If there is one person guaranteed to get up a female columnist’s nose, it’s Victoria Beckham. The not-so-subtle subtext of their vitriol? How dare anyone be that rich, that thin, that apparently talentless and that fecund all at the same time. Well, please don't count me in. I love Posh big time. VB ticks all the girl’s-girl boxes for me. I love her for all her faults, from the past addiction to hair extensions so bad that it’s left her with a bald patch, to the falling-down drunk because she has imbibed too much and eaten nothing. I love most of all the fact that her hardness is on the outside as opposed to the other way round. Behind that rictus smile, that armour of thinness and those improbably balloon-like bosoms is a swirling mass of insecurities. In other words, of all the Spice Girls, she has done best (through sheer graft), but at base she is still the born unnatural she always was, the one standing in the back of the shot, feeling like she’s got a pudgy tummy.

She has strengths, too, aside from just being the original Wag (sorry, Cheryl, Coleen, Elena and Carly; she’s the one who’ll go down in the history books, not you). She is a proper businesswoman, on a par with Elle and Kate. Which is quite something when you consider she’s got three kids and, allegedly, one on the way — and she’s only thirty-bloody-two.

Then there is the fact that she is one of the few famous women around who still genuinely, fervently believes in the extended family (notice what a big part the grandparents play in the kids’ lives) and, by extension, still genuinely, fervently believes in the institution of marriage. Her determination to hold onto her husband, to keep things together when all about her is crumbling, is a feat of matriarchal might that is outright Herculean at times. But then, if there is one thing Posh is not, it's a quitter.

But why won't she just open up, asks Jessica Brinton

The best celebrities are the ones you wish were your mates. Scarlett Johansson, Lindsay Lohan and Kate Moss would all be a complete laugh to hang out with. Cat Deeley and Zoë Ball would be ace at girlie heart-to-hearts. But if Victoria Beckham was your friend, you wouldn’t get laughs or heart-to-hearts. She looks like such hard work.

For a start, she gives off a most unsisterly vibe — the way she hogs the limelight, oblivious to other women. I would not trust her to answer the question, “Do these jeans make me look fat?” It’s the same with all competitive skinnies: she needs you to look worse than her. She even wore a vampy cocktail dress to Elle Macpherson’s kid’s christening.

Girlfriends share clothes. Posh’s wardrobe, which contains all the latest fashions, should lead the field in the “Do you mind if I borrow?” category. Yet it doesn’t. This is was a gal who would wince if you asked to borrow her wellies.

Her lack of empathy is so out of sync with the times. She has had her share of mishaps: the failed pop career, the weight problems, the marriage troubles — and that’s before you consider the awesome burden of bringing up three sons under 10. She’s got enough material there to be a latter-day Princess Di.

Yet Victoria gives nothing of her true self to the sisterhood. Her famous quote — “I want a big house with a moat and dragons and a fort to keep people out!”— is directed at all of us, not just the press. That includes those buying her perfume and her Rock and Republic jeans, and all the Hello! and Heat readers who admire her for being an ambassador of British style.

Her face — the only bit she can’t reinvent — tries hard to keep its secrets, but her perma-pout betrays an ocean of paranoia. This is more than forgivable. What’s not is her unwillingness to be honest about it. That’s why Victoria Beckham is a rubbish celebrity. A shame — because, underneath the St Tropez tan, the bad outfits and the pretend life, she’s said to be really nice.

Times recommends

• The Boxing Day tsunami: five years on
• What took place in 2010...
• Can you really cure a hangover?