How to be a trophy girlfriend

Oh, the bliss of being a trophy girlfriend: adored for how pretty you are, draped on the arm of your rich man, swathed in diamonds and designer dresses, with nothing more pressing to worry about than your next hair appointment. Think Marilyn. Think Jackie O.

If only it were that simple. There's a lot of work involved in being a trophy, primarily revolving around staying alluring (you have to impress everyone, remember, not just your man) and not being replaced with a younger, shinier version.

Even regular plucking, waxing and buffing does not guarantee trophy status. Imagine you've hung out in the right places and snared your sugar daddy; hardest job of all for 21st century woman is keeping quiet.

'I'm starving,' I announce to my stand-in male chauvinist friend as we get to the restaurant, before realising that's probably a faux pas: arm candy isn't supposed to draw attention to such vulgar quotidian needs. Quite right, agrees bloke, adding: 'And I don't remember asking you anyway, so I don't know why you're talking in the first place.'

Clearly, it's bottling the seething anger that such a comment provokes that's the biggest nut to crack on the road to trophy-dom.

Once you've done that, hidden your first-class degree certificate, forgotten you're fluent in five languages and developed a tinkling laugh - that should always be followed by an enticing 'Oh [add relevant name], you're so funny' - then the keys to Tiffany (and maybe the biggest prize of all, trophy wifedom) shall be yours. So get giggling.

Siobhan Murphy likes Agent Provocateur, Manolo Blahnik and Tiffany and does NOT have a first-class degree in Spanish and Portuguese