That Uniqlo has signed Susan Sarandon should be seen as a triumph for older women

It would be nice to think that, wouldn't it? And who knows, maybe they are, or at least maybe they are finally realising that older women tend to have more money than the anorexic Russian teenagers to whom they usually seem to be trying to appeal, judging from the women they use in their adverts. True, the fact that Demi has admitted to having had plastic surgery somewhat undermines the idea that the fashion industry is developing healthier ideas of how women look, but no matter.

So well done to American retailers Ann Taylor and Talbots for hiring Demi Moore and Julianne Moore, although maybe they just hired them for their last name as opposed to their maturity and beauty. Apparently, there is a huge untapped market out there for women whose surname is "Moore".

Now, if I were a true professional I would see Uniqlo's signing of Susan Sarandon as even more of a triumph. Talbots does aim at a somewhat older market, so for it to use older models, while commendable, is not actually that mould-breaking. Uniqlo, however, aims primarily, if not solely, at a younger generation, so using 64-year-old Sarandon in its adverts really is an impressive step. Or it would be, were I a professional.

You see, to be a true professional journalist, one should tuck one's emotions away and merely report on the story itself. Facts, dear boy, facts, and all that. But I'm afraid I ... cannot ... hold … in … any … more! My God, I just cannot bear Sarandon.

She is a very fine actor and quite possibly one of the sexiest women ever born, and yet instead of cheering on this sexy sixtysomething, whenever I see her step up to a podium to give an award to someone, I just want to claw my own ears off my head. Like Sean Penn and Helen Hunt, Sarandon has always come across as so spectacularly humourless, sanctimonious and lacking in self-awareness that no matter how I try to like her, I end up scratching away at my lobes.

I used to feel guilty about this. After all, irrational hatred of celebrities one has never even met is surely one of the great ills of the modern day, along with internet-induced ADD and flavoured coffees. But then, about two years ago, I happened to see Ms Sarandon walking up the red carpet to, if memory serves, the Oscars when she was stopped by the star of E! himself, Ryan Seacrest. At first, Sarandon did her usual shtick, solemnly lecturing E!'s audience about, if memory is still serving, the victims in Haiti, a very commendable thing to lecture on. When Seacrest then told her they didn't have much time left, she hastily switched subjects to detailing where each part of her outfit had come from, taking special care to give a shout to her jewellers, banging on about her earrings for veritable yonks. Well, you gotta please the advertisers and fashion press offices, right? Oh, Sarandon. Go off and wrap yourself in some colourful knitwear and don't hit your sexy butt on the way out, girlfriend.