TONIGHT at the Golden Globe awards, actors and actresses will take to the red carpet wearing black in protest against sexual harassment. Men are joining in, though given that mainly their uniform for such events is black it will be hard to tell. What bothers me, however, is that really this protest, named Time's Up, is about the women and their dresses. Again and again, it all boils down to this – what we wear, what we look like. This is what gets us noticed. Hence this is how we demonstrate our solidarity. With a dress code.

I can't be alone in finding this dispiriting. Yet again, we are what we wear. We are what we wear on a slut walk, on a red carpet, in our workplace, when we step out in front of the public, and yes, when we protest. We are what we wear even when we try to complain about this being the case. When one of the most impactful ways of protesting is through our clothing, it’s clear we are far from escaping the box that constrains us.

It’s also depressing that this is what appears to be the first big action of the year from the #MeToo movement, a cause behind which there is so much hope and anger. Of course just because it’s the first shot doesn’t mean it’ll be the only one, and it's good to know that what was revealed last year is not going to be glossed over.

But black dresses? I’m almost with Rose McGowan, one of Harvey Weinstein’s early accusers, who back in December objected to the idea of such a protest in a, now deleted, tweet that read: “Actresses, like Meryl Streep, who happily worked for The Pig Monster are wearing black @GoldenGlobes in a silent protest. YOUR SILENCE is THE problem.”

It’s not that I agree with the criticism of Streep, who replied to McGowan’s comment saying: “I wasn’t deliberately silent. I didn’t know.” But I don't think anything that’s about our clothes will ever be enough. Time’s Up is a typical protest-lite, like wearing a wristband, a ribbon or a filter on your social media, a way of registering some nebulous solidarity, but not much more. It goes a small way towards pushing for change, but ultimately seems more about making us feel like we are doing something.

That’s disappointing. For the great thing about #MeToo was it did more than this. It wasn’t just a badge, it was a great mass act of story-telling and silence-lifting. And it did two things at once. It pointed the finger at certain abusive figures, showing that those in power could easily be exposed. But it also helped shift the shame. Research shows that when a person speaks of their ordeal, some of the stress of that trauma is lifted.

And Time's Up didn't have to be about dresses. There could have been a boycott of industry awards; a night of #MeToo stories; a mini Women's March. But instead, we have dresses. We have wardrobe choices. We have female bodies more important than female voices. And, though these dresses might get across some of the message, mostly, I suspect, it will seem like the industry carrying on in its own familiar way, only in monochrome.

SICKNESS ISN'T DONALD TRUMP'S PROBLEM

DONALD Trump is not just a very important man in charge of a big, red nuclear button, he's also a kind of biological specimen. Hence, there's a great deal of interest in what will be turned up when, next week, the White House physician conducts the first formal health examination on him since he entered office. It's as if we believe that something physiologically wrong with Donald Trump – whose Twitter behaviour, and public performances many pundits are saying should have us worrying about his health – will, if not provide reason to get rid of him, at least give explanation for the political state of things. Some are calling for a neurological check-up, others for full details of what’s found to be released, but one thing’s clear: people want a physiological explanation for what is a political problem. We want to explain Trump's actions as a mental or physical health issue.

And not surprisingly. Trump’s personal behaviour, if Michael Wolff’s explosive book Fire And Fury is anything to go by, has possibly been even more eccentric than we might have expected: eating mostly fast food burgers because of a fear of being poisoned, evenings spent in front of three televisions constantly on the phone, a dozen diet cokes a day, a lifestyle that seems like a presidential sequel to Morgan Spurlock's Super Size Me. It’s the kind of behaviour you would be worried about if you saw it in a friend.

Is this what politics has come to? All of us staring, repeatedly, at clips of Trump clumsily drinking a glass of water, just as some did of Hillary Clinton during the presidential race, as if somehow they might offer the reasons for our current fix? No, the real sickness isn’t in Trump’s body. He is just one symptom. It’s a wider one, afflicting global democratic politics. Doctor, can you provide us with a treatment plan for that?