Imagine this. You have been toiling away at work, building your career as a comedian, for years. You discover that you’ve been nominated as a finalist for a prestigious national award. Your fellow nominees are peers you respect and admire. You’re invited to a glittering ceremony where you will sit among the leading lights in your industry. It’s something of a dream for someone who was the “quiet girl at school” and “the awkward girl at college”. You are absolutely chuffed and your friends and family are thrilled.
One of your friends offers to go shopping with you for a new dress, an outing which is charged with some excitement. You pick one but rather than confess your involvement in the illustrious awards, you fib to the shop assistant and tell her that it’s for a wedding. You travel to the city on the day of the ceremony, you have your hair and make-up done and you turn up to the awards with your partner who has taken.
There is some awkward posing on the red carpet – you are not a model — and you feel self-conscious while your photo is being taken. Once that’s out of the way you get on with properly enjoying the evening. You miss out on the award but you have a fabulous meal, present an award and mingle with some amazing people. You leave on cloud nine.
While you partner is driving the first leg of the journey home, you check your phone. As you expect there are several congratulatory messages from your close friends and family but there is something else that you didn’t expect. Thousands and thousands of people have been sending tweets about you. You are fat and ugly and your outfit is a disaster. You are being pilloried by thousands of strangers for your appearance. You cry. You spend the rest of the car ride home crying.
Anger comes later, but not in the car. In the car, instead of basking in the glory of having been recognised for your professional achievements or merely reflecting on a pretty spectacular evening, you are crushed.
Can you imagine how that would feel? A British comedian Sarah Millican can because it happened to her. That is essentially her diary of events at last year’s British Academy of Film and Television Awards which is the UK’s equivalent of the Oscars and the Emmys.
As if the feed of insults on social media wasn’t enough, Millican woke up after what should have been one of the better nights of her life and discovered her outfit and appearance was also being disparaged and dissected on television and in national newspapers.
Is there a human being – famous or not famous – that should be expected to withstand that ignominy? Fortunately, despite being open about the fact she has low self-esteem, it seems Millican was able to navigate the humiliation with strength. You could hardly blame anyone for struggling to do the same.
After her initial upset Millican’s reaction developed into fury and then resolve. She is a comedian. She was dressed up and felt wonderful. How is her outfit or her appearance relevant? “I’m sorry. I thought I had been invited to such an illustrious event because I am good at my job,” she wrote in a column recently.
Unfortunately Millican is not the first woman to have her appearance unnecessarily and gratuitously criticised in public. The emphasis and importance on physical appearance, above everything else, is all too familiar for many women but the impact is felt most keenly by those in public eye.
Millican’s experience is cause for genuine despair; no one should be expected to endure what she did. Which is why her resolve and reaction to it is cause for genuine celebration. By openly and publicly highlighting this type of humiliation for what it was – sexist, unnecessary and nasty – Millican has done many other women a considerable favour. The more women who speak out the better chance we have of shifting the dialogue and, hopefully, the dial when it comes to appearance above all else.
I am reluctant to burden every woman with a public profile with an obligation to solve all of the problems facing women but I really respect those who give it a try. I wish Sarah’s Baftas balloon hadn’t burst, but given that it did I’m so glad she didn’t let it happen in vain.