At which point the women declare their admiration for all the work Madonna puts into staying on top, and one of them says: “You men have no idea.” Then the men look baffled, because, once again, they’ve been reminded that, contrary to natural law, how they react to a woman’s appearance is far less important than what women think themselves. This is something we’re all vaguely aware of, but it’s always brought to our attention when Madonna gets snapped — biceps popping, brick-solid cleavage on show.
The truth is that women have their ideal body type and men have their ideal female body type, and the two are not the same thing at all. Narrow, tight, toned, firm — these are all words that excite the average female’s saliva glands. We can appreciate a Liv Tyler décolleté and a Beyoncé behind, but nothing commands our respect quite like prominent bones, pronounced muscle definition, drum-tight midriffs and thighs set wide enough apart to pass a litre bottle of mineral water between them. Men, on the other hand, despair of the bony-arsed female. They prefer women to be softly rounded, not rock-hard like Schwarzenegger. They long for pillowy breasts, lightly padded hips and neat little waists (rather than the anaconda torso we girls consider the epitome of fit). How many times have you heard a man say, wistfully,
“She looks so scrawny now” of some new Atkins/ashtanga makeover, while the women crowd around, begging for tips on how to get the look?
In this respect, Madonna is exactly like the rest of us. Her body shape is partly dictated by fashion, partly by her own standards and partly by a sense of competition with her peers. She has sensors geared to What Men Want, of course, but they are overridden when it comes to the stuff that really matters, namely her figure. She likes what she sees in the mirror, because she finds it aesthetically pleasing and because of what it represents: being in control and knowing that she can hold her head up high at those lunches with Britney and J.Lo. Muscles, from a woman’s point of view, equal staying young. Maybe she’s gone a little too strong in the shoulders for some tastes, but when the alternative is bingo wings — the kiss of middle age — it’s a no-brainer.