Jayne Dawson: Very mixed messages from Myleene on the Klass divide

Ed Miliband and Myleene Klass.
Ed Miliband and Myleene Klass.
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Sort-of celebrity Myleene Klass has opened up - again - about why she shared THOSE emails with her followers on social media site Twitter.

You will remember the brouhaha. Myleene let it be known that she didn’t agree with mothers at her seven-year-old’s school who wanted to club together to buy one big present for a child’s birthday, rather than lots of small ones.

The suggestion, at this exclusive £5,000 a year school, was that they all put £10 into the kitty so that the child could be bought a Kindle, or a desk. Myleene, reportedly worth about £11 million, found this idea so offensive that she mocked it publicly for the benefit of her 450,000 followers, saying that she would like everyone to club together to buy her daughter, Ava, a unicorn, and that she herself wouldn’t mind a Ferrari - or perhaps Leonardo Dicaprio.

What followed was a well-heeled scuffle. Mothers in the eye of the storm declared themselves betrayed by Myleene; the headmistress, who sounded a pleasingly no-nonsense sort, let it be known she wanted no more talk of unicorns, in or out of her posh school. The dust settled, but now Myleene has decided to stir it up again by explaining exactly why she was so upset, nay angered, by those emails: otherwise known as creating some more of that lovely, valuable publicity.

The thing is, says Myleene, that happiness can’t be equated with stuff. Myleene feels this very strongly. So strongly that she says “this is what I stand for.”

It’s a clear, take-no-prisoners kind of a shout - but then Myleene also admits that she “can’t keep her mouth shut.”

To be clear, I don’t agree with her on the birthday gift issue, not even a little bit. I don’t think anyone really wants a house full of multiple bits of plastic tat, hastily grabbed from a supermarket shelf - which is the inevitable nature of gifts presented at a child’s birthday party.

Not even the child wants them, always becoming overwhelmed, hyper and tearful at the burden of all this present unwrapping and unusual attention. I think the idea of clubbing together is a good one and the only reason it doesn’t happen more often is that mothers of children who are not at £5,000 a year schools are usually too frazzled round the edges to have time or energy to organise a collective gift. If they did, they would find it much easier to put a tenner in a collection rather than fly to the nearest Toys R Us on their way home from work. My strongest feeling on reading those emails in the original little flare-up was surprise that a child at such a school didn’t already own an e-reader.

But what I really think about Myleene is that she needs to get her ideas straight if she is about to launch a new career, beyond the one she launched by wearing a white bikini in the jungle during her stint on I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. If she is about to become an outspoken commentator on our times then I am confused already about what she stands for.

Because only weeks ago Myleene appeared on telly taking part in a debate on Labour’s proposed mansion tax where she seemed much more in favour of owning stuff. Myleene declared herself very much against the tax, saying that it would penalise ordinary people because you “couldn’t buy much more than a garage” for that much in London.

It was a bewildering statement. Just who does Myleene class as ordinary? What about the millions of us living in houses with a value nowhere near two million pounds, what would Myleene call our homes?

Her championing of the rich, her insistence that people who can afford luxury homes can’t afford to pay a bit more to help the nation’s coffers, doesn’t really sit with her insistence that she wants her children to receive yo-yos and crayons as gifts to teach them that happiness is not about. What Myleene really seems to stand for is Brand Myleene, and most of what she says is stuff

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