In falling over in heels while trying to look attractive, you don't just hurt your body, you bear the humiliation of injuring your very soul. Physical pain? Whatever, bring it on. But the humiliation? Oh, you have seen to the very weakest part of me.
The modern world is a meritocracy where you earn your own luck, old school ties count for nothing, and inherited privilege can even lose a guy a clear parliamentary majority.
No matter how irrelevant social class now is, even the most eager egalitarian must be quietly proud that the posh English rose is still an industry standard for peerlessly sophisticated beauty.
A good education gives you confidence to stick up your hand for anything - whether it is the job you want, or the bloke. And the more you stick up your hand, the better your chances are that you will get what you want.
The Queen's wedding dress in 1947, there was some embroidery on the train which was definitely there to illustrate new dawn/post-war optimism, that sort of thing.
The trouble with glossy magazines is that they tend to be stuffed with articles about handbag designers - the sort of women who, with their perfectly styled lives, immaculate houses, and adoring partners, make you want to become a hermit.
By doing, you become employable. It doesn't matter what the job is; by working, you learn new things, meet new people and are exposed to new ideas.
Anya Hindmarch is indeed a handbag designer; she has the requisite fabulous life, tasteful home, and loving husband. She is also beautiful and self-deprecating, and has five children aged 5 to 20 and a philanthropic bent which spans causes from cancer care to Britain's Conservative Party.
Public humiliation comes to us all, and never so surely as when we're just a little bit pleased with ourselves and feel, just for once, that everything is going our way.
Every time I put on high heels, I think: 'Well, I'll fall over today.' Almost always, I don't. Almost. But all high-heel-wearing women live in constant peril.
There's a particularly British wariness of appearing to try too hard. It's somehow distasteful. Everything should come to us seamlessly and, if you have to work at it, you're somehow a loser.
It's stupid to say that there's any comfort to be had in 'knowing your place,' but there is a sense of reassuring escapism to something like 'Downton Abbey.' There's a perceived romance and elegance that is wonderful to lose yourself in.
If you develop just one muscle, one skill, make it the ability to focus and just get on with it. It will not only make you desirably employable, but it will make you happy.