If you ask people who they think the most powerful woman in the world is right now, I bet my dignity that they would either say Angela Merkel or Dawn French. Indeed, it’s a close one, but in the battle between the bratwurst-lover and the salad-dodger, I’d probably go for Angie. 

It is fair to say that Angela Merkel has had all sorts of abuse thrown at her: socially awkward, introverted, mouse-like, quiet, banal, mundane – the list is endless.

Yet, the physicist from East Germany, who quietly spent her night in a sauna as the rest of Berlin witnessed the revolutionary collapse of the Berlin Wall, is undeniably the de facto head of the EU. Jean-Claude Juncker, the President of the European Commission, has got nothing on the proud head of the strongest economy in Europe. What Merkel says, goes, even if her boring personality is often represented by the potato soup that she regularly likes to prepare. Just ask Greece, who have continuously found themselves at her mercy. 

Renowned for taking her time to make decisions, her monotonous speeches and her unnerving calmness, Merkel challenges our traditional conceptions of leadership. What’s more, her strength is rooted in substance rather than style – she walks the walk, just without talking the talk. It has been said that Merkel usually sits in on cabinet meetings without saying a word – instead, she listens and furiously makes notes. That doesn’t stop most Germans from loving and respecting her, giving her the nickname Muttii (mummy) – the matriarch of Deutschland. 

Yet, had Merkel tried to seduce the British electorate with her sleep-inducing monotone, she would have unequivocally failed. In Britain, we’ve yet to unchain ourselves from the thraldoms of patriarchy: we want big, strong and well-spoken white men to lead our country. At the same time, however, we don’t want a group of self-obsessed, loud-mouthed Etonian old boys to call the shots; of course, they don’t represent us. This is a striking example of our farcical confusion and hypocrisy: we want out with the Establishment, but whenever someone a bit different comes along, our knees jerk, we balk, and leg it back to orthodoxy. 

We cry for change – at Speaker’s Corner in Hyde Park, in our universities, in the press, at anti-fracking rallies, in our jobcentres, on the tube, and even at home. And still, old habits never die – we’ve got a paradigm of the ‘right man’ for the job, and poor ol’ Ed just does not fit the mould. Why?

The answer is simple: we, the British people, prioritise style over substance. We love a big bully who knows how to use big words. One who prefers the word ‘longevity’ instead of ‘long-term’; ‘lavatory’ rather than ‘loo’; ‘egalitarianism’ instead of ‘equality’. As long as they can dress it up to make it sound good – or presentable - we’re lazy enough to buy it. And then we have the audacity to complain when we’re fooled – riddled with superfluous student debt.

In his unapologetically harsh and personal attack on Ed Miliband, Jeremy Paxman reminded us that people think the leader of the opposition is just “a North London geek”. Paxman (allegedly) spoke to a “bloke on the tube” who thought that in a showdown with Vladimir Putin, Ed would “be on the floor” whilst the topless, tough, horse-riding Kremlin would be “smiling” in triumph and victory. (I do wonder if Paxman has been reading too much of the Fifty Shades series...)

In short, Ed’s a bit of a wuss, isn’t he?

As previous Prime Minister’s go, I won’t lie: yes, yes he is. He is not the British archetype of what a leader should be: strong, loud, masculine and brash. Unlike David Cameron, he does not have an air of confidence (or arrogance) about him. He’s not hard as nails – in no way is he reminiscent of the bolshie Winston Churchill or the even more bold Margret Thatcher, nor does he pretend to be. 

Despite all of this, however, Ed has got one thing that we haven’t seen for years: substance. 

Last night’s debate proves this. Miliband was commendably honest. When asked about the shortcomings of Labour’s immigration policies under the Blair administration, he candidly remarked: “Yes, we got it wrong”. By contrast, Cameron was flailing to cover up all his lies and broken promises – from the increase in the rate of VAT to zero-hours contracts, he side-stepped Paxman’s questions, avoiding them like Dawn does with her lettuce. 

But Miliband is more than just honest: for his lack of charisma, he makes up for it with tangible goals and well thought-out policies – a mansion tax on properties over £2m, a reduction in student tuition fees, and a pledge not to make drastic cuts in education and healthcare, for example.

Conversely, Cameron promised to make £10bn worth of welfare cuts, but couldn’t tell us where. The Etonian, an ex-member of the Bullingdon Club – Oxford’s misogynistic and elitist drinking society – got off to a flying start, unable to tell us how many food banks are open in the country. Simply put, Cameron was style over substance.

Even The Telegraph – one of the Tories’ supporting newspapers – was unhappy with Cameron’s performance. Commentator Dan Hodges said: “David Cameron’s grilling by Paxman was the weakest public performance I’ve seen from him since he became Prime Minister. He was put on the back foot by the first question”.

The Prime Minister told his audience that he wanted to strive towards a British economy “that does not just look good on the page”. Alanis Morissette – take note: now, that’s what you call irony. Britain – for the love of God, for the sake of longevity, stop prioritising style over substance, and give the lad a chance.

So, is Eddie the new Angie? Put simply: hell Ja!