We’ve seen them on TV – these Real or Desperate Housewives, and I’ve observed a similar troop of NHMs (Notting Hill Mummies) where I live in West London, but the type isn’t purely metropolitan: they exist in every posh postcode in Britain. We’re all aware of those size-zero über-mums who bake and run apple-pie homes, whose special children attend music school each Saturday because they’re so gifted and talented.
I admire the energy such women put into what sociologists call ‘intensive mothering’ but I can’t be doing with the Forth Bridge-type rolling maintenance programme of the female face and flesh that being a super-yummy-mummy also demands. Like Mrs Prada, I’ve always felt there are far more interesting things to DO in your own right than perfecting yourself, your children, or your home.
Even worse, I was shocked to hear that members of Wednesday Martin’s tribe of moms are actually in receipt of a chunky ‘wife bonus’ (I am not making this up) doled out by the silverback hubby, depending on their performance over the year. Yes, high-achieving alpha wives are allocated a juicy honorarium based on how well they manage the home budget, say, or whether the kid got into the right nursery, as if they work for their own husbands – and this is the key point – rather than bringing home any bacon themselves.
I find this troublesome. Access to your husband’s money might feel good, says Martin. ‘But it can’t buy you the power you get by being the one who earns, hunts or gathers it’.
Kill me for saying so, but I agree with Martin: the status of non-laying hens – wives who don’t work because they can afford not to, thank you very much – is lower than ones who do.
They also run that terrible risk of sitting next to a man at a dinner party who asks, after you’ve both talked about him for two hours: ‘So do you do anything or are you just a mum?’
OBVIOUSLY, the tribe that Martin is talking about here are trophy wives in Manhattan and therefore financially ‘lucky’ enough (though I don’t envy them their high-end, high-stress household arrangements subject to year-end assessment by their own husbands) to be able to choose not to work outside the home.
Such women do tons (they are always exhausted anyway) but the problem is, none of what they do is, shall we say, monetised. So while their husbands are being rewarded for their pains, they are giving away their time and expensively acquired skills, their human capital, for free. ‘Economic dependency on their husbands kept many of the women I knew awake at night,’ says Martin.
Which leads us to a depressing conclusion. The reason why Glam SAHMs and our Yummy Mummies here are hamster-wheeling between beauty treatments and Pilates is not vanity or self-obsession, but fear and insecurity.
For they think if they stay thin and pert enough then this will be a hedge against their husband leaving them.
They think that if they are skinny and smooth-skinned, and the kids ‘score Asian’ (that’s New York slang for top grades) they’ll never end up alone and having to support themselves.
They’re wrong. A man is not a plan. And your face is your fortune for only so long.
The best advice I can give? On your bikes, Glam SAHMS, and get out there and stuck in – and then you can have lovers till you’re 100 even if you look like a cake left out in the rain.
Those Gauls got it right - high heels DO mean high standards

Emily Blunt following the high-heels-only rule on the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival
Thierry Frémaux, director of the Cannes Film Festival, has denied an accusation from actress Emily Blunt that there is a high-heels-only rule on the red carpet, as attempts to force several female festival-goers with ‘medical conditions’ into teetering heels has gone viral, and not in a good way.
I don’t see why women should wear high heels if they don’t want to, but I’m secretly quite impressed by Gallic defiance of political correctness when it comes to dressing, especially when you think that people wear unsightly loungewear even to the theatre now. 
I salute the festival’s insistence on high standards and heels.
PS: At the amfAR ball in Cannes, Fergie’s snapped in a clinch with Paris Hilton. 
Fergie is in fine fettle in red, but somehow the Duchess and former Royal Highness makes Miss Hilton in a barely there gown of cascading lilac ruffles look like the full Disney princess.
My last child is about to leave school so I’m trying to think of something useful to pass on. One, your children will never thank you for the things you do, the times you show up, pick them up, watch them play rugby in the rain, but will resent the things you don’t do. And two, get rid of phones in schools. 
Academics from the LSE have concluded what we all knew – that children do better when parted from them. 
As someone who needs the Freedom app (which allows you to concentrate by turning off your internet) to write a sentence, I know how distracting and even dangerous tech can be. Mobiles should be handed in – like guns in the US – at the school gates.
Overheard on the Commons terrace last week, as wheels continue to come off the political party leadership contests and people resign and unresign, and declare themselves candidates only to withdraw days later, fire themselves then refuse to go, etc. 
One recently elected Conservative MP bellows: ‘What I want to know is when [name redacted] is going to be revealed… as a closet TORY?’
The Dalai Lama has announced that he wants to return as a ‘mischievous blonde woman’, as his official reincarnation looms (he is 80 in July). I am sorry, Your Holiness. That position is already taken.相关的主题文章：


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