Eva Bradley.
If you have been beating a path through life for long enough to consider yourself "old", you will have borne witness to many phases and fashions in that time.
Every decade seems to arrive with its own classic or cringing style and in years to come we can look back and celebrate the high points (sharp suits and swaying skirts in the 1950s) and laugh about the low points (woolly sideburns in the 1970s, mutton-bird sleeves and spiral perms in the 1980s).
What is good about all of these fashion fads is that they disappeared as fast as they arrived.
Which is why I have a problem with metrosexuals.
A by-product of the 21st century obsession with self, metro men are defined by an unhealthy interest in personal grooming and spending an inordinate amount of time in front of the bathroom mirror.
They see a stylist not a hairdresser, own more shoes than most women, have a penchant for wine over beer (depending on the vintage) and are fabulous in the kitchen but hopeless with a barbecue.
Metrosexualism is more than a fashion statement, it's a lifestyle and it feels like it is here to stay.
Perhaps I'm being sexist having a problem with this. After all, women have been obsessed with their appearance and the finer things in life ever since Eve took a shine to that ill-fated apple in the Garden of Eden and then started getting picky about wearing fig leaves.
Although I prefer my men to be men, I shouldn't really have a problem with them being more like women, should I?
It has often been a complaint among the fairer sex that guys "just don't get it". In a situation of having to be careful what you wish for, many now seem to "get" more than we'd like them to.
My own man (while particular about the cut of his jib and always well turned out) is thankfully still a fairly typical Kiwi male and rarely imposes upon my own time in front of the bathroom mirror.
Perhaps it's an age thing. Maybe mothers of teenage sons are the ones who can really share the horror stories, and if that's the case what lies ahead?
There's just something not quite right about a man who cares about the way he looks to the same degree that a woman does.
Maybe if I lived in New York where there are few of the typical male diversions we are so spoilt with here in New Zealand I would feel differently, but I don't. In my world, boys should be outdoors learning to be men.
They should be fixing up old cars, building forts and getting nagged at by their mothers to get a haircut.
Because I can, and because it's fashionable to do so, I blame modern society and the Government for the fact this no longer happens.
If free trade agreements were not so rife, vehicle safety standards not so strict and finance not so easily available, our boys would indeed be spending their spare time under the hoods of busted old Chrysler Valiants instead of breaking the speed limit in near-new Japanese imports. If rising house prices and urban spread hadn't encroached on the quarter-acre dream and increasing crime made our streets unsafe to turn children out on to during the daylight hours, boys wouldn't be sitting inside on iPads getting disastrous fashion tips from Kanye and co.
Perhaps I'm adding up two and two and getting 200, but didn't life just seem better when men were men, stubble was something you got when you forgot to shave and not something you paid a "stylist" to "create", and you didn't have to hide your best Clinique face masque under your pillow?
-Eva Bradley is an award-winning journalist.