Award ceremonies are nice, feelgood experiences where people who are particularly brave, newsworthy or talented get to be acknowledged for their work. Of course the competitive elements of actually being an excellent hairdresser, or an exceptional actor, ballet dancer, writer etc is complicated somewhat by the competitive element of what you actually wear to the awards ceremony which has become almost as important as the awards themselves.

The latest was the VIP Best-Dressed awards, where the women of Ireland were congratulated heartily, tearfully for being able to put on evening gowns. The winner was given her full 15 minutes on The Gerry Ryan Show the next day where she told the nation she was still shaking with delight and how she felt honoured to be in the company of such glamorous women who knew how to put on fake-tan, fake-nails and fake-hair. Gerry oohed and ahhed as she told us her dress was aquamarine and had cost 1,800 but that it was her treat to herself and that today she was wearing a Madonna at H&M dress which cost 40 and that that was what style was all about.

I wouldn't want to take away her joy because winning anything is a lovely, lovely, experience and she did sound like a very nice girl. But I do slightly despair that perky tits and fake nails and such fripperies are being held up as "achievements". Nobody is vainer and more of a self-obsessed fashion bore than me. But I do not consider dressing myself nicely and being able to apply lipstick or an even fake-tan as among my 'achievements' in life. Actually, I consider it to be a terrible waste of time and money and the result of a weakness in my character called vanity.

Keeping oneself clean and tidy is having selfworth. Spending hours dolling oneself up to look like a Hollywood starlet every day is vanity. I do it, we all do it, it's fun. But it's like watching too much telly, or eating too many crisps, or smoking fags . . . it's a weakness. Giving women national media awards for spending all their money on clothes and knowing how to match their accessories is like giving men awards for sitting in front of the telly and drinking beer. "Here are the nominees for the men who dialled Domino's the most times in 2007."

I'm just glad I have a son who can still look up to sports stars and academics and not a daughter who I have to somehow convince to study when her public role models are being rewarded for wearing expensive shoes. This constant, bleating pressure for "glamour" really is taking all the fun out of being emancipated for me. Perhaps the '70s chicks were right and a bit of bra-burning and hemp is the way to go.

Or perhaps it's just sour grapes because, actually, I go to an inordinate amount of time and trouble to dress myself and nobody has ever put me on their list!