Four pubs are closing every day in the UK- so could it be the end of the road for the Manchester boozer, or is it still in good spirits? Andy Murray gets the beers in.

These are bleak times for the great British pub. Up to four establishments are reckoned to close every day, up 700% on 2006 figures, and beer sales are currently at their lowest since the 1930s. The odds seem to be stacked against the institution – yet Manchester’s city centre still boasts a network of fine, thriving pubs catering to all types of customer. So why isn’t the grim national trend being reflected here?
Take the Briton’s Protection. Situated right by the Bridgewater Hall, it’s the very definition of the traditional public house. A welcoming nest of roaring fires and oak panelling, renowned for its vast selection of single malts, it’s only since 1979 that women have been allowed in the back rooms. At weekends, it’s standing room only in the corridors of the Briton’s.
“There’s a community feel here,” says Briton’s bar manager, Dave. “People come in for the atmosphere. A nice pint, nice chat, no loud music. We’ve got regulars who’ve been coming in every day for years and because we’re in the city centre we get plenty of passing trade.”
But while old favourites like The Britons may have their regulars, few city centre establishments nowadays can rely on the same few customers day in, day out, or claim to be the social centre of a community. That’s why plenty of pubs now seek to offer punters something extra. Sam’s Chop House, and its brother venue ,Thomas’s Chop House, nearby, have maintained the same ‘classic pub’ decor of The Briton’s, but built up a reputation for fine food. One Sam’s customer, Richard Tuttle, 32, from Whalley Range, insists pubs still offer a welcome alternative to the rash of city centre bars. “People might go to a pub on a night when they don’t want to dress up, or don’t want to be on the pull. A nice pint and a seat – and being able to hear yourself think - go a long way for me.”
In recent months, though, a host of factors have caused pubs to feel the pinch. Venues offering late -night drinking may put the squeeze on those that can’t. The fact that many supermarkets now sell beer for under a pound, whereas pubs are obliged to charge up to three times more, means it’s often far more economical to drink at home- and the recent budget price hikes won’t help. It’s argued that ‘civilised’ home drinking will rein in anti-social behaviour, but for many, the upshot of that is no socialising at all.
The issue that divides opinion more than any other, however, is the smoking ban. One local publican, who declines to be named, rolls his eyes and groans at the very mention of it. “Oh, this bloody ban! It’s just such a liberty. If customers are outside smoking half the night, they’re not inside drinking and my profits go down. Simple as that.”
Many drinkers concur. Martin Hall is a local university lecturer who’s been drinking – and smoking - in Manchester city centre pubs for years, and he objects to the smoking ban in no uncertain terms. “In the current climate, we’re obsessed with notions of choice - other than on this one issue, where there’s now no choice for smokers,” he insists. “For me, it’s about civil liberties. Where does it end? ‘I don’t like your perfume, go outside’?”
Nevertheless, plenty of punters have welcomed the ban. Take Anthony Cowley, a drinker in the Circus Tavern who lives in Castlefield.
“I’m all for it. For me, as an ex-smoker, the pleasure of being in pubs has gone up 100% since the ban.” But in clearing the air, has some vital part of the pub ambience been lost? It would appear not.
“I worked in a really smoky pub when I was a student,” says Kerry Williams, from Salford, enjoying a glass of wine with her mates in The Nag’s Head. “I used to dread going to work, because my clothes would stink after a shift, and I had a permanent bad throat. Now, I’m much more likely to meet friends in a traditional pub like this, because I can actually breathe.”
The Circus Tavern is, legendarily, the smallest pub in Manchester, consisting only of a minuscule bar and two very modest rooms. If there’s no space, which is common, forget it. If there is, you can settle in for a delightfully cosy pint, served at your table by the barman. Tellingly, one drinker here owns a (different) pub himself, and makes no bones about the present pitfalls. “Once, the Budget would put the price of a pint up by, say, a penny. Even that would have the customers up in arms. Once these new prices kick in, we’ll definitely feel the effect.”
Beyond the city limits, tales proliferate of pubs teetering on the brink of closure. Venues that host Sky Sports screenings may reap the benefits during matches, but the expense can be prohibitively steep. Providing heated smoking areas may help keep the custom of smokers, but only certain types of outdoor heater are now allowed by law. It all means more outlay and higher overheads.
The city centre, though, has the huge advantage of passing trade. Walking down one short stretch of Oldham Street, the discerning drinker can choose from The Castle on the right or The Northern on the left. The Castle is an unreconstructed boozer and proud of it. Venture into the crumbling toilets and you’re likely to get your shoes wet. Behind the bar there’s a mosaic containing the ashes of the former landlady. It’s not short on character- plus it offers cask drinkers some of the best pints in town. The Northern, meanwhile, was previously The King, a similar, albeit more seedy, proposition to The Castle. Now it’s been reborn as the hang-out of choice for media folk around the Northern Quarter- and attracts far more women than tend to frequent traditional boozers, perhaps due to a decent bar menu, proper wines by the glass, and clean upholstery. It also boasts what one delighted punter describes as “easily the best smoking space I’ve been in.”
These flourishing establishments are the tip of the iceberg- other much-loved establishments include the Bay Horse, which caters to a cool, muso crowd, The old-school Peveril Of The Peak down near Manchester Central, and the Grapes, actress Liz Dawn’s cosy pub off Quay Street which has just picked up two Punch Tavern awards.
It seems that the city’s pub scene has currently achieved a fine balance between nostalgia and evolution- and for now, thankfully, reports of its death have been greatly exaggerated.

The legendary Manc label is going global. Mark Lindores rides the party bus.

Although it seems like hardly a month passes without a new book, film or documentary about Madchester music and fashion, two names have been notably absent from the hazy reminscences. But Anthony Donnelly and his brother, Christopher, played an integral role in the scene. When it comes to club culture and street style, the Donnelly Brothers have been there, done that and designed the T-shirt.

As the brains behind the Gio-Goi fashion label, Anthony and Christopher defined the look of hedonistic partygoers in the late 80s. They were among the first to host warehouse parties and helped with merchandising for Factory Records and the Hacienda. Following a night out with Shaun Ryder, the brothers accepted his request to create something he could wear to go clubbing. Gio-Goi was born and its limited edition T-shirts became the unofficial uniform of the Hacienda. The Donnellys were soon making clothes for the Happy Mondays, Stone Roses, New Order and The KLF, they were cited as a major influence by Vivienne Westwood, and featured in the pages of style bibles such as The Face and i-D.

However, by the mid-90s, the party was over and Gio-Goi stopped trading. The clothes were featured in the V&A Museum as icons of street culture and were adopted by Britpop stars as an underground badge of cool.
“Gio-Goi was always there,” says Anthony Donnelly now. “Celebrities wore it as a vintage retro label, while we had some time off.”
During this self-imposed rest period, the legacy of Gio-Goi lived on and its iconic designs were widely replicated by major chain stores. Ironically, this became the catalyst for re-launching the brand.
“We didn’t like the way other brands were pretending to be like us – ‘the Donnelly brothers’”, says Anthony. “They were telling people they were linked to the music industry and the Hacienda. We felt like they were hijacking the Donnelly name, so we used Gio-Goi to put the record straight.”
Fast forward to 2005. “We re-launched in a nightclub in Berlin,” recalls Anthony. “We threw a party for the fashion industry-everyone and his dog turned up. G-Star left their own party to attend ours. Apart from fashion, our parties are legendary.”

It’s these parties, many of which take place on a specially-adapted party bus, that have attracted some of the coolest names in music to form alliances with the brand. Amy Winehouse, Liam Gallagher, The Enemy, Calvin Harris, Tom Meighan from Kasabian and, most famously, Pete Doherty, have all publicly endorsed Gio-Goi.

“Myself and Christopher use our celebrity links to endorse our parties and clothes,” admits Anthony. “Its a two way street, though. Although we don’t pay for marketing, we give back in other ways.”
The shots of Doherty in the trademark “Drug-Free” and “Too Much Rock & Roll” tees (not to mention an impressive range of Gio-Goi jackets for his regular court visits), helped send sales soaring and introduced the cult of Gio-Goi to countries such as Japan, France, Germany, Australia and the US.

Having extended the Gio-Goi range of lightweight jackets, track-tops, jeans and knitwear, it’s taken the brand just three years to achieve sales that many of their rivals have taken up to twenty years to accomplish, a feat made even more remarkable by the fact that the label has retained its underground aesthetic, eschewing multi-million pound ad campaigns in favour of simple word-of-mouth exposure; and selling exclusively, online and via hand-picked retailers. “We’re achieving sales worldwide like Diesel,” confirms Anthony. “It’s gone global already. It’s out of control.”

Designer Matthew Williamson launches a major retrospective of his work this month, at Urbis. But what makes the Chorlton lad’s designs so irresistible to celebs? Louise Weston finds out.

Think of Matthew Williamson’s designs, all fluttering chiffon and tropical colours, and you immediately think of India, Boho beauties like his muse Jade Jagger, and bright pink. But the 35 year old designer, currently celebrating ten years in fashion, initially struggled to come to terms with that perception.
“After the first show, the reviews all said the same things,” he recalls. “Jade Jagger, fuchsia pink, India. I’d say to (his business partner) Joseph, ‘Argh, it drives me insane! I can do leather, I can do suits, I can do black, I’m a designer.’”
But after a decade of the world’s most glamorous women clamouring to wear his clothes, he’s finally come to terms with it.
“Joseph would say, ‘You need to learn to embrace what you are. The travel, the colour, the girl – that’s the DNA of our brand…that’s what makes a label.’ Ten years later, I can see he was right.”
The proof is in the stunning exhibition of his designs, showing his entire creative process, from the very first “Electric Angels” collection that shot him to fame – though having it modelled by Helena Christensen and Kate Moss didn’t hurt- to his recent return from New York to London Fashion Week, with a stand-out show featuring a live set from Prince.
He now has his own London boutique, a Designers at Debenhams collection, a fragrance line, and is the creative director of Pucci.
“It’s tough,” he admits, “it’s a really busy time- but I’ve got a good team of people. There’s 35 members of staff that work for us, so it’s all about getting the right people to do the right jobs.”
He’s also hugely supported by his parents, who moved to London a few years back, to help him run his fledgling business. He has few Manchester connections now, despite growing up in Chorlton, and designing clothes for his then-girlfriend to wear to the Hacienda.
“I know it sounds so negative,” he admits of his teenage years, “but, if I were to describe Manchester as a colour, it would be grey. Grey and industrial. And from a young age I felt a tension about that.”
Given that his chief inspiration comes from the Far East, street bazaars and flowing silks, it’s hard to argue that he should have stayed on Whitworth Street.
“I love to travel,” he agrees, “I go to the most exotic destinations I can find – Bali, Mauritius, India – the places with the hottest climates, the sexiest clothes, the brightest colours.”
And then his designs are worn by the hottest celebs. Unlike some designers, Williamson has always been brutally honest about the power of celebrity when it comes to promoting an A list brand.
“Sienna Miller’s going to put it on..and that will really aggravate some people,” he acknowledges. “But she’s going to put it on her back because she loves it and, personally, I think that’s fantastic.”
He’s also fully aware that he’s designing for a certain type of woman. “My clothes have always been quite appropriate for the glamorous celebrity-driven world. I love that whole side of things. You get the right girl, in the right dress, at the right event. You can’t quantify it - it’s all about getting your name out there with the right people.”
The ‘right people’ are key to the brand- arguably, Jade Jagger’s patronage raised him from small-time designer with talent, to big hitter, as she was regularly photographed in his designs, and introduced him to her starry circle. Nevertheless, he argues, he isn’t interested in fame for its own sake.
“I don’t want to dress anyone,” he says. “It sounds awful, and I don’t want it to, but there are so many levels and perceptions of what celebrity is. I want to work with high-profile, beautiful women, but I want them to have integrity, to be good at what they do, and I want there to be a real fusion between them and me.”
His clients include Keira Knightley, Kylie, and of course, Boho Queen Sienna Miller. There’s definitely a Williamson ‘type’- tiny, Boho-glamorous and poised somewhere between the beach in Ibiza, and the back of a limo.
All together, the clothes he’s created over the last ten years resemble nothing so much as an aviary of tropical birds- though close up, the detailed embroidery and precision cutting that makes his clothes more than just party frocks is apparent.
Yet he refuses to be drawn into pretentious assessments of his work to date- he happily dismisses the idea that he’s driven by artistic demons, or has any great message to impart.
“It’s just beautiful clothing,” he shrugs. “You can’t dissect it.
I wasn’t maltreated as a child, and I’m quite happy. I don’t have deep issues I want to bring out in my fabric. I just want to make great clothes.”
You can take the boy out of Manchester- but however far he goes, it seems, there’ll always be a down-to-earth bit of Manchester left in the boy.

The Matthew Williamson exhibition is at Urbis till 21st Sept.

The boybands are back in town- about ten years after they left. Mark Lindores joins the reunion

First it was Take That and East 17. Then it was the Spice Girls and All Saints. This month sees yet another 90s pop act hit the comeback trail, as the recently reunited Boyzone arrive in Manchester for their Back Again… No Matter What Tour.

Despite Ronan Keating’s protestations that the Boyzone reunion tour was planned before their pop rivals’ comeback jaunts, cynics have suggested that the boys witnessing their solo success dry up (Ronan), and having exhausted their reality-TV options (the others), could be the real reason for their return, following such an acrimonious split.

And they’re by no means the only pop act angling for a second bite of the cherry. Eternal, 5ive, Busted, Blue, Steps, S Club 7 and New Kids On The Block are all supposedly due to announce their own comeback shortly. Needless to say, all will have been monitoring Take That very closely, for a master-class in how to stage a resurrection.

Since regrouping in 2005 for a TV documentary, Gary, Mark, Jason and Howard have gone from strength to strength, with their run of no.1 singles, albums and haul of awards astounding everyone, not least the band themselves. When their comeback tour was announced, just five arena dates initially went on sale- because, says Mark Owen, “we were worried about how it would sell”. Public demand subsequently turned the tour into 25 arena dates and 5 stadium shows, playing to over 500,000 fans. “The tour was bigger than any of the tours we did at the height of our fame,” says Gary Barlow. “We just couldn’t believe it.”

At a time when artists are giving their music away for free on the internet or in newspapers, it’s touring that makes musicians the most money. The number of bands agreeing to reform is being put down to the fact that it’s a sure-fire money-spinner and requires little effort from the artists involved. A common strategy, adopted most recently by The Police and the Spice Girls, involves the band committing to a few months on the road to support a Greatest Hits album, with no plans to record any new material. The Police’s world tour was 2007’s highest -grossing tour, while the Spice Girls are estimated to have pocketed £10 million each for their 10 week jaunt across the US and Europe.

While money is a huge factor in bands reforming, it isn’t always the reason. When Genesis toured last summer, Phil Collins denied they were cashing in.
“We’re all loaded enough not to worry about where the next million or two is coming from,” he said. “If money was the issue, we’d be playing more than 20 shows. I just felt now was the right time to have a go at it.” He added that he “missed the camaraderie”.

It isn’t just huge stadium tours that appear to be wallowing in nostalgia. A look at the line-ups for the forthcoming festivals-usually the ultimate indicator of who’s hot on the music scene - shows that The Verve, Sex Pistols, Smashing Pumpkins and Roxy Music are expected to be big crowd pleasers this summer.

Asked recently, who music fans would most like to see back together, gig promoters admitted that The Smiths, Stone Roses, Abba and Led Zeppelin have all refused millions to reform- although Robert Plant has hinted that he may go back on the road with Led Zeppelin as he enjoyed their one-off charity gig last December so much. Other than that, it seems the best we can hope for is the Sugababes getting back with Mutya. Or Westlife finally putting in that call to Brian Mcfadden.

Chef Michael Caines raises the bar at Abode

Being vegetarian sucks. No one who likes eating out would do it without a burning moral conviction, because all you get, generally is a limp, goats-cheese based afterthought, while the meat-lovers have their every whim, from finest blue steak to boiled offal, catered for.
But some restaurants are so fine, so thoughtful, and so utterly aware of every facet of the experience, that they make being vegetarian seem perfectly reasonable- even desirable, because what’s on offer is just as good without the meat. And Michael Caines’ Restaurant at Abode is one such place.
It only opened last month, in the basement of what used to be the Rossetti hotel. A year ago, it was a nightclub, filled with jiving middle-aged people and piles of cushions. Now, the space has been rearranged into a restaurant that’s both grown-up and friendly- a hard act to pull off, but it succeeds by lining the back wall with velvet banquettes, and filling the ex-dancefloor with tables that are three-bears perfect: not too big, not too small…just right, in fact, for romantic dinners, friendly catch-ups, or relaxed business chat. Colours are gentle browns and taupes, and the walls are hung with various rock star portraits by Brian Aris. It’s like being in the chic apartment of someone who’s done very well but doesn’t like to show off.
Service, too, is several rungs above the Manchester norm of benign forgetfulness. Caines has imported a whole new team, and it shows, as they bob and weave in a seamless dance, choreographed by the maitre d’- who, in a stroke of spatial genius, stands at what used to be the raised DJ booth, directing operations. But all this easy perfection is useless if the food tastes like boiled socks. Fortunately for the two-Michelin-starred chef’s ambitions, it doesn’t even taste like champagne drunk from Anna Pavlova’s ballet shoe. It’s much better than that.
The menu is indicative of good things- it doesn’t launch into flowery Restoration poetry about the ingredients, it just tells you what things are, with enough description to guide your choices but not enough to bore you to death. There’s a full tasting menu at £55, a grazing menu, with small dishes at around £6 each, and a pricier a la carte. I wanted Jerusalem artichoke soup, but equally, I also craved the ravioli starter- so my Sidekick Spouse ordered the taster version. Oh, it was a thing of beauty. A little pasta cup with a tiny poached quail’s egg and a neat dash of green cream which tasted much as though pixies had traipsed out at dawn to harvest dew-fresh bushels of baby herbs then boiled them in their sweetest tears. It was good. I ate most of it, in fact, so he ordered- in a dramatically anti-vegetarian move- foie gras. Evil, wrong, but, “fantastic- full of fruity textures and a hint of walnut”. Or, “like making love to Satan,” as I’d have put it.
And the soup- more cresting pale green sea foam, really, than soup- was only overshadowed by the home-baked pains des mauvans, little hot rolls with ‘burnt grain’ which sounded foul but were actually more addictive than crack. I should have been full, but the main was coming- a quail’s egg tart, with wild mushrooms hidden beneath the little star-burst eggs. It wasn’t a lot, and it didn’t last long, but it shut me up. Sidekick had Cheshire beef- pink as a baby’s bottom, and twice as soft, with celeriac puree. Nobody spoke for ages.
Pudding seemed ridiculous, we were full- but it would have been equally crazy not to, so I had a millefeuille banana parfait- it was faultless, but too cold after the warm bath of tastes and textures we’d been rolling about in- though my lovely companion was delighted with his shot glass of rhubarb cappuccino and mint crème brulee- which was astonishingly minty. Caines has obviously developed some special system to extract the true glory of a herb’s soul from its dull, leafy body.
It was all washed down with a spicy, gentle Rose wine- maybe technically not what we should have ordered to go with soup, beef and banana- but the sommelier was far too polite to raise an eyebrow.
It’s early days- but Caines and the Abode team have taken their time developing this fabulous restaurant, and it shows. So far… so very good indeed.

Michael Caines at ABode Manchester
107 Piccadilly
M1 2DB
0161 200 567
www.abodehotels.co.uk

Best for: everyone who loves good food.
Cost: ££££

Atlas used to be the darling of Manchester’s bar scene. But it’s relying too heavily on past glories, discovers Andy Murray.

Many moons ago, Atlas was a staple of the Manchester social scene, part of a Whitworth Street West triumvirate, alongside Cornerhouse and the Hacienda. City centre bars were still something of a novelty back then. Nowadays, you can’t move for them, as the nearby Deansgate Locks attests. In the interim, though, Atlas has got rather lost at sea. Right now, it appears to be struggling to retain its character – and, quite possibly, its customers.
To be fair, it looks handsome enough, having benefited from a striking facelift. The problem is, though, that the end result – sofas, lots of wooden fittings, tasteful fabric wall panels, all dark browns and burnt reds – doesn’t really distinguish it from any other bar in the area. It’s pleasantly roomy, though, and the balcony at the far end remains a nifty little spot. Service is attentive, but as was, famously, always the case, the music’s too loud, and during my visit, Seal and Simply Red were on heavy rotation, which only served to reinforce the 90s flashback experience. The clientele are largely older than your average local bar, but slightly thin on the ground, and mostly looked dolled-up, ready to move on elsewhere before long. This lends it the air of a meeting place rather than a final destination.
Drinks are on the expensive side, but that’s only to be expected in this neighbourhood. There’s a good deal of choice as regards shorts and bottles – poppy cider fans, for instance, will be quids in. Cask drinkers, on the other hand, are poorly catered for. There’s a food menu on offer but again, choice is limited, and the results, which aren’t cheap, aren’t especially exciting either. The Moroccan Lamb Burger promises mint and coriander, but in execution it doesn’t have much flavour to it, Moroccan or otherwise. It came with a bland, unexciting salad, which didn’t provide much actual accompaniment to the meal. The pepperoni pizza had an odd, watery topping and tasted no more authentic than the frozen equivalent. Sad to say, the food definitely isn’t something that would bring you back here in a hurry.
After so many years on the scene, Atlas could get left behind. It can still draw a crowd, especially at weekends, but in truth it’s become an unambitious over-spill for Deansgate Locks, whereas it could be doing so much more. It sorely lacks atmosphere, and there’s a faint whiff of desperation, of “Will this do?”, about the place. It’s in a great location, perched at the gateway to (one end of) the city, and the glass front provides a terrific view of the area. For all its current failings, it remains a very appealing venue, full of potential, but if it’s to become anyone’s favourite bar again, it needs to start developing much more sense of individuality, whether in what it has to offer or how it looks. With so many city centre bars to chose from, that’s no easy task. Sadly, considering it’s one of the originals, Atlas isn’t currently one of the best.

376, Deansgate, Manchester, M3 4LY
0161 834 2124

Right now, 90% of women hate their bodies, and a quarter of men would have cosmetic surgery. We’re unhappier with our looks than ever before. So who’s really to blame? Psychotherapist Rachel Morris says it’s time to get real.

Flicking through a magazine recently, I came across an article on body image. The message was clear; we must all love and accept our “sexy, Nigella-style curves” if we’re to survive in this body-conscious culture. On the opposite page was a waif-like model, draped over a chair. She was maybe fourteen years old; styled as the ideal woman we’re supposed to want to be – entirely devoid of personality and body fat. The magazine had accidentally laid out a very modern paradox: learn to love your love handles, but better still, be thinner, younger and more beautiful-� the ultimate achievement.� Because all ads that use young, beautiful models to sell products (which is most of them), are also selling youth and beauty itself. It’s an incredibly� powerful message because it addresses our biggest fear, and reminds us that the fewer wrinkles you have, the further you are from death.
No wonder we struggle to compete with the impossible standards paraded before us on a daily basis. A recent survey found that 90% of women felt “down” about their bodies and that they think about it every day. Of them, 36% would seriously consider cosmetic surgery. The surgical option is increasingly accessible and affordable. Getting rid of our funny noses, post-pregnancy tummies or cellulite didn’t used to be an option - but now it is, we� can’t ignore it. And it’s not just women who look to the knife as a quick fix. According to a poll of 1000 men by Opinion Health, 1 in 4 men said they’d consider surgery to improve their looks. These days, the male grooming industry is worth £800 million a year, and with the likes of David Beckham and Brad Pitt as yard sticks, it’s no wonder men feel paranoid they’re not measuring up. There are almost as many glossy magazines on the shelves for men as for women, filled with just as many images of unattainable bodily perfection. And unlike women’s magazines, there are no quick-fix hair cuts or styling tips that can fake the impossibly toned torsos, sculpted limbs and chiselled jaw lines of the male cover model.
Even the pre-teens aren’t spared, since ‘get ‘em early’ became a marketing mantra. Several women’s glosses now have “little sister” versions for teenagers, giving advertisers the opportunity to get their claws into the most vulnerable consumers out there. Adolescent boys and girls have always mooned over pictures of their idols, yearning to copy them. Unfortunately, today’s teens are looking to malnourished Barbie dolls to show them the way. Want to be famous? Bag a footballer. How do you do that? Check out the missus- beautiful, tiny, high-maintenance WAGS, like Victoria Beckham, Cheryl Cole and Alex Curran. (Thank the Lord of Sensible for Coleen). Twenty years ago, flicking through my copy of Just 17, I was blissfully ignorant of the existence of bulimia or anorexia and as cosmetic surgery was only for reconstructive purposes I just prayed my boobs would grow eventually.
But� things have changed- our obsession with perfection is gaining momentum, even though� barely a week goes by without a news story or TV programme introducing us to new and terrible ways our body conscious society damages us. Thanks to oft- quoted experts, we’re psychologically savvy about the whole thing. We know that eating disorders, low self-esteem, anxiety, depression and even suicide are possible consequences of feeling under pressure to achieve physical perfection. So is anyone else really to blame for our body-image problems? Or is it simply that in a world where youth and beauty are so highly prized, we’re no longer prepared to settle for looking normal?
A common theory is to blame skeletal celebs for being a bad influence. Angelina Jolie, Lindsay Lohan, Keira Knightley, Kate Bosworth, Nicole Richie and Mischa Barton have all had their bony frames papped in various states of apparent starvation.
But few women really want to be a skinny Size 0. The tabloids may suggest we’re impressed, but I suspect our reactions have more in common with glee at seeing them look so dreadful. It’s payback for all the times when they looked too good and made us feel so bad. Of course, we experience a similarly guilty pleasure from seeing those same celebs balloon up until they resemble… well, us.

Then there’s the pressure to please your partner, make sure he –or she-still fancies you, and see off the increasingly youthful competition. Maybe if he didn’t stare at every leggy blonde in a short skirt, she wouldn’t feel the need to compete so hard, and if she didn’t go giddy at every semi-naked hunk, he wouldn’t feel so self-conscious about his prolapsed six pack.

And of course, there’s the real bogeyman of blame, the fashion industry. Women demanded a ban of size 0 models from the catwalk, and Milan, at least, complied. But why? The average UK woman is a size 14 (US size 10). Isn’t the difference between 0 and 2 just splitting hairs? Besides, we can’t blame the fashion industry when they’re only giving us what we demand. Studies prove over and over that both men and women are more attracted to products modelled by visions of perfection than by regular folk. Maybe we’re secretly hoping that attractiveness is something you can catch. And yet I’ve been a therapist to dozens of fashion models and celebrities over the years and some of them have had more insecurity in their perfect little fingers than I’ve seen in even the most clinically obese of my eating disorder clients.

Ultimately, blaming is a waste of time.� If we want the things we imagine beauty will give us – confidence, self-esteem, success and love-� we need to accept that there are no short cuts. Even the most physically charmed have to work for it, which is why most Hollywood stars spend more time in the gym that they do on set. Unless you’re genetically blessed and under 25, it’s a simple equation. If you want to be thinner, eat better and exercise more. If you want a six-pack, start training. If your man-boobs are destroying your confidence, get a surgical consultation. If you can’t motivate yourself, see a therapist. The bottom line is; if we’re healthy, we’re in control of our bodies. But if you prefer chocolate and the couch to cabbage soup and spinning classes, fine. The real key to body confidence lies in knowing what you really want and why - then being prepared to do whatever’s necessary to get it.