In the face of Martha Stewart's conviction on insider trading charges - admittedly small potatoes compared to the massive bouts of corporate criminality we've seen in terms of WorldCom and Enron in recent years - legions of the smug and satisfied have emerged with cheeky grins on their faces as the domestic maven is taken on the perp walk while cameras flash . Us Weekly , an eclectic intellectual experience normally confined to Entertainment Tonight -style celebrity cheerleading, recently ran a flattering cover photograph of Ms. Stewart, with an unflattering caption denoting "The Fall of Miss Perfect." Late-night talk show hosts (the recently - and thankfully - cancelled Mike Bullard excepted) continue to draw huge bouts of laughter and applause for barbs aimed at Stewart, indicating that the mob is still relishing the conviction. Why?

Surely there is more than a little sexism involved in the venomous lynching of Stewart, a powerful woman rendered often as a "bitch" for behaviour celebrated in male figures like TV's newest up-and-comer, Donald Trump. And there is also the Patsy Factor - the popular suspicion amongst cynics that Stewart's piddly conviction will be used as a lighting rod, while bigger fish go unfried. These are both, certainly, relevant bits of information, important parts of the puzzle.

But Stewart-as-white-collar-criminal offers a poetic justice that can't be ignored as we attempt to understand why the working-and-middle-class masses relish the sight of her hiding behind her slovenly, recently defeated lawyers. Unlike the executive thieves at Enron and WorldCom, Martha Stewart plays not only an industrial or commercial role in capitalist production, but acts as well in a highly visible cultural capacity. Stewart's public persona intersects investment practice and do-it-yourself culture, having built an empire built largely on the exploitation of (mostly-female) insecurities and feelings of inadequacy.

For years, Stewart has insisted that your home is not ugly because you're poor, nor is your food bland because you've no time to prepare it; in the Martha Stewart Living world, the only barrier to beauty, the only obstacle to perfection, is the lack of creativity and cunning you possess - a deficit which her presence is meant to rectify. Where once you saw only a pinecone, she trained you to see the potential for a glitter-covered centrepiece; turns out that a mastery of pastels was all that stood between you and a beautiful living room, where you once thought it was the bars on the windows. She offered an illusory, perfection-laden universe wherein the old excuses of lacking resources such as time and money meant nothing, because all you needed was elbow grease, and a little Stewartonian brilliance.

But as it turns out, the kingdom wasn't built on innovation and diligence, but rather it was built on bullshit and theft. Stewart the criminal, with access to money and information to which her legions of fans might never dream accessing themselves, presented the façade of self-sufficiency whilst lying and stealing and greedily filling her pockets.

In the face of these new revelations, those who, in the past, felt inadequate in the face of Stewart's go-getter grit might breathe a sigh of retroactive relief, knowing that, in fact, there is nothing wrong or lacking in them at all. It seems more than natural for this relief to translate into a smile, as one enormously wealthy corporate criminal is taken to task for their indiscretions. Desperate times such as these call for the celebration of small victories such as this.

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