It’s not much of a conundrum. Older lady leaves show to enjoy her retirement, spend time with the grandkids, and tend to her garden. Where’s the brainteaser in that?
Add a tasty spat with a younger female co-host however, and the minus forms a perfect equation.
This week we have learnt Anne Robinson, 77, who has hosted Countdown for a year, has decided to step down. Whisper, whisper at the back of the class: it’s because she doesn’t get on with maths whizz Rachel Riley.
Apparently, the latter’s a bit loud. She chats on her mobile too much. And she was sometimes late. Anne had to silence her mic.
Relations with Dictionary Corner’s Susie Dent aren’t great either, allegedly, but hey, Rachel’s a bit younger and blonder, so that fight’s a splash juicier.
Meanwhile, over in Met Gala Corner, Kim Kardashian is sparring with a dead woman.
Now, choosing to wear an iconic dress worn last and incredibly iconically by the iconic Marilyn Monroe, is naturally going to invite comparison. Comparison is what our chief Kardashian wanted when she bought and slithered into Monroe’s Happy Birthday Mr President ensemble. She’s not daft.
And her comments about losing 16lb to actually fit into it by using a ‘sauna suit’ twice a day were never going to win her Most Responsible Role Model of the year. We’re all, rightly, cross.
But barbs about gentlemen still preferring blondes, and Kim being a trashy, cheap alternative to the idolised Marilyn - who was belittled plenty in her own time - have developed a mean little edge of relish.
The truth is, living or dead, older or younger, society - men and women, alike - seem to love nothing better than a fight, a feud, or essentially, a good old-fashioned compare and contrast, between two women.
If you’re watching Married At First Sight Australia at the moment (please, why wouldn’t you be?), and have drifted aimlessly aboard a raft of oblivion far enough into its 567 episodes (feels like), you’ll have realised the star turn is not a stand out romance or some good old-fashioned adultery, but a particularly nasty spat between two female contestants.
Not even over one of the grooms.
I’m not immune, it’s gripped me like none of the marriages, failed or successful.
Why?
Our enjoyment of watching females fight, or, even when they’re not, and never would or could be, placing them inside an imaginary ring and moving their lips, arms and legs like puppeteers so we can invoke our own comparisons, is an ugly facet of misogyny we all appear to foster.
There’s an element of the spectacle here; of women being the fairer, passive, subservient sex who aren’t supposed to fight, so when they do, or we say they are and draw up a tale of the tape regardless, it’s sport.
Great theatre, like ancient gladiators in an arena or cocks in a ring.
Everyone knows an opinionated, assertive woman is ‘scary’ - watching two spar, or imagining they are, provides quite the thrill.
It’s a helpful tool in reductionism, too. Big up one, to quash the other.
But primarily, it’s a handy reminder there’s still not much room at the top for womenkind.
Potentially, there’s still just one seat at the table.
Men - we hope, increasingly, subconsciously - enjoy watching women kick off, because while there’s in-fighting, they’re not going to challenge the male-dominated perches too persuasively.
Women have it so ingrained in their being that their only road to success is through and over an obstacle course of hurdles - be they dresses that won’t zip, or resignedly slipping a wedding ring on the stubby finger of a man who has already revealed he still lives with his mum - they relish a good old sisterly scrap because it represents the annihilation of at least one of the competition.
Because when the stage is uneven, and you struggle to even enter the ring with your male counterpart, the lower hanging fruit is to pick off the other women in your way.
The examples are petty, of course. Too much chatter on a TV show set, a shimmering dress, dating show stars.
But our undeniable kick from it all? That tiny facet that makes us read twice, or form a judgement?
It makes you squirm more than Kim wriggling into that dress.
