John-Michael O’Sullivan

Over the last few years, the world has come to terms with most of the trappings of metrosexuality - male grooming, skinny jeans, neon brights, manbags - but there’s still one area that’s guaranteed to get everyone more than a little hot under the waistband.

Admittedly we’re not a culture that spends too much of our lives on the beach, so we’re more used to greeting the world with our clothes on rather than off, but the taboo of male swimwear still lingers like a phantom over our rare spells of summer sun.

In daily life, we’re used to clothes which allow masculine body parts to be flattered - tailored jackets and shoulder pads can conjure up streamlined silhouettes and trim waistlines out of the least shapely of us, slim-cut trousers lengthen legs. So we’ve learned to accommodate the body we have rather than aspire to unattainable perfection.

But on the beach or by the pool we’re - quite literally - defenceless. And it’s the one time when your privates really do go on parade. Goodbye, false advertising. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Looking round most swimwear departments, there really only seem to be the extremes of Speedo and surf-dude on offer. So it’s not too shocking that so many seek refuge in the halfway world of cargo shorts, reassuringly concealing and full of useful pockets for - er - all that stuff we absolutely need to carry, in best McGyver fashion, in case our tanning routine gets interrupted by military invasions or shark attack . . .

Not that there haven’t been advocates for a sleeker, more seductive look. Tom Ford blazed a trail in the 90s with buff Gucci boys glistening in skimpy G-strings and sculptured, cut-out briefs, while Daniel Craig’s infamous Casino Royale scene, squeezed into a trim pair of GrigioPerla trunks, seemed to signal a turning point in mainstream acceptance of crotch-huggers. Brands like Orlebar Brown are picking up on the growing acceptance of tailored shorts in everyday wear to bring a more grown-up aesthetic to the poolside.

For the most part, though, unless you happen to be a part-time Olympic swimmer, most guys - afraid of looking too vain, too Chippendalesy, too Eurotrash, or just too gay - shy away from the second-skin option.

Above all else, it’s uncomfortably close to female swimwear, and the notion that we might be just as prey to insecurity, vanity and envy (and to being dismissed as sex objects!).

Expect this one to run and run - as long as there are magazine spreads with taut-tummied, oiled-up Adonises in slinky briefs, there will be legions of insecure, pale-skinned Brits clutching to their drawstring shorts for dear life.

Now where’s my sarong . . .