From trophy wife to toxic wife

Decadent stay-at-home wives who take their rich husbands for a ride have finally been rumbled, says Tara Winter Wilson

Once upon a time, there was a truth, universally acknowledged, that a man with a powerful job and a beautiful house must be in want of a wife – preferably of the trophy variety. Domesticated, docile yet dazzling, she was the perfect finishing touch.

Not any more. According to research to be published in the journal Labour Economics, the earnings gap between married couples is narrowing. While in the 1980s it was the case that the higher a professional man's salary the fewer paid hours his wife would put in, men today are more likely to want a dynamic high-flier, an equal who wows him as much in the boardroom as in the bedroom.

Poisonous: 'It is like a perversion of the evolution theory: they have evolved into creatures whose function is simply to get the most for doing the least,’ says one husband A victory for feminism? Sadly not. The reason for this change, sisters, is nothing to be proud of.

Rich men, I believe, have finally cottoned on to the sinister side of the stay-at-home wife: unless you marry an equal who's going to pay her own way, you will end up with a lazy, indulgent, over-pampered slug. For the transition from trophy wife to toxic wife is as fast as the end result is furious.

I should know: many men of my age and acquaintance have become deeply bitter and disappointed about how their wives have changed since they hung up their working wardrobes. I am talking about university-educated women (often Oxbridge graduates) who do a couple of years work in the City before harnessing themselves to a milch cow and "having it all".

Apparently there's a new take on "having it all" – and it's not what the majority of us understood it to mean. Back in the 1970s, it meant effortlessly maintaining a beautiful home, entertaining in grand style, raising perfect children, keeping the husband sweet and having some sort of career in order to create financial independence.

"Superwoman" was the phrase coined for these energetic pioneers; "trophy wives" for the less energetic ones. Today it's a whole new ball game.

"It is like a perversion of the evolution theory: they have evolved into creatures whose function is simply to get the most for doing the least," whispered an exhausted husband to me recently. "I wouldn't mind providing her with so much if she just did something for me occasionally. She's never even once cooked me a meal."

"She doesn't know the definition of sacrifice," said another angry husband. "Relationships are meant to be about compromise, but she is more about selfishness. I bend and adapt to her needs, yet all she gives me are ultimatums."

"Are you kidding?" he replied. "I'd lose everything I've worked for, including my children, and I'd be paying her an indecent amount of money for life."

"There's another reason these husbands don't divorce," added a sympathetic onlooker. "They don't want to admit to failure – they don't want to be ungallant. There's an unspoken nobility or gentlemanly understanding that divorce is something they don't do."

Indeed, "something they don't do" is a mantra that extends to practically every area of toxic wifedom. Once an intelligent, educated woman who could hold her own in any dinner-party conversation, the toxic wife will do nothing of the sort.

"They not only become utterly vacant, they never throw dinner parties or entertain anyone outside of their small, closeted circle of other vacant wives," said irate husband number one.

"None of us can understand this: they become obsessed with perfection, grooming, with all aspects of their personal appearance… in a word, they become boring."

"Vain, boring, indulgent and lazy," adds yet another voice to the growing army of fed-up husbands. "I have to take the children out of the house every Sunday morning and wander around with them trying to find things to do because my wife must have a lie-in. I'm only allowed back in the house after 11am. Sunday is the nanny's day off, you see."

"My wife," chipped in husband number two, "gives over the whole of the weekend to pursuing what she calls 'me time'. She goes to retreats, yoga mini-breaks, a spa, a health farm, even art classes… all of which I pay for, of course. What do I get back in return? Nothing."

So today's concept of a wife "having it all", simply put, means never doing anything personally if she can pay someone else to do it for her. And if she can't find someone else, her husband must do it.

"To be frank," said another unfortunate husband, "I was conned. And I'm by no means the only one. There's a pattern of behaviour that these wives all adopt."

There are five tell-tale signs, apparently. First, she gives up work, ostensibly to care for the brood, only to have the children packed off to either boarding school or intensive (ie, lots of extra-curricular activities) private day schools.

Secondly, she suddenly wants to move somewhere more rural/suburban that suits her idea of family life, yet location-wise is horrendous for her exhausted, ever-commuting husband.

Thirdly, she demands wall-to-wall help, which nearly always includes an abused Filipina who works 12-14 hours a day, six days a week.

Fourthly, she refuses to fulfil in any way the traditional contract of the non-working spouse in terms of doing anything for her husband (such as cooking), while, fifthly, she expects her husband to fulfil the traditional but anachronistic male role in the household (such as paying all the bills).

5.30am: Husband leaves for London. 7.45am: Filipina brings wife tea in bed. 8am: Nanny takes children to school. 8.30am: Breakfast, suduko and the papers. 9.30am-4pm: God knows; possibly gym, spa, shopping, boozy lunch with friends, nap or massage. 4pm: Nanny collects children from school. 5.30pm: Nanny gives children tea and goes home. 7pm: Filipina gives children bath. 7.30pm: Wife disappears off to book group. 9pm: Husband returns and roots around for an M&S ready-meal. 10.30pm: Wife returns. Bed. 10.35pm: Sex? In your dreams.

If the above timetable seems hideously parasitic, it is, and so is the woman behind it. The other day I nervously accepted an invitation for lunch with an old school friend. I felt daunted because, several years ago, she married a rich banker and I'd been dumped from her circle.

"Sorry I'm late," I said on arriving at her mansion. "Got stuck in traffic so bad it gave me road rage."

"Road rage?" replied Olivia, her eyes swivelling down to my shoes and up to my hair in a split, judgmental second. "Well, I'm suffering from maid rage. I mean, come and look…"

She led me into her kitchen, three times the size of my flat, and slid open a drawer. "How shoddy is that?" She was holding up a fork.

"Just look! It has a disgusting piece of encrusted mashed potato on it. I mean, it's so shoddy! She can't even unload a dishwasher. I'm really going to have to sack her. And guess what else I discovered this morning? When I opened the towel cupboard after my bath, I noticed that she'd stacked the pink towels amongst the white ones. Can you believe it?"

What made this conversation so scary was the fact that the terrified Filipina was in the room with us, hunched over a table slicing up bits of duck and foie gras for our lunch. "Juanita!" snapped Olivia. "This is your last chance. Do you understand me? You'll be back in Manila within the week… I couldn't possibly recommend you to anyone. Understand?"

"And stop dripping your revolting bodily fluids over our lunch. Throw that away and start again. "

Horrified by her manner and the distressing scene, I asked her for a tour of her home. She had just moved into one of those massive houses in Chelsea Square. Rich folk tolerate people like me (ie, broke ones) only because we make them feel better about themselves.

"Would love to, darling," she drawled, "but first how about a drinkie-poo? Juanita! Open the champagne chilling in the wine fridge and bring it upstairs to the south drawing-room."

"I won't have any, thanks," I said. "I'm driving and have to pick my children up from school."

"You mean you don't have a nanny to do it?" Olivia's eyes glared with horror. "I have the most delightful Norland one. Although the uniform is brown and ghastly, they are so well trained. She's downstairs in the basement doing my ironing at the moment…"

This was now utterly surreal. I had no idea that real people lived like this. Yet, minute by agonising minute, it got worse. I tried a bit of light humour.

"Possibly," she replied. "But a little moisture is no bad thing when ironing out the creases…"

Was she exhibiting a dry wit? I didn't know. In her pre-toxic wife days, she was amusing and droll. Now we were different beings living in parallel universes. She showed me lavish room after lavish room, and at one point I heard some strange shuffling coming from one of her closets. Maybe her life is not so perfect after all, I thought; maybe she has rats.

As we sat down to lunch in the "informal" dining-room adjacent to the kitchen in an open-plan L-shape, I noticed that Juanita was eating a rather more humble repast slightly around the corner; although I couldn't see all of her, I could detect an elbow jutting out from time to time.

As if on cue, a wizened little Filipino man appeared, bowing and scraping. "Madam, I have finished all the shoes. I will go now, thank you madam." He hurried out.

"Where did he spring from?" I asked. After all, I'd just endured an exhaustive survey of her house, and there had been no sign of Pedro.

"Oh, he's our shoe polisher. He comes twice a week. He works in a cupboard – probably why you didn't notice him." No rats after all.

Here was an educated woman who spent her days rotting her brain with alcohol, and bossing an army of staff.

"Olivia," I said, "don't you miss your old job, your financial independence? Isn't all this a bit decadent?"

"Forget the work ethic," she laughed. "Why on earth would I want to struggle, feel tired and look old before my time?"

I left, more agitated than when I arrived. Forget road rage; I was suffering from toxic-wife rage. Driving to collect my children, the outside world felt like a haven of normality and peace. How I pitied these rich and successful men who had naively hoped for a domestic goddess, only to end up with a diva.

Wake up, toxic wives, the game is over. Your milch cows have seen the light of day. You are toxic, you are trouble and you are about to become extinct.

Regardless of age differences, the key is to see the other as they are, not as you imagine them to be

I do not imagine them to be anything. I was simply stating what I have observed. When the first thing out of a new dates mouth is, So how much money do you make? Do you have a 401? I'll bet your husband left you with a hefty chunk of change! or Wow I'll bet your looking forward to early retirement now that your a widow...I'll pass on the dating scene with these guys. The few that have had with younger men are apt to be interested in me the person not my bank account

These judgments are usually coming from men who, somewhere deep inside, wish women like those discussed in the articles had in the past chosen to be promiscuous with them.

That makes zero sense. Some men mention those things because they really don't want to marry such a person. I know I wouldn't. Society tells women that dressing and acting provactively (sp) is a good thing. It attracts attention, to be sure, but it's the wrong kind. I've no interest in those kinds of women, and most men with a brain don't either.

Boo hoo. They married beautiful women with a taste for money and are shocked to find that after years of marriage the women use their money to hold on to their looks and live a lavish lifestyle.

Sort of like marrying Lance Armstrong and then complaining he spends too much time and money on the bike.

This is funny. I don't have any sympathy for the husbands. After all, they married them...

It's always the guy's fault, isn't it?

Unmarried men, Freepers...listen to this poster very carefully...this is the attitude you can expect from your wife, your ex-wife, their friends, and society. If you hit your wife, you're a beast...if she hits you, you must have provoked it.

These "ladies" will have you, legally and financially speaking, by the gonads. Think carefully before you put yourself in that position.

I grew up in the '60s, and back then "the dream" was belonging to a country club, going out to a steakhouse every weekend, owning a caddy, wearing white shoes, and basically, doing as little as humanly possible.

Well, sure, because we had it drilled into us day in and day out by those selling the American Dream that this is what it took to be "happy". You can't be too rich, too thin or have too many toys. Nothing much has changed. Different toys, new ploys.....but it's the same old game for most people, chasing the carrot on the stick.

Do you also enjoy laughing at the handicapped?

Sad but true. Of course, they may have been sold a bill of goods by the gal, and by society...who gives men a false sense of empowerment.

Because, you see, if a wife is unhappy, it's because you haven't been meeting her needs...if you did, she'd change. Why, just by being a non-drinking, non abusive husband, that makes you better than 50% of all the guys out there! (if the propaganda is to be believed) So, you see, it doesn't really matter who you marry, because if you're a good husband, any women will come around!

Nonsense, you say? Read the threads, read the magazines...attend some marital counseling.

He's tried to have a relationship with the kids... but they really aren't interested at this point.. mainly because there was never bonding in the early years.

He went through a phase with all his toys....and found it quite unfulfilling. We've been divorced 10 yrs and he recently married a very nice woman he's known for a little while. What's sad is he was on my doorstep trying to get back together...the week before he married her. That tells me he's not in love ....as much as he just doesn't want to be alone. For her sake...I hope it works.

Look, maybe there aren't a whole lot of great men or women out there to have those lovely little old-fashioned marriages. That doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if there are a million or six; it matters that there's one, and you find her.

There's a phrase I remember from a science fiction story somewhere: "If your girl's one in a million, that means there's six like her in a decent sized city". Odds don't matter. The kind of person you want to marry, wants to marry the kind of person you are. It doesn't matter that sorority girls only date hunky bad boys. It doesn't matter that girls in bars don't like geeks. It matters that the kind of girl who marries geeks (like me), marries geeks.

The only secret to finding that one true love is knowing what you're looking for. Sounds stupid, right? But how closely have you thought about the kind of woman you want? I mean really? I had a friend who told me two years ago I'd never get a date because my list of qualities in a guy was too long. Today I'm married to a man who matched all those and some I hadn't even hoped for.

Once you know what you're looking for, go where she is. Chances are she's not in bars. Chances are she's at church, online, in a class somewhere. But if you don't know what you're looking for, youll never find her. And that pessimistic "women are evil" attitude, won't get you anywhere.

Thanks Lori. I DO have my moments!

If I die tomorrow, I can truly say I have had a wonderful & blessed life. Heartaches? Sure, a boatload full (big boat).. but sometimes being pollyanna & skipping over the silly crap in life helps one to endure the tougher things along the way

Lots I still would like to do & experience but we just cant count on tomorrow being there.

Oh, this is ludicrous. Yes, there are some horrible parasitic wives on both sides of the Atlantic, and some poor beleaguered husbands. But I know quite a few Englishwomen who are fixed like this and the idea of anyone post-1935 saying "drinkie-poo" is insane. I think the author has been reading about Bertie Wooster and now she thinks the rich middle class talks like that.

They may treat their staff badly, too, but it's way too difficult and too much trouble to find new staff for a woman to fire staff casually. This tale is fictional.

But how closely have you thought about the kind of woman you want?

At great length. I could type you up a point by point list if you wanted to see it.

Chances are she's not in bars. Chances are she's at church, online, in a class somewhere.

I certainly wouldn't look in a bar. Hell, I don't even go into bars. Frankly, since I got a good idea of what I want, I'm now at least somewhat convinced that what I want doesn't exist. I could be wrong, only time will tell.

It's not at all short-sighted. To marry bringing no marketable skills to the union is unfathomable. Choosing not to work is another matter. Having the skill to work at something is a must. It's for back-up.

Thanks for your post. You made my case even better than I did. 25 years of misery? Was he holding a gun to your head all that time? Or, was it 'for the kids?' Puh-leeze.

OTOH, he'll probably die the same: an angry, bitter man.

Lots I still would like to do & experience but we just cant count on tomorrow being there.

Well, I don't think any of us want to get to a point in our lives where we have seen and done everything we wanted to do. That would not be good. I have a list of things I want to do before I die, and I purposely made it a VERY long list. ;-)

What you write has a lot of wisdom although the pop culture would not agree.

This is taking for granted we are not starting with a spoiled little girl in a woman's body. A woman who is just given stuff & not emotional support (NOT passive aggressive) and TRUE love will not be responsive in the way a man wants.

And a woman who cannot meet the man's wants/needs is much the same way.

It takes as much energy to thank him for his financial support & love as it does to complain that she doesn't have enough.

I am at the age/stage that the men I am series in dating are ones who have gone the "route" more or less & have learned that what I can provide for them in NOT in a bank account but in true support & companionship.

More than one have told me how refreshing it is to meet someone NOT married to her career or tied at hip to her adult children.

They are thrilled to have someone they consider their EQUAL to share the remaining days of life & the money they have accrued is rather meaningless w/o that missing part.

I'm aware that I come off pessimistic, and I don't like that. In truth, I'm a hopeless romantic if you really want to know how I feel, but in today's world I have no choice but to be protective of myself. A mistake in today's world costs you far more than it once did. There's simply no room for error. I hope things turn out well, but my caution and pickiness aren't going away any time soon.

And I'm pretty sure she does exist, if only because statistically, someone to match every profile is out there.

Put it this way - are you, like Noah, the only righteous man of the generation? Not quite, no matter how bleak things seem. So why assume there's no girl out there like you?

I don't like threads where certain male freepers come on and paint these broad strokes that all women are evil or out to get men. You surely know better than that! You don't sound bitter, just a bit lonely and despairing and that's pretty normal. Just... don't make doom-and-gloomy comments about there not being any nice girls out there because it's really offensive to those of us who are (or were until not long ago). I have younger sisters out there, doing their best to find nice young men to settle down with. Being told that they don't exist and all unmarried women these days are sluts, is pretty darn offensive.

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