THERE’S little more shameful than catching yourself doing the thing you despise. I had to give myself a round telling off the other week after noting a feeling of disappointment at the sight of Meghan Markle, and I’m sure Her Royal Highness-to-be will be gutted to learn of it.

Ms Markle attended her first award ceremony earlier this month, the Endeavour Fund Awards, with her fiancé Prince Harry. I called up the PA picture wire with the expectation of a brightening bit of glitz to perk up a dragging day and there she was in a black trouser suit.

I mean, for crying out loud, as I said to myself out loud. Objectification and judgment of another woman, all in a oner.

At least I had the good sense to check myself, I suppose. Not so those this week who were making the actress Jennifer Lawrence the object of their objections.

Ms Lawrence appeared in London to promote her new film, Red Sparrow. During a photocall she was pictured in a Versace dress of the ilk that, when worn by Elizabeth Hurley in 1994, coined the irritating expression That Dress. Lawrence’s four male co-stars, including Joel Edgerton and Jeremy Irons, were dressed for a brisk February day in jeans, jumpers and winter coats.

A tweet that received more than 12,000 “likes” called the spectacle of four well wrapped-up men and one strategically-wrapped woman “quietly depressing and revealing” in its display of sexism.

The men are dressed for comfort, the woman is dressed for, well, it’s less clear. She’s dressed for whatever the viewer would like to project on to her – to be titillating; to be sexy; for fashion; for attention; to, in a world that rewards youthful female beauty, be as marketable as possible.

Of course, there’s another option: that she’s dressed exactly as she damn well pleases. Let’s hear from Lawrence herself: “I would have stood in the snow for that dress because I love fashion and that was my choice. Everything you see me wear is my choice.”

Lawrence, it might seem, will not be taking part in the #NobodysDoll campaign, newly launched by German actress Anna Brüggemann, and calling for female actors to wear comfortable clothes to the Berlin film festival, eschewing high heels and long gowns. Ms Brüggemann says the red carpet is a “throwback to the 1950s” and she would like to challenge the “patriarchal gaze”.

She is encouraging women to wear cowboy boots, leather jackets, t-shirts and trainers, to dress as “headstrong, unconventional women”. “Equality,” she said: “Begins when we women really stop thinking about our bodies as something we have to improve.”

Everywhere you turn this week there has been some new line about women’s outfits. The former Canadian Prime Minister Kim Campbell tweeted in response to research about how women dress at work. She referenced female newsreaders – “sitting with suited men” – wearing sleeveless dresses. “I have always felt it was demeaning to the women and this suggests that I am right. Bare arms undermine credibility and gravitas.”

Justin Forsyth, who was chief executive of Save the Children before moving to Unicef, has been accused of texting women in the office about their outfits. He would follow up with an email when they didn’t reply and call them to meetings if the email was ignored.

Women’s clothes, cloth battlegrounds, powerful messages stitched into every seam. Jennifer Lawrence is quite right: it’s her choice to wear what she wants. Anna Brüggemann is also absolutely right: female actresses are under a patriarchal gaze.

The men in Hollywood still, as with everywhere, have the pay and the power. That’s why they wear what they want with little outside interest. Women’s appearances are politicised and criticised.

Clothes make statements, from tracksuits to couture. Red carpet dressing persists because women enjoy it – they enjoy dressing up and they enjoy seeing others dressed up. It also persists because we wear costumes: smart to the office, casual at the weekends. Conformity, fitting in, are natural desires and beneficial in work and social settings, and so you don’t see a barrister in jeans or a movie star at Cannes in Primark.

This week the Office for National Statistics published figures showing girls spend more on their appearance than boys do, starting at the age of seven. In part, cultural messages about their appearance and its associated worth already taking hold. But also, make up is fun. Clothes are fun, they are joyful. The Queen was beaming on the front row at London fashion week this week, whispering exchanges with Anna Wintour. Little girls and old girls are in love with it all. Some will love fashion and some with love comfort: both are just fine.

The fun stops when clothing becomes a means of judgment. As with so many things, the narrative becomes about telling women why they are wrong. Cover your arms, dress down, put a coat on. Telling women what to wear is as bad as telling them what to wear.

Women being told what to wear is tiresome. We should be telling those who don’t like our clothes to accept them or train their gaze elsewhere.