“There is nothing so unattractive to a man as strident feminism” – so said the imitable Bridget Jones.
It's true that our favourite 90s singleton has always had an ambivalent relationship with the sisterhood.
In the swaggering, self-sufficient lexicon of 21st Century womanhood, Helen Fielding's iconic character appears off-kilter and inept.
Like a drunk dinner guest who’s rambled off-script, she’s funny but also slightly embarrassing.
What self-respecting millennial, after all, would express her “fear of dying alone and being found three weeks later half-eaten by an Alsatian”?
And as for her obsession for calorie counting – well, that would go down with all the fanfare of a cheeseburger at a clean eating convention in these times of righteous confidence.
Body positivism is an alien concept to our Bridge, as is the merest glimmer of any self-restraint.
Yet it's exactly this calibre of emotional incontinence that makes Bridget the hero she is.
Like many women, Ms Jones wears her self-esteem round her knees, and she’s not afraid to show it.
There’s a quiet glory to her rambling confessions; a wry rallying cry to any woman who has ever felt the same way.
Who else would admit: “Wasted two days glaring psychopathically at the phone, and eating things. Why hasn’t he rung? Why? What’s wrong with me?”
Such candour would be a turn-off for some feminists - why wear your neediness on your sleeve?
Then again, why not? Bridget makes us all feel better, precisely because she is so honest. She’s not afraid to be vulnerable. And crucially, she’s funny too.
Bridget tells us it’s OK to lay our weaknesses out on a plate, in a deliciously real platter of tears, laughter and bodged opportunities.
Like her, we can be riddled with contradictions. We can slam the emotional fuckwittage of men, while wearing micro-skirts at work to lure in an emotional fuckwit - maybe even someone who refers to us as “my plumptious” (hello, Daniel Cleaver).
We can wage war on Smug Marrieds while remaining forever neurotic about the prospect of ending up alone.
We can weigh ourselves obsessively while gorging on an impromptu banquet of Stilton, Prosseco and discount chocolate.
Bridget’s brand of feminism – if she even acknowledges it as such – is deliciously complex and messy. Her blithe lack of rancour invites us to be ourselves truly; without caveat or condition.
While feminism has come a long way in the past 20 years, it is perhaps now guilty of being too prescriptive.
For all our empowering dialogue around women’s rights, we sometimes forget one salient point: feminism is not a members-only club. We’re not here to dictate the rules of acceptable behaviour.
Yearning after men or going on a diet doesn’t make you less of a feminist, any more than being emotionally resilient or body-confident makes you a signed-up member of the sisterhood brigade.
Bridget understands this, and is pro-choice in the broadest sense of the word.
Choose dieting, or not. Choose bad boys, or not. Binge-eat, wallow, moan, obsess and drink ‘til you fall out of a cab.
She won't judge you. And neither should any of us.
Read More: Bridget Jones Makes Woman's Hour Most Powerful List
**Read More: ** Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones Is Not Anti-Feminist