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“Sorry I look so schleppy,” she says.

“Sorry I look so schleppy,” she says blithely.

Yes, it’s a makeover show with bubbly experts instructing schleppy men on the wonders of slim-cut jeans, five-minute grooming routines, Ikea and avocados.

She loves the suburbs, she hates the suburbs, she loves the crowded city where you can be alone, and the Upper West Side, where the schleppy old guys of old have given way to the schleppy old guys of now.

As Washington Post film critic Ann Hornaday noted so well in an op-ed, such messages are delivered on a regular basis by the largely male-run Hollywood film industry, which makes a lot of money off of movies depicting women as objects and victims, and depicting schleppy men as the wronged victims of “hot” women who have the nerve to find them uninteresting or unattractive.