ALEXANDRA SHULMAN'S NOTEBOOK: Why women are losing out in the arms race

Daily Mail​

4 days ago

While women storm ahead in so many areas of life, they seem to have regressed when it comes to their arms. It's now high summer and I've lost count of the number of times a woman has said she can't wear some item or other because it will expose her arms. As if the sight would induce terror in whoever saw them.
Bare arms are one of the nicest things about summer clothes. There's something liberating about the feel of the sun and air on your skin and many of the prettiest dresses and tops are sleeveless. But queasiness around baring our arms prevents many women from wearing them. It's crazy.
Personally, although I don't go in for a rigorous workout regime, I've always liked to go sleeveless. And though the years haven't improved the condition of my skin, I'm determined to carry on in spite of the social pressure to cover up unless you have the 'perfect' body. The same goes for wearing a bikini.
Looking back at photographs from the 1940s, 50s and 60s, women of all ages appeared far less squeamish about exposing their arms – sleeveless summer frocks and evening wear were worn by everyone. They had no ambition to show off triceps and biceps as hard as tennis balls. They were fortunate that the notion of spending hours lifting weights to sculpt your pectorals had not yet become the norm.
But now even women who are perfectly sensible in almost every other way are ludicrously unconfident about their arms. OK, it's hard to name a part of the body most women are confident about. But we're talking about an obsession here. Forget about getting a PhD or becoming a High Court judge – toned arms have become today's trophy status symbol.
Last week, The Times's fashion writer Anna Murphy suggested this could be 'a subconscious desire on the part of the modern woman to ape the physicality of her male counterpart, the better to compete in what is still, for the moment, a man's world'. Hmm, I don't think so.
There's a lot to tear apart in that sentence, but I will confine myself to disputing the idea that any woman wants her arms to look like a man's.
No, unfortunately it seems to be yet another example of women fretting about their bodies and judging those of others.
Wobbly or not, our arms have done a lot of heavy lifting for all of us. We're jolly lucky to have them and we should stop giving them such a hard time.
...and knees have a tough time, too
It's a myth that the late Queen had no interest in fashion. She may not have rushed into the latest trends but she had strong opinions on what she wore.
A new exhibition at Buckingham Palace featuring more than 200 pieces from her wardrobe has just been announced for next spring. Hopefully, it will include some information on what she thought about them, too. Daisy Goodwin has a very entertaining play, By Royal Appointment, which explores the late Queen Elizabeth's relationship with the people who worked on her wardrobe.
The thinly disguised characters are based on her favoured designer Sir Hardy Amies, milliner Freddie Fox and long-standing dresser Angela Kelly.
The competition for the Queen's attention is funny and moving. In one scene, the Australian milliner character enthuses about the idea of shorter hems for the monarch. 'You have lovely knees, Ma'am,' he gushes inappropriately. 'We don't want to hide them away.'
I'm not sure the real Sir Hardy would have been nodding away in agreement. He once told me that he regarded knees as by far the ugliest part of a woman's anatomy.
Hot off the press... a £45k ironing job
Should anyone think that the position of laundress or lady's maid belonged to the far distant past, the London domestic agency Greycoat Lumleys is advertising for someone to take care of wardrobe management in a private household with expertise in hand-washing delicate items, ironing and alterations. The salary is between £40,000 and £45,000 – somewhat more, I suspect, than a laundress used to make.
Can Wes cure the NHS of its ills?
Last weekend, I spent eight hours in the A&E of a London hospital with a family member who was suffering acute abdominal pain. Thankfully, the doctor's strike had not yet begun – although perhaps it would have spared us seeing four different doctors before finally being admitted.
I'm a great fan of the NHS but its processes are baffling. Each doctor's questions started from scratch: 'What's your date of birth? When did the pain start? Can you tell me a bit about what's going on.' This to a woman in such pain she was vomiting. Even in the fourth interview, after several doses of morphine, the questions remained the same.
It's insane that at every stage of this drawn-out process a new doctor appears with practically no knowledge of anything that has happened previously. There appeared to be no shared information they could access.
When Wes Streeting speaks of plans to digitalise the NHS, I hope they will do something about the A&E admissions process. It can't come soon enough. Meantime, emails from the NHS about my own health regularly alert me to the date of appointments that have already taken place.
Hosting? It's only a plate of antipasti
Perhaps it's a long career as a magazine editor but I have a list of words I would like banned. 'Iconic' when referring to a handbag, 'hottest' when describing a restaurant and 'invite' instead of invitation are long-standing peeves. But my new pet hate is 'hosting'. As in 'we are hosting tonight', when all you mean is a couple of people are coming over for supper.
I know this makes me an old person, since it's my Gen Z acquaintances who use the term, but to my ancient mind it sounds as pretentious as the elaborately 'curated' (there's another word) antipasti the meal will no doubt include.