I don't think men are that attracted by glamour. I think women

In her reflection, Joanna Lumley offers a quiet but piercing truth about human nature: “I don’t think men are that attracted by glamour. I think women are attracted by glamour. I think men are attracted by a sense of friendship.” These words, graceful yet grounded, peel away the illusions that often shroud desire. Lumley, known for her poise and elegance, speaks here not as a star of the screen, but as a philosopher of the heart. She reminds us that beneath the glitter and perfume of attraction lies something deeper, older, and more enduring — the bond of friendship, the companionship of souls that recognize one another beyond appearances.

The origin of this quote arises from Lumley’s long life in the world of theatre and film, where beauty and glamour are both currency and disguise. Having lived among the lights, she saw how quickly surface charm fades when weighed against the need for understanding. Her insight reflects not cynicism, but wisdom: that what truly captivates the human heart is connection, not spectacle. The glow of glamour is but the candle; friendship is the flame that warms. In her words, one can hear the echo of ancient philosophers who warned that beauty without virtue is a hollow shell, and admiration without kinship is only a passing fever.

Lumley’s observation reveals a profound symmetry between the sexes — that what women often seek in the mirror, men seek in companionship. Glamour enchants the eyes, but friendship nourishes the soul. To be glamorous is to be admired; to be a friend is to be loved. Men, she suggests, are drawn not to the mask but to the presence behind it — the laughter that feels familiar, the kindness that steadies the heart, the sense that in another, they have found an ally against the loneliness of life. This is not weakness, but a form of courage: the courage to seek intimacy over illusion, truth over performance.

History offers many examples that reflect this quiet wisdom. Consider Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd, whose marriage was not founded on beauty or brilliance alone, but on shared ideals and mutual respect. Lincoln, often weary and burdened, drew strength from her fierce loyalty; she, in turn, found solace in his gentleness. Their bond was imperfect, storm-tossed by tragedy, yet it endured because it was built on friendship. When glamour fades — as it always does — what remains is the companionship of souls that have walked together through light and shadow.

Lumley’s words also challenge the modern obsession with surface and spectacle. In a world where people chase likes and appearances, she speaks of something timeless — the longing to be truly seen. Friendship, unlike glamour, does not demand performance; it invites authenticity. It asks not, “How do you look?” but “Who are you when the lights go out?” Glamour dazzles for a moment, but friendship roots itself in trust and understanding. In her gentle way, Lumley reminds us that to be loved as a friend is far greater than to be desired as a fantasy.

Her insight also carries a subtle moral strength: that women, too, can be freed from the tyranny of glamour. The pressure to appear radiant, perfect, untouchable — it is an inheritance of ages, born from the belief that one must captivate to be worthy. But Lumley speaks as one who has lived beyond such illusions. She invites women to rediscover the grace of authenticity, to understand that their truest beauty lies in warmth, in humor, in the power of being real. Glamour may turn heads, but friendship — that steady, luminous quality — wins hearts.

The lesson, then, is one of simplicity and liberation. To those who seek love: seek friendship first. Let connection grow from honesty, laughter, and shared struggle. To those who chase glamour: remember that the light which attracts may also blind. True beauty is relational, born from kindness and presence, not from gold or glitter. In practical life, this means listening more than performing, building trust before romance, and choosing authenticity over artifice. In the end, as Joanna Lumley so gracefully teaches, the deepest attraction is not to perfection — but to humanity itself.