Clearly, most biker women spend a lot of time at Playboy photo shoots.

At least, that what the media tells us.

These perfect biker babes strap themselves into black leather bras, lean forward, and pout.
You could get lost for days in that mountainous cleavage.
Their long, glossy hair tumbles over bare shoulders like a shining waterfall.

But back in the real world, photographers from Playboy are nowhere to be seen. 

That’s fine, because in reality biker women don’t spend that much time lying around naked on random motorcycles.

Especially if there’s a camera around.

Real Motorcycle Women Wear Safety Gear – Not Bikinis

Biker women are more likely to wear a riding jacket than a string bikini.

If your hair’s long, it’s tied back so it doesn’t become an instant bird’s nest.
You’re probably sitting upright watching the road, rather than lying back dreaming of ‘making it’ as a centerfold.

And those TV biker babes rock a full face of heavy make-up.


A set of fake caterpillar eyelashes, and lashings of black eye shadow are basic requirements.

In reality, that only works if you don’t actually GET ONTO a motorcycle and go anywhere.
(And it’s after 9pm.)

Paint on some thick smoky eye shadow and shimmering lip gloss when you’re going out on the bike, and you’ll arrive looking like a hooker clown.

Shiny makeup is a magnet for dirt and grime.
And sticky little insects.
It’s hard to look seductive covered in bug splatter and mud.

Biker Women are Probably Not Waiting for Playboy to Call

The media idea of biker women straight from the pages of Playboy is beyond ridiculous.

It’s light years from reality.


If I stop eating long enough for my rib cage to poke through a dodgy black leather number, I’ll be too weak to even climb onto the bike.

And if I do manage to summon enough energy to get on board, I’ll be so cranky that you’ll think the Wicked Witch of the West has started riding pillion.

I definitely won’t enjoy the ride.
And you’d better believe that my man won’t either!

It drives me nuts that Barbie beauty standards have wormed their shiny way into the world of motorcycling.

In 23 years of riding pillion, I have never seen a woman get off a bike, shake out her bouncy platinum hair, and be offered a modelling contract.
Or even a stripper job, come to that.


Don’t get me wrong.
I always make an effort to look at least half human on the bike.

I don’t want to reach our destination and hear someone shout in excitement, “Hey! Sasquatch has a sister!”

But real motorcycle women don’t get to the end of a ride looking stripper-pole-ready.

When I rip off my helmet, my hair’s pretty messy.
The lip gloss wore off hours ago.
That’s because I’m smiling too much!

By the end of a ride, I’m grinning from ear to ear.
I’m in the best mood ever.

Because I’ve just been riding with the kind of man who’s looking for something a little more interesting than zero body fat and a leather thong.

Let the media sell us perfect biker babes who look like Playboy Barbie come to life (stripper pole sold separately).

I’m not buying any of it.

I’m off to have a beer with my man, and talk about our awesome ride!

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Written by Liz Hardy