Even during a heatwave, is it ever acceptable for men to be topless in London?

EARLIER this month I visited the visitor-hating city of Barcelona. I wasn’t too worried. Sure, I had my valuables in a bumbag and was sporting scarlet sunburn around my neck, but did I obviously stand out from the locals?

- Martin Robinson

At which point I noticed a Spanish man striding down the street with his top off. He didn’t look like I do with my top off. In fact, it didn’t seem like he had his top off at all; his heavy musculature and deep, mahogany tan were a kind of clothing. Or rather, the way he carried them gave no indication he was partially nude, with none of the shrinking from view that I associated with such a display.

As I noticed more of these men around the city, I began to realise that despite my commitment to drinking local “cervezas” — “Uno Madri por favor, garçon” — I would never blend in. I longed for London, where men keep their tops on, usually several at a time.

Or so I thought. Upon my return, on a glorious day in Shoreditch I saw to my horror that there were more than a few blokes walking about shirtless. I even saw a topless man on the Overground, one of the air-conditioned Tube lines where there’s no excuse for hairy nipples. It felt wrong, almost apocalyptic.