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Why do so many women become celebrities just because of the men they know? In the end, the Speaker of the House of Commons was to find solace only at the hands of a general public that, apparently, gives a damn. It took the trouble, on Friday night, to evict Sally Bercow from Celebrity Big Brother and thus, for the time being – though one fears the respite will be short – she has ceased to cavort upon the scrag end of television airtime. The question remains, however, why she was there in the first place. You might not particularly admire the CVs of her fellow contestants, but at least each, in some demonstrable way, has one. So why was Mrs Bercow, who boasts no achievement in any field – she did not even complete her university studies – entitled to a fee of £160,000 and the billing of "celebrity"? Which leads to the further, more pertinent question: why is such wholly unqualified access to fame and fortune only afforded, ever, to women? Sally Bercow is one among many; none has a male equivalent. When the Guardiansuggested otherwise – calling her "the second Westminster figure" to play Big Brother and citing George Galloway as her predecessor – it missed the point. Mr Galloway, for whatever inexplicable reason, was elected for 23 years to serve as an MP. A job that, if you milk it hard enough, can justify recognition. Mrs Bercow, by contrast, only shares the bed of a man who so serves and so milks. There is no scarcity of women taking the bed route to wealth and fame. Jo Wood, ex-wife of rocker Ronnie, nabbed a hefty fee for Strictly Come Dancing without another credential to her name (although her Wikipedia "career" entry is endearingly plumped with "accompanied him regularly on tour, looking after his wardrobe and diet"). The waitress who succeeded her in Wood's bed, Ekaterina Ivanova, also took the shilling for last year's Celebrity Big Brother, while Sheryl Gascoigne, known less for being married to Paul than for being beaten by him, relied on nothing but the well-publicised domestic violence to propel her into a lucrative appearance in the Australian jungle. Other relationships may also be cash cows – but, again, only if you're female. Chloe Madeley was billed simply as "daughter of Richard and Judy" for her stint on Dancing on Ice, yet it is inconceivable that her brother, Jack, would be invited to appear as "son of". Just as it is impossible to think of any man earning renown and reward solely for being a lover, a husband or an ex. Without convenient relationships, some women make it to the mindless, merit-free celebrity bank all by themselves; the late Jade Goody comes uneasily to mind – sweet, silly, uneducated Jade, whose very stupidity accrued the millions in her estate. Some do it without recourse to reality television or residency in Chavland: the elegant Elizabeth Hurley might have subsequently built a career, but let us not forget that it was launched less by proven ability than by safety pins. With men, meritocracy maintains a sterner grip. Young men might aspire to the same material excesses as their girlfriends, but they accept the implicit condition that, first, you have to be good at something. So when poll after poll finds girls have ambitions to be "rich and famous", the same polls find boys want to be "footballers" or "in a band"; the dreamed result might be the same, but the boys recognise not only that there are means to the end, but that the means require excellence, too. They expect it. It is expected of them. Huge male success is the product of huge male effort: if, first, you become Ryan Giggs or Gordon Ramsay or Pete Doherty, then and only then can you claim the adoration handed to female contemporaries who have headed directly to stardom without passing Go. So: Bob Geldof is rich, famous and talented; Peaches Geldof is rich, famous and moronic; Mr Beckham worked his butt off to be the best in his sport; Mrs Beckham was the worst of – even! – the Spice Girls, but is also a millionaire. Should money not be an issue, the differing values remain. You need neither to have laboured nor achieved to become the Duchess of Cambridge (and let us not start on the gilded life of her workshy sister); it would, nevertheless, be unpopular for a Duke of Cambridge, in 2011, to demonstrate no personal prowess, hence the helicopters flown, one hears, with panache. Who to blame, then, for this inequality of expectation? The symbiotic relationship between media and their consumers is obviously part of it, although not purely as tabloid mischief; all the "quality" papers similarly conspire to give razzle-dazzle prominence to lively totty who are good at absolutely nothing. Yet we might also question the avarice of the high-profile, low-energy women themselves, especially those with sufficient intelligence to know what message their participation conveys. The capability of girls is not in doubt: last week's GCSE results show the biggest-ever gap between girls and boys. Capability, however, never was an issue. Do you remember Danielle Lloyd? A Big Brother player in 2007, miscreant in the Shilpa Shetty "poppadom race row"? Lloyd had once planned higher education in chemistry and biology until she suddenly opted, instead, to qualify as a "nail technician" – oh yes, and to find a footballer boyfriend, Teddy Sheringham. She's now with another footballer, a mother of two, 27 years old and, well… that's it really. Her choice, we must concede. But if even one of last week's excited schoolgirls, clutching her exemplary exam results, is spurred by Sally Bercow's effortless haul of £160,000 to dump further academic study in favour of "nail technology", then it is for that – not for her husband's blushes – that Mrs Bercow should be held to account. Carol Sarler
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