My name simply comes from the 1980s fashion trend – most predominantly displayed by Madonna – but my take on the world goes much deeper than the clothes I choose to wear. To cut to the chase, I don’t believe equality for women is defined by the ‘sexual front’ we present to the world. I’m proud to be sexy but why do people assume this makes me less intelligent or in control of my life? If anything, I’m more of a woman because I’m sexy (and I know it).

It all started in my formative years, when I had Ms Ciccone as a role model. Whatever you think about her music, she was the first woman I remember, in my era, who seemed to be toying with the world’s traditional take on what a sexy woman could/should be doing, where/how she got where she was and, more importantly, it was clear even to my pre-teen eyes, she was in control of her sexuality – and her life – not the other way round.

When all this bangle and lace action was going on, I was heavily influenced by Prince. I’d never seen a overtly-sexual straight man, looking so much like a woman, but who was obviously wanting to love women and for them to love him back. Like Madonna, he was flashiing his navel, gyrating at any animal, mineral or vegetable and not giving a thong about anything apart from every note he sang or played had to be flawless (For those who are not familiar with Prince, he is the ultimate musical control freak).

I was also drawn to the strong, sassy singer/rapper Neneh Cherry. In December 1988 she appeared on Top of the Pops, heavily pregnant and wearing a top designed to emphasise, rather than disguise, her distended bump. While a big chunk of society seemed to throw their hands up in horror at this apparently ground-breaking sight, I thought: ‘Now that’s what I call a woman…’

Twenty years later, my mindset and set of mores has grown in this vein. But I seem to be a generally unheard and ignored voice in society and the media. For instance, I recently had my feathers rustled by one broadcast, from an apparently high-brow female-orientated ‘intelligent’ radio programme, ‘Woman’s Hour.’

This lengthy ‘debate’, amongst a carefully-selected group of middle-class, Oxbridge female academics/experts, about whether women working in an office should wear strappy tops in the hot weather, left me speechless. Take note Radio 4, midriffs decide what they’re wearing and aren’t afraid of ‘showing too much flesh.’ And if a man ends up looking at our cleavage, we don’t get offended in a knee-jerk instant. We’ve moved on from defining ourselves solely by the clothes we wear – it’s simply part of who we are and if we want to wear an ‘inappropriate’ dress (in R4 eyes at least), then we will.

In my eyes, this is real, sink-top liberation. Don’t assume men hold all the cards in the sexual power game. Women play it too. You only have to look at the ‘chatlines’ advertised on late-night TV to see this at work: ‘Guys, call now and let Cheryl (not her real name or photo) fleece you of all your worldly goods because you’re lonely, drunk and horny,,,’

Yes, we’ve come a long way since feminists were on a mission to gain the rights men took for granted, but we now we live in an age where women are their own worse enemies, often too scared/bullied into not wearing that slinky skirt they yearn to, all because some magazine quiz identified they have ‘cankles.’

So the next time you see a woman wearing a sexy dress, please don’t assume she’s a bimbo. She might just be harnessing the orgasmic power of her gender.

That’s the midriff view.