I am not a feminist. Many of my readers may recoil in horror upon discovering this fact.

I may even risk losing a few. Allow me to clarify: I am not anti-feminist. The truth is, I have never felt personally inhibited from realising my ambitions purely because I’m a girl. I am certain, however, that there are many women who have experienced such discrimination. More power to them. But you have to pick your battles. And, since I haven’t been on the receiving end of this mistreatment, feminism isn’t one of mine.

For this reason, I usually avoid drawing comparisons between men and women that seek to establish the lives of one or the other gender as tougher, or more challenging. Usually. However, there are inescapable differences in the sartorial experiences of men and women that are undeniably exclusive to a single sex.

Take, for example, the ol’ tights slipping down and skirts riding up dilemmas. These, like childbirth, are problems most men will never encounter, unless employed in professional ballet or ceremonial Scottish events. Although, granted, the discomfort of childbirth and unruly clothing is hardly comparable.

Now, as we move into hotter weather, the perils of unsightly, salty sweat patches will be common to both our sexes. But I guarantee women will be the more harshly judged for this.

Equally unforgivable is the crime of neglecting to shave one’s underarms. Now I am the first to admit to having a fuzz phobia. There is something unbeatably satisfying about the feeling of silky soft, newly waxed limbs. Yet I know for a fact that body hair has been a massive bone of contention in recent feminist discourse – particularly its enforced invisibility in photographed females, harping back to Julia Robert’s famous ‘undergrowth’, now giving way to Madonna’s ‘Long Hair, Don’t Care’ statement last month. 

I for one am not a fan of this peculiar campaign. I believe the solution that would best benefit everyone would be if men were obliged to shave their underarms too. Because – and I speak from experience on this one – there is nothing worse than being stuck next to a string-vested guy on public transport with your nose at hairy armpit level in summer.

Now I won’t harp on about heels, because heels are really a vanity choice and every woman is welcome to wear comfortable flats if she so pleases. But I do resent the poorly planned layouts of supermarket shelves and office windows for girls who opt for practical pumps. I’m 5’4”. That’s the UK average for women. In other words, I shouldn’t often be exposed to vertical challenges. Yet I frequently am. And, when these situations persistently place objects of desire just a couple of inches too high, I can only surmise that such planning proceeded with the average height of men in mind, neglecting the needs of the majority of the fairer sex. So forget about glass ceilings girls – this is about being able to take down a box of cereal at Tesco without breaking a metatarsal!

Therefore as a ‘non-feminist’, let this be the only time I am ever caught saying this.

Men: you don’t know what we go through.