Hot Feminist by Polly Vernon, book review: Manifesto fails to get under the skin of contemporary feminism

Vernon's unabashed confidence might be the most feminist element

All style, no substance: Author Polly Vernon (Desmond Muckian)

The idea of "feminism without judgement" seems a bit untenable. "You don't think I should have the vote/get to keep my clitoris/talk about computer games on the internet? OK! Each to their own! I don't judge!" What Polly Vernon is getting at isn't that her own judgement is suspended, however: more that she currently feels judged by other feminists, because of her massive investment in the way she looks. Can one be highly preoccupied with being attractive to men, and still consider oneself a champion of female equality?

The answer, of course, is "sure. That just makes you a narcissist, not a bad feminist". However, that would be a short book; and the title Hot Narcissist, whilst pleasingly self-affirming, would fail to capitalise on the post-Caitlin Moran market for Sassy New Takes on Feminism By Witty Lady Journalists.

So Vernon has developed the argument that feminism is divided between women who care about their looks, and women who bully them for it. She claims to have a friend who worries about ordering salad, because "feminists don't eat salad"; and another who cravenly hides her beauty from the feminists "under big thick jumpers".

Is there a confusion here between feminists and vampires? I'd suggest that most women are at peace with the idea that – just like men – they can attend to self-presentation without sacrificing credibility with either gender. A young girl is still liable to get a lot more stick for NOT adjusting her looks in line with convention than for doing so with the rigour Vernon details here. The conflicts of contemporary feminism have a lot more to do with whether the movement is still required at all, whether it demands special treatment for women and whether it demonises men.

Still, let's go along with the notion that this beauty stuff is a real concern. If her tone can be a bit try-hard – "Classic feminism is a bit 'whoa'… a bit 'bleurgh', and 'nah' and 'tut' and 'srsly?' about looks-oriented thinking" – Vernon is always warm and entertaining, especially when she writes about fashion and about herself. This book is best when it's a sort of style memoir; and part of what's bloody good fun about it is her lack of false modesty. She's good-looking, she knows it, she's had fun with it and she continues to do so.

That unabashed confidence might be the most feminist element at play here. The parts where Vernon engages with more challenging or contradictory aspects of her political identity are less surefooted. A writer who doesn't even consider a connection between the Photoshopping of celebrity bodies ("I don't care! My self-esteem is not impacted!") and her own compulsion to depilate fully every single day ("Because men really do not like body hair, do they?") is saving herself some intellectual legwork. Motherhood – a major reckoning for many women in terms of gender identity and life prospects – is weakly handled; though thorough and frank about why she doesn't have kids, Vernon is vague on the issues affecting women who do. Maybe a privileged minority really are stressed about buggy one-upmanship and the "school-gate fashion scene", but the vast bulk are more likely to be concerned with the cost of childcare and the loss of professional status.

And there's the rub with this book: for most women, looks and style are more likely to be a detail of existence than the foundation of a political identity. Still, there's good content here for anyone who likes vivid, sparky writing on clothes; or who wants to help a younger friend or relative decide whether it's okay to call herself a feminist.