WHAT does it mean to pure love yourself? That's the brilliant question the Glasgow Girls Club – a social enterprise aimed at empowering young women and girls with the tools to grab opportunities – is posing in a new campaign which will take it to New York to make a documentary.

One of the hashtags the campaign is using on social media is #pureloveyourselfie, and it caught my attention straight away. I was rolling my eyes at the thought until I looked a little further into the project and realised I hadn't given these young women nearly enough credit.

Rather than embarking on a venture of selfie vanity, they're exploring a big question pertinent to our social media age – what does it really mean to love yourself? And is it something to be proud or ashamed of?

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It's a confusing question for women and girls now surrounded with a whole new digital pressure. We were all still busy complaining about the impossible standards set by airbrushed magazine photoshoots when the social media revolution began to take hold and the selfie emerged.

I still remember my own descent into the depths of the poser culture. While I initially scoffed at all these daft lassies taking pictures of themselves caked in makeup, it took all of about five minutes before I turned into one. Isn't it funny how our principles about womanhood and beauty go down the pan as soon as the latest narcissism reaches the level of social acceptability?

It's been fascinating to watch this evolution. There are the glam women who were quick to jump on the selfie brigade and whose social media accounts are covered in unashamed daily updates. The growth of Instagram – a social network focused on images – has further fuelled it. The art of the selfie has made many women semi-famous within our modern, digital social circles serving a new twist on what we teach young women about how to get ahead in society: beauty trumps brains and if you do it right you can make money and find fame – perhaps a slight progression, at least, on finding a rich husband.

Then there are the women who pride themselves on the rejection of the sexist culture that frames women in such ways. Yet they can't resist a selfie.

They fool themselves that selfies with a bit less makeup are somehow less vain, or that selfies at work, on holiday or doing something wonderfully cultural are somehow more valuable and empowering for women than the trout pout.

But if we're being honest, ladies – and I, too, have tried to fool myself in such ways – why do we take a few pictures (or a couple of dozen) before we select our best? Why do we need to thrust ourselves centre stage to convey all these terribly interesting things we're doing? Aren't we kidding ourselves here?

The truth is that it's very hard to resist the culture that has surrounded us our entire lives. That little voice in the back of our minds never really goes away – the one that tells us if we could only be effortlessly beautiful we might find a natural place within a misogynistic society and finally find acceptance. Plus, it's nice to feel pretty, and it's nice when other people think we're pretty. The question is, should we feel so guilty about it? Is it all entirely narcissistic? These are tricky, often uncomfortable, questions for women.

So maybe, if we're serious about loving ourselves for all the right reasons, we need an anti-selfie campaign. Do you, in the name of sticking two fingers up to sexist pressure, have the guts to put yourself out there at what you might consider to be your worst? Instead of the obligatory "just off to work looking effortlessly fabulous" selfie, how about the "I've just rolled out of bed with mascara on my face" selfie?

How about the "I've lost my shoes and I stopped counting the shots after we finished the first bottle" end-of-the-night selfie instead of the "just heading out like an absolute stunner" selfie? How much do you really pure love yourself at your most vulnerable and not your most beautiful?

At the age of 31 I'm a great big self-confessed selfie hypocrite. Here's hoping that the fine young women of the Glasgow Girls Club will have it all a little more figured out by the time they get to my age.

If they do, I'll be the girl in the corner with the selfie stick trying to look casually flawless with a shovel full of make up on.

Come rescue me, girls.