It was the quietly outrageous, leftfield artists Gilbert & George that first hinted at Margaret Thatcher's status as a gay icon, back in the last, crumbling moments of her leadership. If their admission of admiration for the Iron Lady came as something of a cultural left hook, it was rather less surprising to hear the smug bleating of perma-tanned Tory gay poster-boy (well, poster-man) Alan Duncan on the Today programme reiterating the sentiment.

Is Thatcher a gay icon? Look, I struggle with this one. I can remember being at school when Clause 28 was introduced and a weary teacher saying they could probably be sacked for letting us understand the subtext of Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie. My living, breathing, socialist self can still see the crying eyes of grown men on the street where I lived as an 80s teenager, falling into their withered wives' arms as their jobs fell like skittles under Thatcher's governmental auspices. But my equally sentient gay self cannot help but admire her way with an Aquascutum twinset and the plain fact that her hairspray knew no bounds.

This is complicated turf to tread. The very concept of iconoclasm when it comes to gay men, in particular (if you want lesbian icons, look no further than Thatcher Jnr, Carol), has been diluted to a watery, weak litmus test over the years. As gay men have surpassed all others to become the benchmark by which the free-market economy is tested, due to their disposable incomes and comparatively highrolling lifestyles - all dizzyingly Thatcherite in itself - anyone and everyone has learnt the power of laying claims to gay iconic status. From Jade Goody and Coleen McLaughlin through Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton, the concept of gay icon is a cheap ticket now.

The idea of gay iconography itself is currently replaceable with the idea of popularity and the ability to carry a strong, identifiable, signature look. Apparently, when Daniel Radcliffe won the role of Harry Potter at the age of 11 he said, rather fancifully and precociously to his agent: "Does this mean that I'll become a gay icon now?" But when you break down the essence of what a true gay treasure must do in order to outlive the moment and maintain their iconic status, it is not about getting a great part in a movie or copping off with a footballer. You are looking at an intrinsic and steely power to self-transform, to lift yourself by your boot straps and make the best of yourself with a wry smile on your face and a click of your heels. This is the secret code that gay men understand.

Eek. This is all looking rather good for Maggie. Moreover, there are echoes of Thatcher in many of the women who have become oddly, timely national gay matriarchs since her demise. She is somewhere in the husky tones and brilliantly horsey composer of Liz Hurley. She is written through the bolt-upright resolve and take-no-mercy camp of Sharon Osbourne. And if you don't recognise her entire genesis in the demonically self-starting entrepreneurialism of Jordan, you simply aren't opening your eyes wide enough.

Alan Duncan made reference to Thatcher: gay icon in his musings on the forthcoming televisualisation of Alan Hollinghurst's withering portrait of the Thatcher years through gay eyes, The Line Of Beauty. Mrs T makes a cameo in the book and will soon be on the small screen, her camp, easily cartooned presence once more in the national conscience.

Yet even in a book as scathing as Hollinghurst's there is a note of quiet admiration for its ghostly subject herself, whilst slowly and beautifully unpicking her decimation of the country. It's easy enough to see why. Straight, powerful men feared Mrs Thatcher. They were emasculated in her presence. And if that is enough to bestow the status of gay icon upon Cher - and believe me, it is - then history may yet prove it to be sufficient to crown the unlikeliest gay icon of them all.