I suppose I should be busy banishing anything remotely stylish from my wardrobe. Out with those red plastic Vivienne Westwood shoes, the Matthew Williamson jacket and my latest acquisition – furry snow boots (so on-trend for autumn/winter, I think you’ll find).

You see, there I was, labouring under the misconception that I could look how I damn well pleased while I did an equal job to men for equal pay, whether I chose to wear a frumpy old Ethel Austin smock or a Balenciaga jacket. Silly me.

Following my piece on the latest Louboutin shoe craze to hit the city last week – leopard-print pony-skin pumps for men – an online comment from ‘Copy Cat’ seeks to put me firmly in my place. "Fashion and feminism," it quips. "I’ve always felt that the two were mutually exclusive… a bit like wearing a pair of Dr Martens with a feather boa".

Laugh? I nearly split my knock-off Roland Mouret dress at the seams. Not at the ever-so witty turn of phrase, but at the poor misguided sentiment behind it. The idea that wearing a sackcloth would better signal my feminist credentials as a fan of Germaine Greer is so last century, sweetie.

Truth is, fashion and feminism have been intertwined since Manchester’s own Emmeline Pankhurst first put on her sash to campaign for women’s votes. The Suffragettes’ wardrobe of green, white and violet (Give Women the Vote) was a way of wearing their militant credentials

with pride, transforming fashion into a force of women’s expression instead of repression.

It was Coco Chanel who banished that rib-crushing instrument of torture, the corset, in favour of loose-line dressing. In more lessons from history, let’s not forget the popularity of trousers for women in the war that coincided with an increasing range of jobs, the daring mini-skirts of the Sixties that symbolised women’s sexual liberation – or the shoulder-padded power suits of the Eighties that reflected the tough battle up the career ladder.

Clothes don’t just maketh the man – they are a way for women to declare their increasing independence. Fashion, darling, can be a force for feminism, not against it.

Luckily, as my mum will happily tell you, I have never been one to listen to other people’s opinions. So, while

I actually do think I could pull off the Dr Martens and feather boa look that Copy Cat jokes about with a certain flair and panache, I have got a better solution.

Why don’t I just carry on wearing what the hell I like – what the heck, I might even ask for my next pay rise in a pair of thigh-high Madonna-style boots, just because I can – and all you online critics can carry on hiding behind your not-so cool cloak of anonymity?

Because when I demand equal pay and equal footing to a man, I like to do it in style.

A detox should help to sort out this addiction

I’m not addicted to many things (except tequila and betting), but I am hooked on Facebook.

It’s online gossip without the inconvenience of actually speaking to people. And, for a nosy hack, that’s a powerful drug.

Now, though, forces are at work to take away the fun, with news that ‘reputation managers’ are cleaning up people’s online history.

No doubt my own online image is in need of a "detox". But, I figure, once those pics of me having my bum grappled by Trinny and Susannah have been out there, why worry?

Instead, I’m embarking on a different online purge. I’ve realised I can live without some people I haven’t seen since we wore shell suits and listened to Vanilla Ice (who wants to be reminded of that?).

So, here’s who is first against the wall in my Facebook deep cleanse – the next person to update about a cup of coffee, anyone who has ‘bought a sheep’ on Farmville, whoever posted those nativity play pics of me, and anyone who ‘chats’ to me online, but never comes out for a drink. Too dull.

Until then, one more click can’t hurt...

A poster girl to look up to

After all the fuss over female role models coming from the government’s equalities office, at last we have a poster girl who is really worth looking up to – Trafford AC athlete Jessica Ennis.

Forget the debate over aspiring to become anorexic models or curvaceous Mad Men types, I’d take Jessica’s toned, sweaty and beaming look after picking up her European heptathlon gold every time.

After personally finishing the Manchester 10k run with all the poise and grace of an asthmatic hippo, I’m full of admiration for our super fit local star. You see, I was pathetic at PE in school – dropping out of the cross country team when my best mate told me I sounded like her decrepit old dog.

It’s only in older years that I’ve realised the importance of being fit enough to run further than the summer sales. If Ennis – who looks set to become the face of London 2012 – can motivate more girls to get fit, then that would be an Olympic legacy worth striving for.

Tweet