I realise I’m late to the party when it comes to discussing Lily Allen’s new video, or even discussing how I’m not going to discuss it. Therefore I’m going to discuss it a bit, then discuss people discussing it, and then not discuss it any more. I reckon overall that should do.

Like many people, I liked the balloon bit in Allen’s video but thought the rest was rather like punching someone in the face while telling them you were only offering an ironic commentary on face-punching. I’d like to think it’s possible to encourage people to be critical of sexist, racist culture without simply re-creating it in order to say “LOOK! LOOK HOW BAD THIS IS!”

Then again, perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. Perhaps nowadays the whole world is ultra-equal and all apparent inequalities that surround us are just ironic depictions of former inequalities. Sure, it might feel exactly the same if you’re the one stuck at the bottom of the pile but at least you know that this time, it’s satire.

And yet the “Lily Allen has a baggy pussy” balloon bit – a response to the ludicrous “Robin Thicke has a big dick” scene in Blurred Lines – was impressive, although I wouldn’t want to read too much into it. The Telegraph’s Sally Peck thinks otherwise. According to her, “British mums salute [Lily Allen] for admitting the vaginal earthquake that is childbirth”. As a British mum I beg to differ. The moment you put the jokey balloons in that context the meaning changes. I don’t want to commiserate over the state of my cunt; I just want to take the piss out of Robin Thicke, ideally in a non-racist setting, thank you.

Ellie Mae O’Hagan has already pointed out that Lily Allen does not represent all feminism; I’d like it to be made clear that she does not represent all “British mums,” either (whatever the rather dodgy use of “British” means in this context). There’s no need to insist on her fighting the cause of mummies everywhere. We’re not one homogenous group. We don’t have a party line on how the state of our pelvic floor should be represented in pop videos.

In fact, when it comes down to it, some of us probably have baggier pussies than others. This variation in post-birth slackness is generally irrelevant, except that it’s annoying to feel dragged back into “childbirth ruined my body” self-deprecation when actually, you might already have made peace with it (because my second son was delivered by his dad in a car park, we used to have the birth notes pinned to our kitchen wall. Visitors could read about my personal wear and tear while munching on a Rich Tea. The more I think about it, the more I can’t understand why we ever took it down).

I don’t want Lily Allen to become one of those celebrity mums who show the rest of us how plucky, feisty, down-to-earth and yet deeply conservative we can be. Motherhood is so common and the experience so varied it can’t be packaged in this way. The heavy marketing of motherhood by those who appear on Good Housekeeping covers and boast of their “hectic” lives creates less space for other voices to be heard. I don’t want Lily Allen to be co-opted into this. It’s bad enough that we’ve got Holly Willoughby and Amanda sodding Holden.

I know from bitter experience that some mothers would disagree with me. For them, we need our icons. They perhaps don’t realise that while motherhood is an absolutely valid identity, if there’s only one version of it, it’s no identity at all. I don’t want a mummy manifesto spelled out in pop video balloons, especially not when it’s embedded in a whole ton of regressive crap. The truth is, we don’t have to compromise in this way and as individuals none of us should do.