I’m not sure exactly where the impulse came from, but a few months ago, I bought a load of vests. I’m talking five. This act of madness wasn’t totally unprecedented – it’s not like I’d never owned a vest before – but it surprised me. Perhaps it was a kind of unconscious osmosis brought on by the fact that an increasing number of designers, from Prada to Fendi, were showing vests on the runway. But who knows? Still, I’ve been wearing them more and more, and, frankly, I like them.

There are rules, however. I am not a tank-topped evangelist, running down the street with nearly-escaped nipples at every chance I get. While I was more than happy to pack multiple vests for a sunny holiday last month, I wouldn’t be caught dead with my shoulders out in the office, even in the guise of a “sleeveless T-shirt”. Still, I firmly believe there is a place for the vest in the modern man’s wardrobe, and not just when hidden underneath a shirt or lounging by the pool.

It’s true that vests have something of a sartorial scare factor for those of us who carry even the slightest bit of extra weight; it only takes a few pounds to take you from Mr Bruce Lee’s fitted white vest to Jim Royle’s sad-sack lumpy one. Someone in my office who is resolutely anti-vest even said that they run the risk of making the wearer look “a bit booby”. Not what I want to go for, personally. So, how to navigate?

The true charm of the vest, regardless of body size, is unlocked when it’s layered underneath something else (but is crucially still visible). Picture it: a blazer, chore jacket or overshirt worn over the top of a vest. The vest is cut so that the chest is on show, but not so much as to be vulgar, and the overall effect is one of breezy self-assurance.

Even for someone like me who lacks a decent show of chest hair, a vest under a blazer immediately feels more suave than with a T-shirt. A tee under a blazer is smart casual at best, but a vest is more polished and, in fact, sexier. A vest might just be one of the only things in a man’s wardrobe that safely gives off sex appeal without immediately being sleazy. A bit like a fine chain necklace, but less predictable.

In recent years, I’ve spotted more and more men wearing lounge suits at events with nothing underneath up top, which always felt to me brave at best and mortifying at worst. A vest does a much less mortifying job. A black tank top under a black blazer works particularly well as a smart look that I’d happily wear to the office or out to dinner, and, with the addition of jewellery, I think looks quite elevated.

I’ll admit that no other item in my wardrobe motivates me to make use of my gym membership quite like a vest. But, overall, I think this is a good thing. If it takes a scanty piece of clothing to cajole me into doing cable crossovers, then I suppose I can only be grateful.

Hardly ever has there been a less flattering item of clothing than the vest. Like skinny jeans and slim-fit shirts, they demand of the wearer an almost inhuman degree of perfection. You must have bulges in all the right places – the arms, shoulders and pecs – and an absolute absence of them in all the wrong places: that is to say, everywhere else.

They cling like a newborn, becoming a sort of thong for the upper body; a Y-front for the chest and belly. They are only right on an athlete, or a runner, or Clark Kent. Even Mr Timothée Chalamet couldn’t pull it off when he was forced into one for Call Me By Your Name. He looked like an orphan on a day out from the workhouse – and for once, those cheekbones couldn’t save the day. So, what chance do us mere mortals have? If the Almighty had meant us to wear vests, They wouldn’t have invented love handles.

Another trouble with vests is tanning. Obviously, people wear vests in hot climes – you seldom see them in downtown Nuuk, Greenland, after all – and so you inevitably end up with the Vest Tan, which makes the Farmer’s Tan look dignified. The Vest Tan is one of the reasons for many years people had trouble taking Australians seriously. (I am a quarter Australian, so I can say this with impunity.)

They also have a particular connotation. What comes to mind when you think of vests is Rab C Nesbitt and people out robbing pensioners. Perhaps this is unfair, or a little cruel. But no one can deny it is gospel truth – as is immediately obvious to anyone who has visited the beer gardens of Britain’s provincial towns in summer.

What alternative is there, then? The problem with the male British body (much like the Italian older gentleman) is that it tends to get a little lumpy up top, so fond are we of a pint of lager on a hot day. So, unless you have the body of a demigod, going topless altogether is off the card – and even then, it is a little vulgar. Instead, let us opt for T-shirts rolled up at the sleeves and wear a size up from the one we normally opt for. A boxy T-shirt hides a multitude of sins and can even hint at a physique that isn’t there.

I must admit I did once favour the vest – but, in my defence, I was spending summer in Italy and it was hotter than the depths of Hell. I cringe now, of course, but I was about two stone lighter. Plus, it was a very remote village, so I feel my sins ought to be forgiven.

In summary, a vest should only ever be used as an underlayer. Something to be kept as a thermal when in Val-d’Isère, when you need a little extra warmth for the day’s adventures ahead. Like a sex toy, it should be hidden away, and only used in private.