Women are wholly responsible for their own pay gap inequality, says a government advisor in response to BBC revelations that top women earn far less than top men. Sir Philip Hampton plays the usual blame game. ‘Let’s tell women it’s their fault, and then it becomes their problem to resolve.’ Holding the victim accountable makes things easy. It’s a tried and tested way of avoiding liability.

Remedial suggestions that women should simply ask more frequently and more forcefully for higher wages are tosh. The pay gap is not so simple and should be viewed as symptomatic of a much bigger cultural disorder. In common parlance, some ‘experts’ don’t know what they don’t know. So let’s reflect.

The permanent state of being undermined and undervalued as a girl and woman is built into the system so effectively that most boys and men are stupendously oblivious of the benefits they receive from such a paradigm. While women struggle to maintain daily dignity and self-esteem, studies show lower levels of female confidence result from a mass media that routinely objectifies women. This plays out in a whole host of personal and professional scenarios – the pay gap being only one example.

It’s something MP Jo Swinson has repeatedly brought to the attention of advertisers and image-makers in an attempt to progress a more ethical portrayal of body image and, having worked with Swinson some years ago, when she was minister for women and equalities and I was co-director of the fashion initiative All Walks Beyond the Catwalk, I’ve seen slow progress. So while we wait for those dragging their feet, resistance to what’s out there right NOW is vital. Understanding how media imagery can truly mess with your mind is the first step towards refusing to internalise the evaluative gaze and, possibly, even securing a better pay deal.

It begins with knowing how we process imagery – without this crucial intelligence, we let others off the hook while they, in turn, make us culpable. There is no shortage of Sir Philips out there and many is the time I’ve heard image producers happily abandon all moral responsibility. 'C’mon now,' they say, 'surely women are clever enough to deconstruct the passive and perfected exteriors they see in advertising and smart enough to ignore the ubiquitous sexualised fembot that occupies billboards, buses and screens, and resilient enough to override body image pressure from repeat viewing of a teenage coat hanger parading Parisian catwalk cool.'

Nope, it ain’t so. Our brains don’t have the processing space to attend to each messed-up gender stereotypical narrative contained within the estimated 3,000 images we consume weekly. Younger viewers (the brain’s pre-frontal cortex isn’t fully developed until the mid-20s) will struggle even more. No woman should feel bad about this; just angry that so much effortful thinking is required to stay sane.

Cognitive psychologist Daniel Kahneman has devoted a lifetime to exploring the brain’s power of rationalisation or how we think we are explaining our world to ourselves. Author of Thinking, Fast and Slow, he brings together numerous studies to clarify that the speed with which we unconsciously process information prevents hyper-vigilant attendance, meaning: we simply don’t have the battery power to deconstruct image after image and observe ourselves and our thoughts as we do this, and all while we are working longer hours than men to take home the equivalent wage. In addition, repetition of an image or scenario can play a huge role in normalising what we are seeing. The thin catwalk mannequin, the perfect (airbrushed) complexion of a beauty model and the pneumatic breasts of a glamour girl have become norms as well as triggers to self-objectify. And we don’t even know we are doing it.

A recent Girlguiding study found that 87% of their young members felt that women were judged more on their appearance than their ability. In last week’s Grazia, writer Barbara Bourland recounted the story of a friend who prioritised Botox above her rent because she was afraid of getting fired for being too ugly.

In such a climate of misery, good women – psychologically disadvantaged to believe their intellectual contribution is worth nothing, let alone more – are weary warriors in need of re-enforcements.

Recognising the harm of objectification upon female self-esteem has to be a vital and immediate game-changer. As one of the seminar participants on the recent Advertising Standards Authority project looking at gender stereotypes, I and others lobbied for swift improvement in tackling the output of advertisers that evoke the evaluative gaze.

The hated Beach Body Ready campaign of 2015 is a good example of encouragement to self-objectify. Attracting angry graffiti, dismissive press and prompting 380 complaints to the ASA, the company was not found in breach of so-called accepted standards. "Beach Body Ready does not objectify" we were told back then but psychologists say otherwise, and so should every woman on the planet. Studies clearly show self-objectification leads to diminished attentional resources (which simply means less brain power for the things that matter) along with low self-esteem, which can progress to depression and other serious conditions such as eating disorders. So the sooner we clarify for ourselves that showcasing a body to be evaluated separately from the personhood of the model in the image – in other words, suggesting that a woman’s major purpose or function is to be looked at and measured up for attractiveness – the sooner we reveal the truth of the matter.

Motivating or demotivating? Promotion of health or marginalisation? #beachbodyready @ProteinWorld pic.twitter.com/CoQmPEijIB

— Tom Povey (@Tomdpovey) April 28, 2015

Ella Smillie, who led the ASA report into gender stereotypes in advertising, was keen to address this particular point in an advertising standards overhaul launched last month by MP Jess Phillips in response to findings from a variety of committees like mine: “Previously ‘accepted standards’ were used to decide whether offence had been caused and now we realise that ‘offence’ is not always the most appropriate measure – we need to consider the potential for harm as well. We have learned about the cumulative effects of ads that objectify and recognise that they have the potential to cause harm. Another key finding from our evidence is acknowledgment for the value of giving weight to the perspective of those depicted or represented in ads.”

New standards to be applied by the ASA will be formalised over the next few months and are expected to come into force next year.

So, time to celebrate – but not by taking your foot off the gas. The pay gap exists because gender disparity is built into our experience of ourselves as women going back way further than beach bodies in bikinis. Doing away with the toxic drip-feed from advertisers is one area for advancement but we can take matters into our own hands, too. Unpicking our own conditioning to conform to unachievable beauty standards and recognising the doubt that the evaluative gaze can introduce into our sense of self is something we can all do now as well as demanding a pay packet that equals the boys'.

Continue the conversation @Caryn_Franklin

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Tesco is about to take the environmentally friendly step of scrapping single-use 5p plastic bags. The supermarket giant wants to ensure shoppers use fewer bags, reducing litter and the amount of plastic sent to landfill.

From 28th August, people will have to buy 10p bags for life instead, which are made from 94% recycled plastic and can be swapped for free when they break, the BBC reported. Sales from the pricier, longer-lasting bags also fund community projects, so it's a double win for the greater good.

The move follows a trial by the supermarket in its Aberdeen, Dundee and Norwich stores, which saw bag sales fall by a quarter. Tesco sells the highest number of plastic bags of all the country's major supermarkets, so let's hope the others follow suit.

Shoppers across the UK have faced charges for plastic bags since October 2015 and the move has been hugely successful at reducing the number of bags sold. England, the last country to introduce the charge, saw a staggering 83% drop.

Tesco shoppers will still have the option of choosing single-use bags when they shop online, but the supermarket says over half already opt for bagless delivery.

Matt Davies, the supermarket's UK and Irish Republic chief executive, said the policy will encourage customers to "use even fewer bags but ensure that those sold in our stores continue to fund thousands of community projects across the country chosen by customers." Tesco has donated £33m to more than 6,400 groups thanks to its bags for life scheme, the BBC reported.

Greenpeace UK welcomed the move, with its senior campaigner Louise Edge saying "We’ve seen plastic as something to be used once and thrown away" for too long. "There is no such place as 'away' – and millions of tonnes of plastic are ending up in our rivers, beaches, streets and in the sea every year, harming marine life."

She added: "All companies and retailers need to be looking at how they can drastically reduce their plastic footprint, from major soft drinks companies moving away from single-use plastic bottles, to supermarkets scrapping unnecessary packaging and taking concrete steps like introducing plastic-free aisles. It’s clear that if we’re going to protect our oceans we need to end the age of throwaway plastic," The Telegraph reported.

Time to invest in a bag for life or, even better, an environmentally friendly tote. Because can you ever have enough tote bags? We think not.

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You know what it's like. You're in deep concentration and attempting to complete a Very Important Task at work when all of a sudden: a buzz or vibration from your phone steals your attention and holds it hostage.

One minute you're happily getting shit done and the next? You're six-months deep into an old flame's Instagram feed or impulse-buying a rug with the discount code you just received. While, at times, the distraction or ego boost they provide is welcome, phone notifications really do have a way of knocking us off track.

But improving your productivity isn't the only reason you may want to consider blocking those pesky attention-suckers. Turning them off for just a short time can even have long-term health benefits, a new study suggests.

The research, by Carnegie Mellon University and Spanish telecommunications company Telefónica, required 30 people to turn off their notifications for 24 hours and report back on how they found the experience.

The Do Not Disturb Challenge, as the study is known, began in 2015 and involved men and women aged between 19-56 employed in white collar jobs. Apparently, the original idea was for participants to turn notifications off for a week, but the team couldn't find enough people willing to take part – an unsettling finding in itself. "We just got empty, horrified stares. And so eventually we backed down to 24 hours,” Martin Pielot, from Telefónica, told New Scientist.

The immediate findings of the study two years ago showed that participants were more productive and less distracted after their first notification-free 24 hours, although some people revealed their anxiety about the possibility of missing messages from friends and colleagues.

“If people don’t think of you as likely to respond quickly, you were unlikely to feel stressed during the challenge, but if you have a boss who expects a quick response, then things were different,” Pielot told New Scientist.

However, the experiment ended up having a far more positive long-term impact. When the researchers caught up with the participants again this year, they found that the experiment had encouraged around two-thirds of participants to change their notification settings, reducing their long-term propensity for distraction and stress.

Some had permanently disabled notifications for certain apps, while others had made regular use of their phone's “do not disturb” setting during the two years since the study.

While the study hasn't been peer reviewed, had a small sample size and draws conclusions based on self-reports and interviews alone, it's a useful reminder to give ourselves a break from those incessant emails and group chats every once in a while.

Anna Cox, from UCL's Interaction Centre, recommends managing notifications by setting up "microboundaries " between you and your undesirable smartphone behaviours. “People check social media all the time without even thinking just because it’s right there on your phone,” she told New Scientist. Airplane mode is your friend.

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Looking at Forbes' "30 Under 30" list makes me feel awful. I imagine it must be how a housefly feels looking at a bumble bee; far less impressive, and confused as to why she’s the one sitting in shit all day.

Maybe I’m being overly negative but reading that list (a who’s who of "entrepreneurs, innovators and game changers ") doesn’t fill me with admiration, it fills me with self-doubt. I wonder to myself, 'Why don’t I have my own organically brewed coffee company/solar-charged sex toy business?' Why, at 24, have I not “changed the game”?

I love my job; I mean, I really love it and yet there’s this growing feeling that I can’t shake. It’s a sense of inferiority that in the past three years has reached a peak because of the time I’ve spent fruitlessly comparing my life to that of entrepreneurs. I’ve gone down a social media black hole, stalking the Instagram profiles of young business-owners. I’ve spent too much money on "how to run a business" books, which now serve as lovely coffee mats because reading them just makes me anxious. I’ve been too self-critical and allowed the nagging voice in my head to tell me that I’m failing, while knowing full well I have one of the best jobs going. Why does working a 9-5 now feel so second-class? I’ve wondered if I’m overly ambitious – and perhaps becoming an entrepreneur isn’t such a big deal for most people – but it turns out I’m not alone: in a recent study, 39% of millennials said they want to work for themselves.

It's a minimised sense of self-worth and a warped perception of other people’s working reality. It’s a generational epidemic fuelled by filtered Instagram accounts.

So here’s the truth of it. I and many of my friends are sufferers of what I'm terming "entrepreneur envy". The symptoms include mental discomfort, a minimised sense of self-worth and a warped perception of other people’s working reality. It’s a generational epidemic fuelled by the filtered Instagram accounts of entrepreneurs and numerous articles that wax lyrical about getting rich quick.

While entrepreneur envy may be a relatively recent affliction, having your own business isn’t new. What is new is the ability to show the whole world the great perks that come with it. The days spent working on yachts, the branded baseball caps, the breakfast meetings with all the avocado toast we millennials could desire. Perks that make an outsider like me scratch my head and wonder where I’m going wrong.

There is, however, an antidote to entrepreneur envy, which I went in search of after reading an article claiming that one-third of entrepreneurs have work-related depression. Reading this made me realise that not only was I putting an unhealthy amount of pressure on myself but also that the lives of entrepreneurs can’t be as perfect as I had thought. So I decided to give myself a big cold dose of reality by speaking to three women entrepreneurs, to get a no-nonsense idea of what it’s really like to go it alone. As suspected, it’s not always as glamorous as it seems.

Flexibility is a façade

Rosie, a 25-year-old tech founder, has set up an extremely successful company which allows you to rent out your belongings for money. She isn’t taking home much of a monthly wage currently but is waiting for the big payoff when she sells. On the surface, Rosie’s life would be a classic trigger for entrepreneur envy. She loves her job, she’s young, successful and now living in San Francisco. However, she is the first to admit that being an entrepreneur has its downsides.

“Many people start a business because they’re tired of the 9-5 but you really don’t get any extra freedom. I now work 24 hours, seven days a week.” Chatting to Rosie reminded me of a time we were at a friend’s birthday party together and she showed me the hundreds of notifications on her phone from customers asking her questions. I remember watching as, glass of wine in hand, Rosie scrolled through all of them on Saturday afternoon. Unlike me, Rosie can’t just leave the office on Friday and switch off. Fifty-four percent of millennials who want to work for themselves say they want more flexible working hours and yet, in Rosie’s case at least, becoming an entrepreneur seems to result in less flexibility.

You’ll still be tied to your desk

The second entrepreneur I reached out to was Katie, a 25-year-old designer. She studied design deliberately to give herself a practical skill to monetise and had always planned on having her own company. After working for a startup for a while, she now works for herself and has doubled her salary. She says, though, that she’s tired of friends thinking that she spends all day in interior design stores and at well-catered parties when in fact it’s the opposite.

You should look a little harder at the photo of the guy working on a yacht and ask yourself, 'Why is he having to work there in the first place?'

“People beat themselves up for working in an office but being an entrepreneur still involves being tied to a desk. The obligation to be in front of your laptop is even stronger, if anything – only a tiny proportion of what I do is out of the office."

Katie admitted her own Instagram account is misleading: “Followers will only see one side to my work, which is the side I think the world cares about seeing.”

While this might seem obvious, it’s so easy to forget that we can crop, filter and edit our work lives. All those breakfast events are no doubt followed by many networking emails and even longer to-do lists.

“You should look a little harder at the photo of the guy working on a yacht and ask yourself, 'Why is he having to work there in the first place?'" Katie says.

And she’s right.

You'd better like your own company

Next up is Camilla, a recent convert to the entrepreneurial world. Camilla is still working full-time at an advertising company but manages her own business selling Persian and Moroccan rugs on the side. She deliberately hasn’t taken the risk of making her business her sole income yet and she’s only just turning a small profit.

She says the process of setting up her own business was, at points, a lonely affair.

“I didn’t tell my work colleagues that I was setting up the business – to be honest I didn’t want them to think it was a joke. When I launched the website I actually just celebrated by jumping around my living room with my boyfriend.”

Your friends find it very tough to understand why you can’t meet them at 8pm for dinner because you’re having to work until 10pm every night.

The idea that being an entrepreneur might be lonely seemed at odds with everything I’d read. What about hiring a team of your pals to work for you, or all those networking soirées at trendy hotels?

Rosie agrees that this is not a representation of your wider life. “Your friends find it very tough to understand why you can’t meet them at 8pm for dinner because you’re having to work until 10pm every night. It completely changes your life and you’re going through that journey on your own.”

Now, it should be said that some of the most successful companies in the world were founded by one or two people with a vision. If Ed Catmull had been scared of spending time alone then we wouldn’t have Pixar, and Steve Jobs would never have created the iMac. However, if you’re like me and love to be surrounded by a big team then think twice about striking out on your own – you’re embarking on a long solo journey before you can add more seats to your office.

You won’t have the security of sick pay, pensions and a steady income for a long time. Don’t let this put you off – we need more female entrepreneurs – but don’t make any rash decisions.

Get used to being broke (for a while)

One of my main reasons for envying entrepreneurs is the money they seem to earn for doing what they love. Ninety-two percent of millennials agree that money is a main consideration when looking for a job. However, we need to change the narrative about entrepreneurial cash flow – 90% of startups fail, that’s the reality and that makes becoming an entrepreneur one of the riskiest financial career moves you can ever make. As Katie says: “You won’t have the security of sick pay, pensions and a steady income for a long time. Don’t let this put you off – we need more female entrepreneurs – but don’t make any rash decisions.”

If you still want to start your own business, then Katie advises creating a buffer for yourself. “I would save around three months' salary before you quit your job. I made sure I had enough money to cover my rent for the year in case I couldn’t turn a profit.”

A recent study revealed that the average startup costs £22,756 to run in its first year. While it can be done for less (Julie Deane, founder of The Cambridge Satchel Company, started with just £600), realistically it’s going to be a long hard slog before you’re back to financial security.

Even entrepreneurs get envious

Probably the most important thing I learnt from chatting to these women was that entrepreneurs are still envious of each other. Rosie puts it bluntly: “I absolutely still get jealous of other people and I have my own business. Now I just look at other people who own startups and think, 'Why are they doing better than me?' I have a friend who always seems to be promoting her business at festivals… I’m sitting there thinking, 'Why am I not always partying?'"

As human beings, we will always find someone else to compare ourselves to. It’s an inferiority complex that is bad for our health.

This may sound a bit like Beyoncé comparing herself to Taylor Swift, however, it’s an important point to make. Becoming an entrepreneur can be extremely stressful – it’s a move that many people consider and calculate, and only a few people succeed. An article by Inc. magazine gives a rather brutal look at the psychological effects of socialising and working in the startup scene. In it, the CEO of a successful startup describes eight months of constant anxiety, sharing $5 bottles of wine at dinner and preparing for his wife to give birth to their first child before he got his business to turn a profit.

As human beings, we will always find someone else to compare ourselves to. It’s an inferiority complex that is bad for our health. Right now, I might envy people who own their own business but only 10 years ago I would have envied the lawyers and doctors who had a steady supply of customers throughout the financial crisis. In 50 years, I will probably envy the people who were smart enough to buy property in Newcastle, which will no doubt be a London borough by then.

So this is my final ask: let’s try and eradicate the dark side of entrepreneur envy. Let’s remember the grass isn’t always greener. It’s okay to have a career – you can flourish and succeed in a big organisation and going it alone does not always equal success. I would still love to own my own business one day but now I can approach doing so with all the facts, and so can you.

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The annual fashion exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum's Costume Institute in New York is one of the most talked-about shows in the art calendar, while the launch party – a.k.a. the Met Gala – is one of the most glamorous red carpet events of the year. The theme of the upcoming exhibition, opening in May 2018, has just been revealed and it's set to make next year's event more of a talking point than ever before. According to WWD, 'fashion and religion' will be the theme of next year’s exhibition, focusing on the relationship between designers, devotion and divinity.

WWD reports that the idea was conceived before the current Rei Kawakubo/Comme des Garçons: Art of the In-Between show, which will close on 4th September. While planning for the exhibition is only just underway, sources say that the "serious and ambitious" project was thought up long ago.

At a time when political activism is prevalent on the catwalk as well as in the media, an exhibition about religion and fashion is both a pertinent and provocative choice of theme. Throughout fashion history, numerous designers and brands have incorporated religious iconography into their collections, from Riccardo Tisci, who revisited Christian motifs throughout his tenure at Givenchy, to Dolce & Gabbana's continued use of images of the Madonna and the crucifix. Back in 2007, Jean Paul Gaultier's spring couture collection featured trompe l'oeil stained glass windows, halos and gowns that resembled monastic robes. More recently, Christopher Kane's SS17 collection, which celebrated his 10th anniversary showing at LFW, included iconography of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, the patron saint of his childhood school, Taylor High, in Scotland.

Designers have long drawn inspiration from religion, with overt references to deities or more subtle, tongue-in-cheek depictions of saints and sinners. And religion in fashion could not be discussed without mentioning Alexander McQueen's seminal autumn/winter show in 1996, entitled Dante. Held in the candlelit Christ Church in Spitalfields, with a crucifix-shaped catwalk and a soundtrack of organ music and gunfire, the show was accused of blasphemy but was also a key moment in the young designer's career, catapulting him to international acclaim.

While we can't wait to see how this theme will be brought to life in the exhibition, we're equally excited to see how the star-studded guest list will interpret the theme in their outfits for the Met Gala, which will be held on the first Monday in May (Monday 7th).

Previous themes for the Met Gala have been 'Punk: Chaos to Couture', 'Fashion in an Age of Technology ' and 'China: Through the Looking Glass' but we're particularly intrigued to see how our favourite style stars will tackle the sensitive subject of religion in fashion come May.

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Something about eyeshadow palettes garner a cult following. Perhaps the social media storms leading to the latest drops build the hype, or maybe it's the countless online tutorials and Instagram posts showing every which way to experiment with the latest collection of colours. Last week, days before the launch of Anastasia Beverly Hills' newest eyeshadow palette, Subculture, fans were predictably frenzied.

The Subculture Palette, according to ABH founder Claudia Soare, is the evening equivalent to the daytime-appropriate Modern Renaissance Palette, and threw fans into a buying frenzy. The palette boasts a lineup of fourteen shades in a variety of tones and finishes (warm, cool, matte, duo-chrome, metallic, you name it). Each shade is highly pigmented, meaning palette longevity, and the freedom to build and layer depending on your desired look.

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Nights are the most brutal.

For most parents, it’s known as the witching hour, those endless minutes between dinner and bedtime when kids morph from moppets to monsters, mutating into miniature unhinged dictators. For me, the strain starts much earlier. At roughly 4 p.m. That’s when I start to plan the menu for supper, and trust me when I say that there’s nothing quite as disheartening as eating every meal alone. Sure, my son, now 6, will share the table because I believe in family meals, but it’s half-hearted at best. He’ll cram whatever kid delicacy he wants down his gullet and ask to be excused. And I concede, because asking him to keep me company feels too pathetic and selfish. So he scrams, and I wind up gazing at my plated duck confit, or broiled salmon with asparagus, and feeling my appetite dissipate as quickly as any of Donald Trump’s promises.

You see, I’m a widow. A young widow, by any measure, now five years in at 43. It’s a word I barely recognise, and I cringe at applying it to myself. But it’s true, and if the sweater fits… The term didn't stop Jackie Kennedy from epitomising the definition of independence and fabulosity in public. It's what goes on behind closed doors that's tougher.

I went from having a gourmand for a husband, a culinary daredevil who read foodie blogs, devoured Eater and planned our meals, whether at home or out, in meticulous detail. Lidia Bastianich was his #WCW. The sea urchin spaghetti at Marea was his caloric downfall. If he cooked his favourite, penne alla vodka, it would be lovingly concocted from ingredients sourced at specific stores he staked out. The pasta? From Eataly, of course. The cheese? A tiny little establishment on a side street on the Upper East Side whose name I never knew but which sold the most obscure and delicious Italian creations. The sauce? Please, don’t even mention anything that came out of a jar. He’d cook, using every pan and pot in our kitchen. And we’d sit, after our infant was asleep, drink our Brunello and eat a meal that was always as Instagram-worthy as it was satisfying.

But then, Justin had to go and die on me.

He was diagnosed with a brain tumour immediately after our last truly enjoyable fancy meal, when I was eight months pregnant. While strolling past heaps of tourists in the Theatre District, we grabbed lunch at my favourite haunt, an Austrian eatery that no longer exists. He felt dizzy and complained it was due to low blood sugar, so we ate spaetzle and schnitzel, and still, he felt rotten and shaky. He went to the doctor the next day and — boom, an MRI she ordered showed an enormous mass inside his brain. In photos from that feast, we both look so innocent, happy, and relaxed.

In fact, I remember calling Justin a “diva” and suggesting that, for once, given that I was going to pop at any second, maybe he could, I don't know, give the whole “getting the shakes from hunger" thing a break and put me first? If it was a competition, I hadn't known what I was up against: I had a baby growing inside me, as opposed to a lethal tumour like the one that would kill him in 15 months.

Until his death, food was pivotal in Justin’s life, even when he could barely chew or keep anything down. Nothing made him happier than a cheeseburger, especially one from Shake Shack or JG Melon, an institution he frequented so often during healthier times that the surly maitre d even recognised him. So when he died from a stage four glioblastoma in April 2012, it was mealtimes that became the most ravaging for me: the most visceral and hard-hitting moments when I felt truly alone.

I cook a single duck breast, maybe with a side of tomatoes. I pour one glass of wine.

The actual cuisine aside, I long to break bread with someone who isn’t a friend and there purely because I invited her or, more realistically, likely guilted her into coming over to keep me company. I want to spill details about my day, about the editor who insisted on a headline that didn’t make sense, about the dude on the subway who ate the most rancid sandwich I’d ever smelled, about the way my jeans busted and I had no idea until I felt a mysterious cool breeze. That's the stuff that cements relationships: the breezy back-and-forth that caps off a long day and binds you together. What you chew is almost secondary to who you’re doing it with. And dammit, I missed Justin. So much that, often, I didn’t bother to eat anything at all.

It didn’t help that my son is to picky eaters what Kylie Jenner is to lip kits. The master, the industry leader, the unstoppable force. You couldn’t make him eat anything he didn’t want, and he didn’t want much of anything. His diet, for years, consisted of plain pasta (a speck of basil would elicit shrieks of revulsion and outrage), protein bars, apples, and maybe — if I got lucky — a burger. There was also a short-lived but potent toddler yogurt phase, in which he only ate a specific brand from Iceland in a very particular flavour that was only, at that point, sold in a single fancy deli in my old neighbourhood. As my husband was in hospice, my aunt, who was watching Alex, called me in desperation to see if I could find some place, any place, that carried the stuff — or else the kid would apparently starve. Otherwise preoccupied, I came up empty. He survived.

As you might imagine, in the wake of Justin's death, mealtimes went from languid and adventurous, to maddening and rocky and mundane. “Please, just try this pasta/chicken/duck/broccoli, just once,” I’d beg my child, and he’d glare at me.

So I’d give up. He’d consume whatever bland slop I could get him to eat. And then he’d go play while I slumped at the table and tried to somehow enjoy whatever scraps I’d pulled together for myself. I went from having vibrant dinner conversations about the mortgage crisis and whether we should have bailed out the big banks, or if we were hitting a housing bubble, or whether Hillary stood a chance of ever winning the presidency, to staring blankly at the walls.

Some of this was depression, sure, and I managed it with the help of medication and exercise. After all, the death of a spouse has the dubious honour of being the most tumultuous life event anyone can experience, according to the Holmes and Rahe Stress Scale. But a lot of it was adjusting to my new reality of the endless one-on-one loop with a toddler who had no interest in hanging out with me beyond a few sentences, because he was doing what he was supposed to do: shifting toward his own identity separate from mine. And I couldn’t blame him.

Some nights, I dreaded our alone time together, because there was so much of it. And I hated myself for feeling that way. But as with most things, it gets better. He’s older now, and he’s eager to tell me about passing his swim test at camp, and sharing fidget spinners with his friend Leo. But once he’s done recapping select parts of his day, it’s over and out, and I’m not going to force a thriving, happy kid to keep his mum company because she’s fed up with being alone. It’s sick and unfair on every level. So I soldier on. I cook a single duck breast for myself, maybe with a side of tomatoes. I look at photos of my husband, and think back to what could and should and might have been, and for five glorious years, was.

And to be fair, much of this is on me. I’m the one resistant to dating, who is petrified of “putting myself back out there,” as one friend repeatedly encourages me to do. And the longer I hide in my apartment, the more isolated I’ll become, especially when Alex starts leaving home for camp, school, and beyond. I try to drill down and figure out the root of my fear and resistance to meeting anyone new. Justin, for sure, wouldn’t have wanted me to spend the rest of my years with one place-setting in front of me. And the older I get, the more limited my options become; it's hard out there, if you haven't heard.

But maybe it’s time to explore new meals with new guys. Maybe.

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Like many queer women my age, I got my first real unadulterated dose of what it meant to be androgynous through the character Shane from The L Word.

At the time, she affirmed my burgeoning queer aesthetic sensibilities. Not only did her style eschew gender norms, but so did her attitude. Shane wasn’t the ideal role model — she did prove that you didn’t have to be a cis hetero man to be a fuccboi, after all. But, despite that, I saw myself in Shane – or rather, I aspired to be as cool as her.

I became a tomboy around the same time that I discovered I was into girls. I was around five, and had the good fortune of having parents who let me dress like a boy in a Caribbean country where it was straight-up illegal to be gay.

I don’t know which came first — my crushes on girls or my affinity for menswear (like a gay version of the perennial chicken or egg problem) — but, in retrospect, they informed one another.

Tired of trading in adventure and play for the sake of looking pretty, dressing masculine was my way of pushing back against the constrained version of femininity that was forced onto me by society. And I didn’t realise it at the time, but it was also my small way of giving voice to a part of me that I swore I would keep hidden until the day I died: my sexuality.

I started being more open with it in college, and my style followed suit. I searched for inspiration any and everywhere — what I found was that there were a lot of Shanes, Kristen Stewarts and Ruby Roses, and they had a uniform: plain T-shirts and loose jeans ripped in the right places, the Haircut™ and an aversion to bras. They were portrayed as effusing cool and invoking desire in every woman that crossed their path, queer or not. They were shown to embody androgyny and masculinity and they were almost always white and thin.

Seriously, google “androgynous woman” and 99% of the photos will be of skinny white women.

I started to think that I couldn’t truly be considered androgynous unless I lost weight. I questioned whether I could wear the clothes I liked and be considered stylish and desirable.

Thankfully, I was able to find a few black, brown, and plus-size androgynous and masculine-presenting fashion bloggers through Instagram and Tumblr. But overall, the message was clear in mainstream media: fat androgynous people don’t exist.

There have been many thoughtful critiques about the narrow and high standards of beauty for fat women, and how only those that are under a size 14 with an hourglass figure make the cut.

And in addition to being “small fat” (a.k.a. under a size 14) and shaped like a vintage Coke bottle, a fat woman isn’t really considered desirable to the masses unless she is also engaged in hyper-femininity. God forbid she doesn’t have long hair, a face beat by the gods, and dresses like she’s on her way to a glamorous photoshoot.

Meanwhile, smaller women get to partake in a wide spectrum of looks and still be considered fashionable. If a fat woman wears a plain T-shirt, jeans, and has minimal makeup and hair, the perception is that she's not making an effort. But a skinny woman with the same look would be considered chic.

You can see this in “best celebrity style” slideshows. One from Who What Wear focuses on plus-size celebrities with the best style while the other from Stylecaster focuses on the most stylish celebrities on Instagram. The first slideshow showcases celebrities that are dressed in an extremely feminine way, save for Queen Latifah who is sporting high-end streetwear. The latter doesn’t say “The most stylish thin celebrities” but it’s implied, since not one fat woman can be found among 50 slides.

Additionally, it showcases a mix of casual and glamorous looks. For instance, wearing a plain white T-shirt and black leggings is all it takes for Kylie Jenner to be considered stylish for this slideshow. And in many of the photos, celebrities are wearing jean shorts and a casual top, which is in stark contrast to the red carpet-worthy looks of the Who What Wear slideshow.

The underlying message in these slideshows and media at large is that a fat woman subscribing to the minimalist/androgynous look doesn’t carry the same amount of cool as a thinner woman wearing the same clothes.

It took me a while, but I realised I didn’t need to look like Shane or a smaller version of me to be androgynous. Thanks to those aforementioned black, brown, and plus-size masculine-presenting Instagram and Tumblr fashion bloggers, I was able to see myself represented.

Representation is important and powerful. It brings visibility and validation to identities marginalised by society. We’ve come a long way when it comes to plus-size representation, but we still have a long way to go. While having a slideshow of plus-size celebrities with the best style is a step forward, showing that they’re only stylish when they’re red-carpet ready is regressive and grossly inaccurate.

We shouldn’t create narrower beauty standards in the name of body positivity. True body positivity means being inclusive of every size, whether a person presents as hyper-feminine, androgynous, or butch.

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As big-time Ikea enthusiasts, we're always looking to the brand for new decor inspiration. Out of all the product details we get throughout the year, the annual print catalogue never fails to get us into a tizzy: Not only does the booklet tell us what new items to expect from the furniture giant, it also provides valuable clues on the interior trends that will be making waves in the coming year.

And now, the wait is finally over: centralised around the theme "make room for life", the new directory is packed with products adaptable to busy schedules and small spaces. From a couch that shape shifts into a bed within seconds to easy-to-assemble shelves, the items that get a starring role in this release are real keepers. Click ahead for some of our favourites from the bunch.

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As mystical as the geothermal hot springs of southern Iceland may seem, they're actually one of the country's go-to vacation destinations, where you can find both tourists and locals — which is why photographer Helga Nina Aas visited the springs this summer: As body positivity becomes a global conversation, she wanted to find out how Icelandic women feel about their bodies.

Aas tells Refinery29 that, much like women in the U.S., Icelandic women deal with pressure from the media to look a certain way. "Some women are only happy with themselves if they have worked out vigorously, watched everything that they have eaten, and feel like they're at their peak," she says.

Fortunately, according to Aas, Icelandic women are finding ways to resist limited ideas of beauty in their everyday lives, starting with the example they're setting. "Many of us choose to be inspired by women who respect their bodies and have a happy balance with family, work, spirituality, and health," she says. "It was a great personal reminder to talk about myself respectfully, especially around my own daughter."

Ahead, meet the women Aas interviewed and photographed, and learn more about the state of body positivity in Iceland.

Interviews have been edited and condensed for clarity.

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And so it begins. Kylie Jenner, the only Kardashian/Jenner sibling pegged to compete with Kim for personal brand recognition, has her own reality show. Life of Kylie premiered Sunday night on E!, giving fans of the youngest Jenner an intimate look into her life as an individual entity, not just “one of the sisters.” Along for the ride are Victoria, Kylie’s executive assistant; Ariel, her makeup artist; Tokyo, her hair stylist; and Jordyn Woods, a model and Kylie’s best friend. I was particularly interested in the latter two players, both of whom are black. Kylie has been at the centre of several controversies about how she has used aspects of black culture to bolster her own public image. This provokes the question: in what ways might her personal relationships with black people affect her sensitivity to issues of cultural appropriation?

Spoiler alert: Nothing happens in the first two episodes that lends any answers to this question. I doubt that it ever will, even if Life of Kylie follows the Keeping Up with the Kardashians formula of covering some of the negative press surrounding the family. What we know for sure is that Tokyo and Jordyn are part of a small group of people who are closest to the young celebrity. And they aren’t the only ones. Her longtime boyfriend Tyga was reportedly replaced with Travis Scott, both of them are also black. In the traditional sense at least, Kylie does not discriminate on the basis of race alone. But that’s not enough.

Jenner wouldn’t be the first white person to have personal relationships with black people and still cross the lines of cultural insensitivity. Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. Thinking that it’s impossible to have black friends and still offend black people is a classic mistake that masks a misconception: that all black people are on the same side of the fence on certain issues and are willing to confront their non-black peers when they fuck up.

I’m obsessed with Jordyn Woods, and I like to think that she’s a woke young queen who frequently schools everyone she knows on the history of race in this questions. But because I don’t know her personally, that could very well not be true. She could have silently cringed when K ylie and Kendall made those 2Pac and Biggie t-shirts. Hell, she may have thought they were a good idea. Tokyo could have installed those cornrows into Kylie’s head for some practical reason and was forced to sit idly by as his boss posted the picture to Instagram. Sometimes black people get it wrong, too.

Again, Kylie disproves the theory that having black friends makes you any more or less woke. But having friends who care enough to make sure you stay in your own lane definitely helps. If any of Kylie’s friends who know better just so happen to read this, I hope you’ll find it in your heart to have those hard conversations.

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Pink has always been a divisive colour: Fans of the shade can't get enough of it, while those in the opposite camp wear their distaste like a badge of honour. Love it or hate it, there's no denying that the colour is having a moment. From fashion to beauty to travel accessories, millennial pink is popping up everywhere — and racking up thousands of Instagram likes along the way.

Apparently, having monochromatic decor is an effective tactic to get you tons of free marketing buzz, since the number of millennial pink places is growing by the day. We've previously delved into the potential reasons why this pastel tone has struck a chord with so many people, and now we're telling you where to go to for these covetable social media fodder. From hotel suites to royal palaces, click ahead for 10 pinked out destinations to add to your Instagram pilgrimage.

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Who knew Harry Styles was so woke? Recently, the pop star was asked about his work's popularity among young women, and whether he felt their investment in pop music made him a less serious artist. Styles emphatically defended his fans as vital trend setters and future innovators.

"Teenage girls kind of keep the world going. They don't lie — if they like you, they're there. They don't act too cool. They like you, and they tell you, which is sick."

Styles' rejection of the trivialising language we tend to use to describe women's passions is rare. And that's actually quite odd, considering that female fans have been discovering and curating our best-loved cultural objects for a very long time. From generation-defining obsessions, like the Beatles and Twilight, to Silicon Valley's most profitable exports, including Snapchat and Instagram, female "early adopters" predict market movements that ultimately dominate the mainstream — not to mention the ones that make serious money.

We explore this conundrum in the latest episode of Strong Opinions Loosely Held.(Subscribe to Strong Opinions Loosely Held on Apple Podcasts and follow our video channel on Facebook.)

So why do we love to hate on the female fans who've acted as our most fearless pop culture interpreters since well before the British Invasion? Strong Opinions Loosely Held host Elisa Kreisinger spoke with Dr. Francesca Coppa, an expert on media, and Amanda Hess, a David Carr Fellow at the New York Times, to learn more about the unique, and transgressively bold, ways that young women have become our top trend translators. Catch their full discussion above.

For Dr. Coppa, a professor of English Literature at Muhlenberg College, has written extensively about the relationship tangling young women and social media, it's the female fan's often-irrepressible enthusiasm that sets her apart — and that makes her an easy target for her critics.

"The key thing is that teenage girls make pop culture interesting. You can kind of love a thing into greatness. And women made the Beatles more interesting than they were. The investment, the love, the interest, makes the thing better than it is. So why isn't the teenage girl seen as collaborating with the culture? She's telling the maker how to understand what they've made."

If a female fan's contagious infatuation with pop culture is her best asset, it's also the thing that makes her most vulnerable. It's not hard to imagine hostility towards a young woman who knows more about that game-changing new app or Brooklyn's favourite Indie band than her male counterparts. Female early adopters use their taste to reclaim authority in a world eager to dismiss their voice as "hysterical" or "silly," among the many other ways people tend to denigrate teenagers' canny sense of what's cool but a bit unsettling.

"[Young women] can't vote, they don't have any money, but they can create culture," Hess notes. "It's like the one realm they can find power and influence in." And of course, early adopters' expertise gets even more complicated when their viral inventions, from the selfie to the phrase "on fleek," are monetised or appropriated by the mainstream that doubted their credibility to begin with.

Feel like joining the conversation? Check out this week's episode of Strong Opinions Loosely Held to hear more how young women are playing an increasingly active role shaping cultural zeitgeists.

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When women go to the gym, making a fashion statement isn't always on their minds. Still, athletic attire can be a source of insecurity, especially when workout clothes are tight-fitting. But apparently we can't win, because a woman who wore a sports bra to the gym was accused of "showing off."

Louise, an Instagram user, shared the story by posting side-by-side photos of herself in gym attire. In one, she's wearing long leggings and long sleeves. Her second outfit consists of shorts and a sports bra. The first caption reads "Acceptable Gym Outfit" and the second says "Also Acceptable Gym Outfit."

Below the selfies, Louise explained the inspiration behind the post.

"As I was doing my deadlifts in the crossfit room today, a girl walked in. She started practicing her pull ups. Counting her, we were 2 women and 5 men in the room. I saw her getting really sweaty as time passed, but she was keeping her long sleeves top on," she wrote. "In the lockers, I saw she had a sport bra underneath. I asked her: 'Why did you keep your top on while you were training? It was so hot in the room!' She hesitated, and answered: 'I do not feel comfortable wearing a sport bra at the gym since a guy told me I wanted to show off my body.'"

❗️LEM'ME TOUCH ON SOMETHING REAL QUICK ❗️ As I was doing my deadlifts in the crossfit room today, a girl walked in. She started practicing her pull ups. Counting her, we were 2 women and 5 men in the room. I saw her getting really sweaty as time passed, but she was keeping her long sleeves top on. . . In the lockers, I saw she had a sport brad underneath. I asked her : "Why did you keep your top on while you were training ? It was so hot in the room !" She hesitated, and answered : "I do not feel comfortable wearing a sport bra at the gym since a guy told me I wanted to show off my body" . . 😡👿😩😤 EXCUZEEEE ME. I was so pissed off. I almost asked her which guy told her this so I could give him a little pep talk. So guys can train shirtless but women would not have the right to work out in a sports bra ? . HELL YES YOU CAN GIRL. Do not let anyone tell you how you should behave. Sports bra have been created FOR this purpose, so please, do not feel ashamed wearing it at the gym, especially when it is so warm. For your health, for you comfort, and even more simply for yourself 👊🏼 ______________________________________ ❗️PARLONS DE QUELQUE CHOSE D'IMPORTANT RAPIDEMENT ❗️ Alors que je faisais mes soulevés de terre dans la salle de Crossfit cet après-midi, une autre fille est entrée. En la comptant, on était 2 femmes pour 5 hommes. Elle commença à travailler ses tractions, et je voyais qu'elle transpirait de plus en plus, mais elle gardait son haut à manches longues sur elle. . Dans les vestiaires, j'ai vu qu'elle avait une brassière de sport en dessous. Je lui ai demandé : "Pourquoi tu as gardé ton haut quand tu t'entraînais ? Il faisait tellement chaud !" Elle a eu une hésitation, puis a répondu : "Je n'ose plus me mettre en brassière depuis qu'un mec m'a dit que je voulais juste montrer mon corps" . 😡👿😩😤 PARDON !!! AI-JE MAL ENTENDU !! J'ai failli lui demander quel mec lui avait dit ça pour lui toucher deux mots. Alors comme ca les mecs pourraient s'entrainer torse nu et nous on ne pourrait pas se mettre en brassière ? . ET BIEN JE PEUX VOUS DIRE QUE SI. Les brassières de sport ont été crée à cette fin, donc par pitié ne vous sentez pas honteuses quand

A post shared by Louise| PARIS |Thinker & Maker (@mybetter_self) on Aug 6, 2017 at 11:33am PDT

The fact that a guy thought it was his place to accuse a woman of "showing off her body" during an intense workout is completely galling. It is, of course, totally acceptable for a man to work out sans shirt, but a woman who attempts to keep cool in a sports bra is "showing off."

"So guys can train shirtless but women would not have the right to work out in a sports bra?" Louise continued. "HELL YES YOU CAN GIRL. Do not let anyone tell you how you should behave. Sports bra have been created FOR this purpose, so please, do not feel ashamed wearing it at the gym, especially when it is so warm. For your health, for you comfort, and even more simply for yourself 👊🏼 ."

Mic drop.

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Last week news broke that HBO servers had been hacked to the tune of 1.5 terabytes of data (which equals about 750 hours of video). The FBI joined the investigation of the data breach, which was initially reported as seven times bigger than the Sony hack of 2014.

The plot thickened today when a hacker using the name "Mr. Smith" posted a fresh cache of stolen HBO files online, and demanded that HBO pay a ransom of several million dollars to prevent further such releases.

The latest data dump included what appear to be scripts from five Game of Thrones episodes, including one upcoming episode, and a month's worth of email from the account of Leslie Cohen, HBO's vice president for film programming. There were also internal documents, including a report of legal claims against the network and job offer letters to top executives.

HBO, which previously acknowledged the theft of "proprietary information," said it's continuing to investigate and is working with police and cybersecurity experts. The network said Monday that it still doesn't believe that its email system as a whole has been compromised.

This is the second data dump from the purported hacker. So far the HBO leaks have been limited, falling well short of the chaos inflicted on Sony in 2014. In that attack, hackers unearthed thousands of embarrassing emails and released personal information, including salaries and social security numbers, of nearly 50,000 current and former Sony employees. Co-chairwoman Amy Pascal, whose leaked emails included some tasteless jokes about President Obama, resigned from her position shortly after the hack.

Although no scandalous HBO emails have been leaked, those behind the hack claim to have more data, including scripts, upcoming episodes of the network's shows and movies, and information damaging to HBO.

In a video directed to HBO CEO Richard Plepler, "Mr. Smith" used white text on a black background to threaten further disclosures if HBO doesn't pay up. To stop the leaks, the purported hackers demanded "our 6 month salary in bitcoin," which they implied is at least $6 million.

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The police have released shocking footage of a man pushing a woman in front of a bus in southwest London. The bus driver swerved just in time to avoid running over the 33-year-old woman and luckily she escaped serious injury, the BBC reported, but it's enough to make anyone paranoid while walking near the edge of the pavement.

The bus reportedly stopped and passengers helped the woman, who sustained minor injuries, after the incident on Putney Bridge on the morning of 5th May, the BBC reported.

Following the unprovoked attack, the male jogger had the audacity to run the other way across the bridge just 15 minutes later and "did not acknowledge" the victim when she tried to speak to him. The victim said she had no idea who the man was or why he attacked her.

"It was only due to the superb quick reactions of the bus driver that she was not hit by the vehicle," said Sergeant Mat Knowles from London's Metropolitan Police.

The force is now looking for the jogger, who is reportedly white and in his early to mid-30s, with brown eyes and short brown hair. He was wearing a light grey T-shirt and dark blue shorts when the incident took place.

Police have urged anyone with information to call then on 101 or Crimestoppers anonymously on 0800 555111.

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However much we might like to skirt around the issue, we all know that spending too much time on social media can be bad for our mental health. All those #blessed beach yoga photos and pointless Twitter rows have a knack for making you feel worse about yourself and, all too often, humanity itself.

But according to a new study, the relationship between our social media activity and mental state works both ways: how often you post on Instagram could be an indication of your mental health issues.

Scientists from Harvard and Vermont universities created a computer programme to recognise people with depression by studying the frequency at which they post and the types of images they share. By analysing the Instagram behaviour of people with mental health issues, they identified how people with depression use the app differently.

The study, published in the journal EPJ Data Science, found that users with depression posted more frequently than those without mental health issues and were more inclined to share photos that contained faces, but less likely to use filters.

However, when they did apply filters, the Instagram users with depression also generally shared images with a darker colour scheme and garnered more comments from others on the app.

The system has so far proven more successful at diagnosing depression than doctors. The study of 166 Instagram users and 43,950 photos correctly identified depressed individuals 70% of the time, compared with previous research showing that GPs can do so correctly 42% of the time, EurekAlert reported.

"With an increasing share of our social interactions happening online, the potential for algorithmic identification of early-warning signs for a host of mental and physical illnesses is enormous," said Dr. Christopher Danforth, co-author of the study from the University of Vermont.

He added that the system could potentially be used by health professionals to identify people at risk of mental illness, reported EurekAlert. "Imagine an app you can install on your phone that pings your doctor for a check-up when your behaviour changes for the worse, potentially before you even realise there is a problem."

You might not think about the potential health benefits when you upload that shameless selfie to the 'gram, but the researchers' algorithm could significantly change the way we diagnose and treat mental health conditions.

Danforth added: "It's better if we can get somebody who [might] die by suicide in 2018 in front of a psychologist sooner because there’s something about their social media that made it clear to the machine that they needed help and it wasn’t obvious to the people around them."

If you are experiencing depression and need support, please call Mind on 0300 123 3393.

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"You don’t look like a mum." Really? That’s probably because I’m swigging beer in an east London pub, it’s midnight and I’m asking where we’re all going after closing time. Not back to mine, I hasten to add, because my little boy is soundly asleep in his cot. And guys, he’s not on his own. Grandma and Granddad are there and they’re probably watching him breathe. They’re like that – obsessed with him being alive.

Since becoming a mum, I’ve felt judged. People think you don’t look like a mum, they think you look too mum, and the worst: "You look cool…for a mum." I feel I’m always looked at through the lens of ‘mum’. When I got a tattoo recently I was ‘mum in a tattoo shop’, when I’m doing my job I’m ‘a working mum’, even last night having dinner with friends I was ‘Mum’s out!’

There’s a thought that is perpetuated in today's media and goes back as far as the Bible: The Madonna/whore complex. Where women are reduced to two states – a mother or a whore. It sounds extreme but even right now, in film, female characters are often oversimplified, with mothers boiled down to motherly qualities, perpetuating a mum ideal that is seemingly mutually exclusive of anything fun, sexy or selfish. This means every time I do something you wouldn’t normally associate with a mum, like wearing a leather mini or running a company, I feel a sense of shame.

I want to channel the most badass of all the mums: Serena Williams, who won this year's Australian Open while pregnant. I want to project the cool serenity of Beyoncé and her glossy post-birth thigh. But despite these role models, the shame and guilt I feel when I try to do anything not wholly related to being a mum persists. The legacy of Bisto mums, Princess Diana maternity dresses and the biggest putdown of the last decade – ‘MILF’ – haunt me daily. Very normal things like having a job, friends or a beer have caused me angst. Tight chest, not-being-able-to-breathe angst, where I feel cloaked in shame and failure.

"You need to locate your inner mum," says Dr. Rachel Andrew, co-author of The Supermum Myth, "and bring together the two parts – the inner mum and the part where you’re most yourself." I’m selfish. I take risks. I’m ambitious. I find rules tedious. I sound like a delightful mum, don’t I? Dr. Andrew suggests I go through old photos of my mum to connect with the mothering I most enjoyed.

My mum was a rebel mum. On holiday in Greece she once had my brother and I scaling walls with her to break into a posh hotel pool and have a midnight swim. I first hitchhiked with her as a teenager. We’ve slept on decks of ferries together. My all-time favourite memories are of my mum pushing me out of my comfort zone. She was never irresponsible, she just got a kick from not being boring. She was laughing at the mundanity of the school gate mums way before Sharon Hogan coined them ‘The Mombies’.

The truth is, I don’t want to be a boring mum. Thinking about my mum makes me realise I don’t have to be. She bucked the stereotype and I’m so glad she did. When my little boy was eight weeks old we took him on a month-long road trip around California; so many people would say "But what about his injections?" or "The sun!" It wasn’t until a friend pointed out that wherever I took him in the world – India, Morocco, California – babies were born there, too. When he was just eight weeks old, I still had one foot in my old world.

He’s now nearly two and I’ve felt my old self eroding with the pressures to conform as a mum. Perhaps it’s the judgmental looks and small passing comments. If you think you’ve never judged a mum – try this. On a hot, sunny Saturday at 2pm, a woman is strolling through London Fields in Hackney pushing a pram. She’s barefoot and sipping from a can of Kronenberg. Do you a) tut slightly and scan from her can to her feet, b) say something about ‘that mother’ to your friend, or c) think nothing of it – she’s probably just left the picnic she’s at with her friends to push her baby to sleep. Of course that woman is me. Having a beer while your baby sleeps (can’t believe I feel the need to clarify that he’s wearing a sunhat and in the shade) isn’t a crime, but even in metropolitan London it can be made to feel that way.

"When I first became a mum I thought, 'Where are the mums who look like I want to look?' And now in this new era I feel grateful every day that there are mums sharing their lives and being honest online." I’m chatting to Clemmie Telford, whose Instagram account charting life with her two sons is hugely popular. I love following Clemmie, she makes me feel completely normal even when going against the status quo of how a mum should behave. But here’s the crux: online there are mums showing other mums that it’s ok to be yourself, but it’s an echo chamber where it feels like we’re only really educating other mums. The rest of the world still thinks Sunday morning’s soft play is the highlight of our week.

There was a really poignant moment in writing this piece where I spoke to Dr. Anita Abrams, a clinical psychologist specialising in relationships. She’s retired and has grandchildren. I posed my problem to her, that I’m finding it difficult to still feel cool (read: relevant, interesting, present, assured, confident) since becoming a mum. At one point in our conversation, she started laughing, a proper cackle; when she regained her composure, she explained: "We’re always too pessimistic of the future. You think the best is over in your life. But speaking from retirement and as a grandma, I can only laugh at that, you have so much more fun to come, you haven’t even seen the best bits yet."

This really stopped me. It made me realise that of course the previous me isn’t the coolest she’s ever going to be. Life only makes you cooler and now I have a little sidekick to share it with. I’m making a promise now to share the real me with him. I’ll always keep him safe but I’ll keep him entertained, too, and I’ll never pretend to be boring to fit into a mum box.

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It started with Marilyn Monroe slightly over-lining her lips way back in the ‘50s and now we’ll call it the Kylie Jenner effect. There’s no avoiding it – today we want our lips fuller, plumper and more ‘bee-stung’ than ever. And with lip fillers on the rise (data released in the US in 2015 showed a 48% increase since 2000 in the number of women getting them), a whole host of new serums designed specifically to plump up lips (Fillerina Lip Volume Lip Plumper, holla) and plumping ingredients like hyaluronic acid in pretty much every lipstick and gloss we come across, there really is no stopping the rise of the full lip.

But before you resort to more invasive treatments – which also involve pain and a not-insignificant amount of money – look no further than the wonderful world of makeup to create the illusion of fuller lips. The technique? Lip contouring. It’s all smoke and mirrors over here.

What is it?

Well, just like contouring your cheeks, forehead or nose, it’s the art of placing shadows and highlights to define and accentuate your lips.

Choosing your colour

The darker the shade of lipstick you go, the thinner lips will look, so if you’re naturally thin-lipped be sure to avoid dark oxbloods and plums and go for light colours like nudes, bright reds or pinks.

What you need

You’ve got a few options. If you're not a dab hand at doing makeup, you might prefer to use two lip liners and a lipstick to properly contour the lips. Creating light and shade needs precision and lip liners are the easiest way to achieve that.

You’ll also need two colours: one needs to be darker to serve as your ‘contour’ and the other should be lighter to create the ‘highlight’ in the centre of the lips. The darker shade should be around two shades darker than your light shade (so if we’re talking reds, you might have a darker cranberry-red lip liner like Hourglass’ Panoramic Long Wear Lip Liner in Icon, and a brighter pillar box-red liner – Lipstick Queen Lip Liner in Red – with matching lipstick, Lipstick Queen Sinner in Fire Red).

If you are confident in the makeup department, you might prefer using an assortment of lip liners and lipsticks – it really is personal preference – but make sure they’re in the same colour family.

How to do it

First things first: a smooth base is non-negotiable for lipstick that looks good on lips, rather than flaky. With your fingers, massage a lip scrub like MAC’s Lip Scrubtious (which also smells amazing) into lips, using circular motions – this will help slough off any dead skin cells and even up skin tone.

Next, make an X shape at the Cupid’s bow with your darker lip liner, applying just outside the point where the natural lip line meets the skin. While this adds dimension to your lips, be wary of going too far – it is (quite literally) a fine line between plump pout and trout pout. After you’ve made the cross, follow the same line around the whole of both top and bottom lip and fill in the very outer corners for that defining shadow.

Then take your lighter colour and, starting in the centre of the mouth, fill in the rest of the lips, taking care to blend, blend, blend. In fact, blending is the cardinal rule for nailing this look; you want to make sure the shadow looks natural rather than like makeup, so a seamless transition between colours is important.

For evening, add a fingerprint of creamy highlighter onto the centre of your bottom lip – it’ll catch the light and make lips look even better. For day, a gloss (Rimmel’s Oh My Gloss Crystal Clear Lipgloss will do the trick) can help amp up volume and makes a pretty change from matte everything. The really dedicated might also line lips with concealer post-lipstick to achieve that stamped-on, no-messing look – this isn’t for the fainthearted, though.

The tools of the trade

Huda Beauty Lip Contour Set, £29, available at Cult Beauty

Huda is the queen of lip contour – check out her YouTube video – and now she’s making it as easy as possible for everyone else in the world. These sets contain a lip liner and two liquid lipsticks (which dry down to a matte) and are perfectly colour-matched for lip contouring – one is a couple of shades darker than the other – so the hard work is done for you.

Burberry Lip Colour Contour, £24, available at Burberry

Burberry does everything the natural way so it’s no surprise that these super creamy, blendable sticks are designed to deliver the softest of shadows. You can apply straight to lips as normal or you can line them and buff in for a very light contour. Easy.

Maybelline Lip Contour Palette Blushed Bombshell, £11.99, available at Boots

This palette contains everything you need for lip contour perfection. It’s got a primer, which will help lipstick stay put, along with six different lip colours to experiment with. You can even dab these pinky colours onto cheeks – bargain.

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Back when I started school, I was so tiny that even the smallest off-the-peg uniform had me resembling Tom Hanks at the end of Big, all trailing cuffs and quarterback shoulders. Turning up on my first day in the ensuing knockoff was my less than dizzying introduction to bespoke fashion. In High Wycombe in the early ‘90s, gingham wasn’t the big deal it is now.

"Look how CUTE you are!" friends shriek when I show them the class photo from that year. "LOOK AT YOUR TEENY FEET!" In the photo, my feet – admittedly teeny – dangle miles above the floor. Even I can see I’m adorable.

The trouble is, not much has changed. I’m 31 now, and 5ft 1in. The average height for a woman in the UK is 164.4cm – around 5ft 4in – which leaves me three inches wanting. Find me someone who enjoys being below average.

There are perks, of course. Most people will let me slip in front of them at gigs and music festivals; dating is (marginally) easier without the threat of a Rod Stewart-Penny Lancaster situation; and in Topshop, if the dress I want has sold out in my size on the main floor, I’ll often find it lurking in the Petite section. I hold fast to these little victories, for each is accompanied by a dozen defeats.

My teenage dream of dancing on Top of the Pops was dashed when I learned you had to be at least 5ft 4in to stand a chance of getting work; likewise my backup dream of becoming an air steward (I may have taken that "reach for the stars" memo too literally). Rush hour on the Tube is nerve-shredding: I can’t reach the overhead bar so if I find myself beyond touching distance of an upright, I have to pray for as tight a crush as possible, to keep from falling. As for what’s on the top shelf of my wardrobe – your guess is as good as mine.

But that’s all cosmetic, really. What narks me off is this perception that small equals girlish, delicate, dainty. Cute. Who decided that all the adjectives for women of diminutive stature should be similarly dinky? Why the collective jaw-drop when a short woman turns out to be powerful? Try googling "small female celebrities" – you’ll notice the results are depressingly uniform in tone. "You’d never know how tall Gaga is judging by her ginormous presence," gasps one writer, "but Mother Monster barely stands over five feet tall. Pretty surprising, considering the way she owns a room."

Then there’s Simone Biles, the incredible US gymnast who won four gold medals at the Rio Olympics. Media coverage of her performance was universally adulatory – words like "eye-popping", "strength" and "brilliance" abound – yet you’d be hard-pressed to uncover an article that doesn’t make a point of her height – even in women’s gymnastics, where athletes tend to be on the smaller side anyway. (Biles, if you must know, is 4ft 8in.)

Let’s be honest, though; I can’t imagine Lady Gaga losing sleep over a handful of "Fuck me sideways that woman is minuscule "-type editorials. The damage is done in the real world, to those of us without 67m Twitter followers or a stash of Olympic medals to waggle in the faces of our belittlers. I may be the eldest of three children, with a job and a flat and a demonstrable ability to keep out of trouble but, around my family, I revert to impractical, head-in-the-clouds liability. My mother visibly crumpled with relief when I arrived in Australia for my brother’s wedding earlier this year, having travelled out alone. “Did you know what to do?” she asked, as we discussed the flight. As if I hadn’t been on a plane before… Increasingly I wonder whether years of bear hugs and being told "I do worry about you, Katy, you’re so tiny" has coloured not just my mother’s impression of me but my impression of myself. Tell someone something often enough and they’ll start to believe it.

I've already resigned myself to making considerably less money than my taller colleagues over the course of my career. There are, apparently, certain "noncognitive abilities or social skills that are correlated with stature and rewarded in the labour market." Well, what about the former boss who would pantomime reeling back in shock whenever I spoke up for myself? Or the number of visitors at a recent university open day who asked my little sister – the tutor – what she was hoping to study? After a while, she said, the satisfaction of wrong-footing people gave way to exasperation. If these are the social skills deemed worthy of reward – rudeness and a tendency to patronise – then I'll take my circumscribed earning potential and run, thanks.

In the grand scheme of things, I know there are more pressing concerns. I know that having the space to air my woes is a luxury not afforded to many people with actual problems. But man, I’m tired of lads (it’s always lads) in the pub resting their pint glasses on my head. Or seizing me as an opportunity to bolster their fragile masculinity. "STOP FUCKING PICKING ME UP I’M NOT A BARBELL" I want to scream as yet another muscle-bound city boy hoists me over his shoulder. Perhaps I should make more of an effort to put my foot down. To call out the next person who dares equate my size with my strength. To take up more space in the world. In the meantime, can everyone agree to stop calling us short women "cute"? After all, we’re the perfect height to kick you in the shins.

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