It’s hot. You’re sweating. An ice lolly and a hand-held fan just won’t cut it. Your hand rises to your collar and you undo a button or two – maybe, you think, the shirt could just come off?
Stop right there!
We may be basking in an extreme heat wave, but let’s get one thing straight, gentlemen: it is never appropriate to take off your shirt in public. Ever.
There are broadly two types of men who fail to follow this advice. First, there are the buff gym bunnies, who are desperate to peacock at passers-by in parks and gardens. These are the guys with six packs, or something akin to it, who usually consign their pitiful strutting to their health clubs but who like to whip off their tops in public at the first hint of sun.
They flex a pec much as another man might raise an eyebrow. They delight in glistening oil. Even at a children’s party, they’ll be joining in with the football and waving their shirt round their head when they score a goal. Each, in modern parlance, thinks he is “him”.
On the other hand, there is the man who should, on the face it, have no obvious aesthetic claim to semi-nudity – and yet whose natural state appears to be just that. They are often rotund, as seen on football terraces, or droopy. Like the inside of a sausage, they are best encased – and yet refuse to believe it, whatever the weather.
France has the right idea. Numerous municipalities have an eminently sensible ban in place to prevent people from wandering about with their flesh on display. It applies, fairly enough, to women and men – but we know who the primary culprits are. There are similar rules in the tourist hotspots of other European countries too, including Spain and Italy, which makes you wonder whether nudity regulators are in particular targeting bare-chested Brits. If they are, good for them. We should follow the lead of our continental cousins.
After all, we might all be brought into this world naked, but as any sensible midwife will surely tell you, the first thing to be done with any newborn is to wrap them in a lovely towel so they can have a bit of comfort and decorum. From then on, publicly displayed skin is only something you should see on a drum.
Men who work outdoors sometimes seem to be given a free pass, but in these days of powerful UV rays, builders should think twice before getting their wabs out. If the disapproval of passing prudes isn’t enough, perhaps the prospect of skin cancer will be.
Indeed, there is a serious point about the love many of us have to expose ourselves to the sun. Noel Coward had it right about mad dogs and Englishmen – even more so when the mercury is nearing 40°C and melanoma rates are rising too.
But even putting medical sense to one side, there is a simple sensibility about dressing properly. Men who ping out of their vests before you can say “the sun has got his hat on” are invariably attention seekers – and in this attention obsessed world, that alone is something worth taking stand against.
This is not, I must stress, an attempt to make the case for excessive formality. I might for the most part baulk at wearing t-shirts to the office, but I don’t (generally) pass judgement on those who do. Even what might politely be called a singlet is just about acceptable – I’d certainly rather look at a tatty male undershirt than be stared at by a pair of areolae as I walk down the street.
So, fellas, I know it’s tempting to flash the flesh. But it’s not good for you, and it’s not good for anyone else. If you want attention, go and see your mum, or a tailor. The rule is simple: sun comes out; nips stay in. You’ll thank me in the long run.
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