies shows that "men dominate the top positions because women simply do not want careers in business". Glad someone cleared that up. 

Instead, the majority of women prefer to "marry up", finding a husband who brings home a bigger pay packet. Rather shockingly, more women feel this way than in the 1940s. Although I'm not sure how many women would have dared to imagine that they might earn more than their partners 70 years ago. 

Dr Hakim states that "Research evidence consistently shows that most husbands are the main bread winners in their family and that most mothers would prefer not to have competing demands of family work and paid jobs." She would have said more, but she had to get home to put the dishwasher on. 

Political implications aside, this is yet another academic study designed to confirm what everybody already knows. Given the choice, I'm sure most people would be happy to keep the whisky decanter topped up, leaving the hard graft to their significant other. 

It's interesting that no-one seems to have conducted a similar study, asking how the husbands of major female breadwinners feel. I'm prepared to bet the keys to the executive washroom that they're perfectly happy hitting the golf course, leaving the Mrs to bring home the bacon. Hasn't anyone seen Mr Mom?