Ladies, you have my respect. So hopelessly uninformed am I in all fashion-related matters that were someone to say I was ‘à la mode’ friends would no doubt assume that they meant I come with ice cream. Quite a curious claim to make, but on occasion it’s been proven correct and, sadly, it remains more plausible than any dubious suggestion that I may have fashion nous. So how you negotiate the fashion minefield to decipher that, this season, it’s all about, say, shoulder pads, I will never know. Where I imagine ‘80s regurgitation you visualise flirtatious reinterpretation, but in the vast chasm that divides male and female rhyme and reason, women’s predilection for clothes and makeup is merely a drop in the ocean.

So, although I don’t entirely understand why women pine for Prada or crave Chanel I can accept it. It would be churlish of me, of all people, to question this season’s vogue for puce (does anyone even really know what that is – it doesn’t sound fashionable) instead of burgundy or to query the logic of spending €800 on a handbag to hold your €80 phone. I’m sure you have a multitude of sensible reasons. And on those occasions that they’re not immediately apparent, I seek comfort in the eternal truth of fashion’s ephemeral nature: this trend too will pass.

In women’s dedication to fashion there is, however, one curious trend that endures, completely questionable but seemingly impermeable. Just as women seek guidance through next season’s trends from regiments of fashion media, I am at a loss to how they simultaneously manage to endure such unrelenting, subtle personal assault. The shelves of my local newsagency groan and moan under the weight of magazines groaning and moaning about the weight of their (female) cover stars, with insidious headlines feigning concern at ‘traumatised’ celebrities who ‘pile on’ a couple of kilos or ‘distressed’ new mothers who ‘can’t shed’ their baby weight a month after giving birth. Within these glossy publications sections rate outfits out of ten and circle points of contention, with sweat patches, spots, wrinkles and other entirely natural features critiqued with complete derision.

Why do women so ravenously consume stories that denigrate other women and do they really regard them as newsworthy? I just can’t fathom why such an expansive market displays detrimental vigour in gulping down toxic fodder that berates other women. Is it possible for ‘normal’ women to read such corrosive assessments of beautiful and successful women and still be confident in their own appearance and content with themselves? Cajoled and chastised by acerbic fashion magazines, haughty trend websites and scathing style barometers, perhaps you’re battered into acquiescence, dismissing logic and nature to agree that a new mother’s main preoccupation should be to regain her figure, or that emerging ingénues should, indeed, ensure they maintain their prepubescent form. After all, designer dresses do drape better when unencumbered by superfluous folds of saggy flesh, like breasts and hips for example.

Having previously worked in the offices of magazines that produce such caustic content, I’m confused further. Orchestrating fashion shoots that rely heavily on unrepresentative models, skilled makeup artists, experienced stylists, professional photographers and copious airbrushing, the intelligent, eloquent women who work there know they’re promoting a physicality that, for the majority of their readers, is simply unachievable, while for the rest it is untenable. A friend who worked briefly at a world-renowned fashion magazine admitted that some members of staff would chew on cotton wool soaked in orange juice rather than eat lunch. She chose to leave that environment, but those who have remained don’t strike me as glamorous, rather they strike me as anorexics. To paraphrase their opinion on individuals they often feature, that’s so not a good look.

With even the women who knowingly perpetuate such a fallacy feeling compelled to sacrifice their health in order to adhere to its impossible restraints, it’s perhaps little wonder that appearance and fashion seems to be of such importance to women more generally. If, in these digital times, society can be seen to heavily influenced by the media, it’s fairly safe to say we’re only exposed to successful women if they’re also attractive. For actresses and musicians this is a fairly obvious statement, and pop stars like Kylie and Madonna are clear examples of women locked in futile effort to stave off the affects of ageing. 50-year-old Madonna may have superficially better skin and a more toned body than most women (and men) half her age, but, really, something’s not quite right if you feel compelled to allegedly spend three hours a day in the gym. She has three children (and wants a fourth)! She has a career! She had a husband! Where does she find the time? Perhaps, though, as she and her ilk become botoxed caricatures of their former beautiful selves, they will inadvertently highlight how fruitless this preoccupation with appearance is.

There are, however, more covert links made between female attractiveness and personal success. In April 2008 Britain’s Guardian newspaper included a report on journalists’ requests for female case subject studies to be physically attractive. Were these stories about aspiring models this would, perhaps, be entirely justifiable, but in the cases highlighted journalists were looking for women who had survived cancer or whose husbands had died at war. That women are expected to look sensational when recovering from a physically devastating, life-threatening illness or when grieving for their murdered spouse would definitely suggest you’re never allowed a day off from looking fabulous; I guess it’s no wonder women show a preoccupation with their appearance that eludes most men.

How entrenched society’s belief that physical beauty always accompanies female talent and success is perhaps most recently underscored through the case of Susan Boyle. A contestant on the UK television show Britain’s Got Talent, Susan is a somewhat plain-looking 47-year-old virgin and spinster, who was ridiculed before participating in the variety show where she silenced an incredulous crowd with her incredible voice. Her performance has become an internet phenomenon, generating tens of millions of views online, and sparking international commentary. And that commentary generally centres on the incongruity of a woman who wouldn’t generally be regarded as physically beautiful having an undeniably beautiful voice. We’ve been indoctrinated into finding that jolting, almost shocking, and that’s why her success is so inspirational to other ‘normal’ people, especially women. They have so rarely been exposed to someone like them who has achieved such recognition and adulation.

Susan’s surprise success suggests people are ready to embrace a less restrictive representation of beauty, but whether the media will act upon it remains to be seen. For the time being I’m personally grateful that men remain spared from the same pressures forced upon women, at least for now. In the same Guardian report, the deputy editor of Men’s Health – surely the most appearance-orientated of all magazines targeting men – confirmed that they don’t subject potential case studies to stringent criteria based on age and status before including them in the magazine, stating that they want the results they promote to be genuinely attainable. And it’s just as well we’re not subject to the same expectations. I know we’d crumble far more quickly than women were we perpetually told that nothing less than a six-pack was acceptable; or ordered that a fortnightly back-sack-and-crack wax was our social duty. Ladies, I don’t know how you put up with it, and if a preoccupation with shoes and handbags is the by-product of this relentless pressure, then that’s entirely understandable. You have my respect.