Caught in the act of biking, rowing, jogging, training for a triathlon, these women exude competence; they can carry their own suitcases. Unlike fashion models, these women look as if they have an extra layer of upholstery gently cushioning their sharp corners.These privileged glimpses of a life set in the boudoir are in stark contrast to the scenes in Women's Sports and Fitness, in which athletes streak across sunlit, wide-open landscapes. Still, the Victoria's Secret types look like cartoon versions of real women, their bustlines selectively exaggerated to an extent that occurs rarely, if ever, in nature. (Because breast tissue is composed mostly of fat, a woman that bosomy would be fuller in the hips and thighs as well.) It seems safe to assume that this ideal, as embodied by these women, is the result not of what they've done but of what has been done to - or for - them: breast implants and, in some cases, liposuction Even so, their legs and arms are never scrawny. Their proportions are improbable, if not as preposterous as those of the women in Playboy and in pornographic magazines.

In a train station at rush hour, men would offer to carry their suitcases.Offers of another kind undoubtedly come the way of the odalisques in the Victoria's Secret catalogue, who are seen reclining, in various states of dishabille. Their attitude is languorous, passive and complacent, as if they were waiting for something to happen or for a man to come along. They have risen above their bodies, subjugated them, pared them down to their essence of skin and bones. A tendency to appear frail and brittle lends these women an air of feminine helplessness: they must be handled with care. In fashion photographs, the women who have attained this ideal strike aggressive poses, their limbs attenuated, angular and linear. Their faces, innocent and flawless, convey a certain smugness; their looks are outward evidence not of what they've done but of what they haven't done. The fashion body is an achievement, arrived at by means of renunciation; it is the paradigm for an aesthetic of purity, for a nun-like dedication to the cult of appearance and a capacity to forgo the sensual pleasure that food has to offer.

When, in 1979, Conde Nast inaugurated a magazine by the name of Self, to be devoted in large part to exercise and health, it cleaved the two ideals, freeing each to pursue its own course. From then on, Vogue could concentrate on the body best suited to the latest clothes, and women hungry for serious information about exercise were obliged to turn to special-interest magazines (of which Self is today only one of a dozen or so).It's instructive to contemplate the differences between the various ideals for women and how the corresponding physiques are acquired. In fact, the new generation of so-called supermodels - Kate Moss, Jody Kidd, Stella Tennant - is stick- thin. Even Cindy Crawford and Claudia Schiffer, who star in their own exercise videos, look more toned than strong, their muscles lacking definition.The fashion magazines have abdicated any responsibility for women's fitness.