It was hard to believe that Jodie Turner-Smith, the chiselled-from-black-marble female lead of Queen & Slim, the feature film debut from Melina Matsoukas, could get any more resplendent. Then she got pregnant. Last Friday, she glowed on Graham Norton’s couch, her bare bump on display below a chic, one-shouldered crop top.

Not everyone was as taken with the vision. Inevitable uproar ensued over her audacity to don anything other than a muumuu, to which she clapped back via Twitter, sharing a picture of herself in the outfit with the caption: “Gives zero fucks about your disdain for pregnant women’s bodies on British television.” Personally, I love maternity looks where the bump is treated like another piece of flesh to flash, even if somehow it still rankles with some people.

It has been nearly 30 years since a naked, eight-months-pregnant Demi Moore appeared on the cover of Vanity Fair. The image birthed a thousand celebrity maternity shoots, yet the sight of a pregnant woman’s body today feels no less controversial. The outrage is tenfold if she dares to look hot. Sex appeal is integral to the success of female celebrities, but they are barred from having it as soon as they are expecting.

Cardi B’s twerking at Coachella in 2018, when she was six months pregnant, caused en masse pearl clutching, as did All Saints’ Melanie Blatt in a belly top and low-rise joggers at Party in the Park in 1998. Ten years before that, Neneh Cherry on Top of the Pops, ready to pop in a crop top, got the same “Put it away, love!” response. Despite their state being caused by sex, expectant mothers are considered completely at odds with it.

Even covering up doesn’t mean you are free from criticism. In 2013, a heavily pregnant Kim Kardashian arrived at her first Met Gala in a floral, high-neck, long-sleeved gown. An onslaught of memes followed, several comparing her to a sofa. Kardashian has since said she “cried the whole way home” over the response.

The safest bet seems to be opting for whatever does the best job of making you not look pregnant. In the Victorian era, manufacturers marketed “maternity corsets” on their ability to obscure pregnant bodies. A maternitywear advert in Good Housekeeping in 1923 read: “Be entirely free from embarrassment of a noticeable appearance during a trying period.” We have come a long way, but in many ways we have not moved at all: although brands are less overt about its intentions, maternity “shapewear” is still big business.

Whether it be during the nine months of pregnancy or across a regular, unfertilised year, women are told there is something wrong with their appearance. Nothing makes me happier than seeing women deem their bump a part of their body to celebrate rather than conceal.

•Yomi Adegoke is a Guardian columnist