THERE are few things in life I am proud of. Very few. But one is the fact that every one of my ex-girlfriends has, post-relationship, been better fed and, more importantly, left with a far superior shoe collection than when she first lay eyes on me. Their regret will always be tinged with a veneer of joy as they gaze upon the extended and improved array of footwear they have amassed whilr having tae put up with my poor chat and failing charm.

I love shopping with my womenfolk. Be they an ex-wife, girlfriend or best pal, few consumer capers capture my consciousness more than a therapy afternoon of retail. I suppose it might have something to do with my own love of the shopping and fashion experience, an experience clearly inherited from the DNA of my father, the original natty dresser.

But it seems that I am a lone voice in a department store of dissension. My myriad modes of metrosexuality might be the exception rather than the rule.

This is clear by the fact that the doyenne of department stores, the haven they call Harvey Nichols, has decided to set up a “man creche”, an area with a bar, a barber and a games area. Lucky ladies – you can drop your (fully-grown) man at the “man creche” while you charge ahead and charge your card with current consumer comestibles.

How depressing. Is this what it has come to? Rather than actually engage in the function of fashion, the sensibility-of-style men want tae have their hair cut, down a beer and play a shoot 'em up. It begs the question: why bother leaving the house if all yer gonnae dae is pretty much whit you wid dae if you didnae go shopping?

Why is the act of shopping so challenging? I know that there are womenfolk out there who find men they are driven tae change, tae meld and mould into the men they want them tae be. The cult of “fixing” men is a fascinating phenomenon. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. It does make me ponder: if the man you've chosen isnae the complete man, he’s a man that you need tae shape, shuggle and suggest into shape, then maybe he’s not the right man for you?

It’s no great surprise, then, that for those men, the concept of cavorting around the concessions of a department store is interpreted as an imposition rather than defined as a delicious delight.

Research by the much-vaunted department store is that men loathe browsing. Rather than open their minds to the panoply of possibility, the myriad of magnificent, men would rather be presented with selections of what they want; white T-shirts, blue jeans, cord jackets with elbow patches.

Yet again, I feel rather frustrated by my fellow gender members. What scares them about the possibility of change? What scares them about engaging, meaningfully, with something that their womenfolk obviously care about so much? Many men I know are quick enough to offer an opinion about what the women in their lives want when it comes tae going to that wedding/bar mitzvah/Eid celebration. Yet they are utterly absent when it comes to the purchase of the aforementioned articles. (Too busy in the department store bar with a beer and a barber and a full metal jacket.) Thiss infantilisation of men plays depressingly into the stereotype, indulging indifference rather than embracing adventure. Rather than have women drag their men, unwillingly, to the shops, how about the shops try to engage meaningfully with the potential positives that come with the shared experience of shopping?

The more we pander to patriarchal platitudes, the less we will witness any change in the world. It does seem to me that women are more malleable, more prepared to wilfully wander into the weird world inhabited by us blokes. Maybe, just maybe, some of us men might make the effort to give over all of an afternoon to hold her handbag, clutch her coat and offer an opinion about whether that above-the-knee dress might just migrate from daywear to evening wear.