Greetings, Blogreaders.

I like Leonardo DiCaprio. Okay, this is going somewhere, don't drop out on me just yet. When I say I like him, I mean, I'm an actress and I admire his work. Sure, I also admire his cheekbones, but come on. Who doesn't? See, the thing is, he's one of these eco-stars, who purportedly drives a Toyota Prius and saves his co-stars from shootouts , etc. And I admire that. I like his anti-drug stance, I like the fact that he's a Democrat, and I even liked Blood Diamond, but more on that later. So it's not just the acting I admire; it's his most of his opinions, and the fact that he's not constantly trying to garner publicity for himself.

Anyway, I was reading some crummy DiCaprio bio a couple of days ago, probably from when Titanic was the latest craze, which made reference to his famous (infamous?) "Pussy Posse." Apparently, it was just him and a group of his friends who drank beer and chased skirt together. That's fine. I'm a feminist, but I'm not going to foam at the mouth or anything; hell, me and my friends do pretty much the same thing with guys, so I'm not taking issue with it. It just brought up an idea I find interesting, and that is - what do girls want to be, now?

In the 1950s, we had the generation of demure housewives; the '60s brought free love and expensive drugs; the '70s picked up the broken pieces of the decade before. Clear aspirations shone through for generations: to be perfect; to be free to imperfection; to be free. And now, what? In a way, teenage girls now are left arching backwards to the fifties, reaching for the comfort of embroidery and baking, and yet emblazoned across so many MySpace and Bebo pages of girls as young as ten and eleven, what is the symbol that takes precedence? The humble Playboy Bunny. We want to be the chasers, the predators: we want to be allowed to say who we like, to make the first move. And yet there's not one girl I know who doesn't a) prefer a guy to do all the hard work, and b) feel flattered when she's the one being pursued. Without any real female icons in teenage culture today - or at least none recognised at large by society - who do we turn to when we are confused about what it means to be female? Do we roll our eyes at DiCaprio and his pals, and look back with equal frankness, or do we blush and smile in the knowledge that they are the lovers, and we are the loved?

Surely the desire for admiration is natural, but so too is the need to be seen as equal (a need which has caused as many conflicts as any other). This is not a rant against the media, or Leo and buddies, but merely a question about what it means to be female now. After the submission, after the bra-burnings, what are we left with? And is it any wonder that in our grapple with such questions, we turn to the ultimate icon of female desirability - the Playboy bunny? Our need to believe we are attractive has made cosmetic surgery popular, and cosmetic products more expensive and ridiculous, and yet we insist that girls are equal to boys in every way. It is time to address the imbalance, and ask ourselves what we truly want.

I still like DiCaprio, though. Maybe it's the eyes.