Never mind the dementia tax, it’s high time we had a levy on Lycra

IWONDER when it first became ‘normal’ to spend your entire day encased in a shiny sausage of brightly coloured Lycra. Was it in 1980, after the movie Fame was released? I know that’s when I started wearing a terry sweatband on my forehead, Lycra bulk-bought from the Pineapple Dance Studios in Covent Garden, and pink ballet pumps, the ensemble topped and tailed by leg- and arm-warmers.

But in those days, exercise ‘kit’, as it was called when I was at school – an era when it certainly wasn’t stretchy, or colourful: navy culottes and a white Aertex shirt for hockey; a black leotard for PE – was still something you put on at the gym or dance studio.

And then, and here is the crucial part, you peeled it off, reeled from the smell, and put on something more normal: a sweatshirt, possibly, but not the now ubiquitous trackie bottoms. You would still, even in the aerobics-crazed 1980s, don a ra-ra skirt that wasn’t elasticated at the waist, as though you were a five-year-old child, unable to manipulate buttons or zips.

These days, though, it seems that the whole world is dressed as if it is about to perform on the uneven bars at the Olympics.

That most heinous of garments, the Lycra legging

(the latest fashion for which is to be brightly patterned, with odd lacing details and mesh, just in case you were in any doubt about the wearer’s cellulite or caesarean scars) is now seen on the sort of women whose only exercise is lifting a super-sized mochaccino to their lips.

And they wear this hideous ‘athleisure’ kit ALL DAY!

It’s a sort of sedentary oneupmanship: I’m too super-busy to get changed after my workout; also, I might just do a half marathon and Three Peak Challenge after Corrie, so no point getting changed anyway!

But at last, I have some good news: the end is in sight.

It was revealed on Friday that Lycra sportswear is a waste of time and money.

Researchers at an American university found that the supposedly high-tech compression does nothing to help an athlete avoid fatigue. Nor does Lycra boost circulation, or help you lose weight.

In fact, it does the opposite: all that stretch means you have no idea you have spread, until it is too late.

I’m living proof, actually, that 30 years of wearing Lycra hasn’t worked: these days, in a leotard and tights, I most closely resemble Julie Walters in Acorn Antiques: a desiccated, bent crone so devoid of muscle tone, even Beyoncé’s new athleisure line, Ivy Park, concertinas around my thighs in a strangely hippo-esque way.

So now that Ukip is dead, how about a brand new party with a manifesto that weeds out the worst offenders.

Never mind the dementia tax. It’s time for a Lycra levy.