Breasts v Brains (Why Women Need Both)
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Here’s a question for the women in the audience...
When a man arrives at a party and scans the room for talent, does he:
a) Spot a mousy girl in the corner and think: "Hmmm...I bet she’s actually a genius with a major career. I’ll go and talk to her."
b) Notice the longest legs, the shortest dress, the most bountiful cleavage, and zoom in like a heat-seeking missile.
Oddly, a lot of women seem the think the correct answer is a. If that was the case, ladies, there would be pigs flying overhead.
The ugly truth is that it doesn’t matter if you have a PhD in Applied Mathematics, earn £500K, or manage a team of a hundred. As a woman you will be judged on how hot you are. You will never escape the duty to be partly ornamental. Unless, perhaps, you’re a nun.
This double requirement hit home when an acquaintance was complaining that she’d been single since the dawn of time. We were at a party where she distinguished herself by wearing sensible flats, mannish black trousers and a grey poloneck. Hair scraped back, no make-up, and a bra about as flatteringly engineered as an old blanket. The thing is, she is a nice looking woman - even in the librarian getup. Twenty minutes of hair and make-up and a quick wardrobe overhaul, and this girl could dazzle.
But she doesn’t. Because she has an MBA and a seriously grown-up job, she believes (or hopes) that alone is enough to impress a man. Which flatters men with a sophistication they don’t possess. Most of them admit that if a strumpet in three-inch heels and a sheer blouse happens to have an MBA, a mega job, or an IQ that’s off the scale, that’s a bonus. But it’s never a deal winner in its own right.
Men - even the smart, sensitive ones - are visual creatures. Sure, your amazing wit and intellect are what holds his attention, and are possibly even what he marries you for. But they’ll never turn his head in the first place. Maybe we should take solace in the knowledge that as women we’re not as fixated with visuals, that we’re above all that. (Now some would argue we’re more concerned with bank statements - but that’s another story.)
So if you can’t beat them, you may as well join them. And with hundreds of beautifying solutions out there, there’s no excuse to look like something the cat dragged in. As the cosmetics tycoon Helena Rubinstein said, "There are no ugly women, only lazy ones.”
Yes, it’s a bore to blow dry your hair, hit the gym, avoid carbs and wear murderous heels. And if you aspire to be a cat-owning spinster or a nun, then you can stay just as you are. Mixed with my pity will be more than a pinch of respect.
I’ll be using my chemistry knowledge to decipher the blurb on my new anti-ageing serum, and taking heart that lookers are more likely to get pay rises and promotions. No one said life was fair.
a) Spot a mousy girl in the corner and think: "Hmmm...I bet she’s actually a genius with a major career. I’ll go and talk to her."
b) Notice the longest legs, the shortest dress, the most bountiful cleavage, and zoom in like a heat-seeking missile.
Oddly, a lot of women seem the think the correct answer is a. If that was the case, ladies, there would be pigs flying overhead.
The ugly truth is that it doesn’t matter if you have a PhD in Applied Mathematics, earn £500K, or manage a team of a hundred. As a woman you will be judged on how hot you are. You will never escape the duty to be partly ornamental. Unless, perhaps, you’re a nun.
This double requirement hit home when an acquaintance was complaining that she’d been single since the dawn of time. We were at a party where she distinguished herself by wearing sensible flats, mannish black trousers and a grey poloneck. Hair scraped back, no make-up, and a bra about as flatteringly engineered as an old blanket. The thing is, she is a nice looking woman - even in the librarian getup. Twenty minutes of hair and make-up and a quick wardrobe overhaul, and this girl could dazzle.
But she doesn’t. Because she has an MBA and a seriously grown-up job, she believes (or hopes) that alone is enough to impress a man. Which flatters men with a sophistication they don’t possess. Most of them admit that if a strumpet in three-inch heels and a sheer blouse happens to have an MBA, a mega job, or an IQ that’s off the scale, that’s a bonus. But it’s never a deal winner in its own right.
Men - even the smart, sensitive ones - are visual creatures. Sure, your amazing wit and intellect are what holds his attention, and are possibly even what he marries you for. But they’ll never turn his head in the first place. Maybe we should take solace in the knowledge that as women we’re not as fixated with visuals, that we’re above all that. (Now some would argue we’re more concerned with bank statements - but that’s another story.)
So if you can’t beat them, you may as well join them. And with hundreds of beautifying solutions out there, there’s no excuse to look like something the cat dragged in. As the cosmetics tycoon Helena Rubinstein said, "There are no ugly women, only lazy ones.”
Yes, it’s a bore to blow dry your hair, hit the gym, avoid carbs and wear murderous heels. And if you aspire to be a cat-owning spinster or a nun, then you can stay just as you are. Mixed with my pity will be more than a pinch of respect.
I’ll be using my chemistry knowledge to decipher the blurb on my new anti-ageing serum, and taking heart that lookers are more likely to get pay rises and promotions. No one said life was fair.
Here Is The Writer : Alice in Numberland
By day Alice crunches numbers at a banking colossus in Canary Wharf, and by night she devotes her time to studying the strange behaviours of the male species. In between she expands her collection of Agent Provocateur and runs marathons. Tell her what you think about dating in the City.
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