Harriet Walker: Relax if you feel left out or deformed: the super-boob is officially over

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If dross like Celebrity Big Brother is any indication of social mores and cultural trends – and believe me, it is – then the edict from the tastemakers is this: boobs are over. You heard me.

The inmates of this year's televisual peep show are practically an ethnic minority compared to the number of artificially inflated tits in there with them – and I'm not even talking metaphorically.

From twin Californian Playboy Playmates and blow-up dolls Karissa and Kristina to ex-Page Three girl Nicola McLean via lingerie model Georgia Salpa, it seems there is only one reason why these women were chosen for the house. Well, two, I suppose.

It's proof of how low we have stooped when it comes to low-cut tops, that breasts should be the only thing required to give society's flotsam and jetsam a shot at the limelight. And proof that boobs have been devalued. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the lovable things that lurk under our workaday jumpers. I mean the angry-looking, trying-to-prove-a-point, skywards-facing, shiny and glabrous globes that inhabit most Z-listers' bandage dresses; not the bouncing baps of yesteryear, but the immobile footballs stuck on the orange chests of dreckish wannabes, offensively glue-gunned on to the general solar plexus like two upturned fruit bowls.

These ubiquitous hooters have distorted the female body politic to such an extent that the rest of us look deformed, and it's imperative that we all take off our collective boob goggles. Thousands of women may yet be at risk from leaky silicone implants they elected to have, yet here are TV screens and trash mags as full of attention-seeking knockers as the John Lewis front door department. But Celebrity Big Brother might yet be our saviour – watching those giant orange things flail around must spell the decline of the super-boob. Nothing renders an object of desire so utterly wasted and hollow than the attentions of the lowest common denominator. Now, I'm no Mary Whitehouse. But mammaries, like pets, are nicest when they're a manageable size – that is, whatever size they were meant to be. There's nothing more harmful to women's welfare than this constant parade of boobs. Not to mention the breasts they insist on flaunting.