Bashfulness, albeit of the bladder or personality disorder variety, is not a helpful condition in the unisex toilet. It takes front to produce that giant hair spray from your handbag in full view of members of the opposite sex and it takes a certain chutzpah to emerge from your cubicle after demonstrating in surround-sound stereo females actually do break wind.
And therein lies the concern of several respondents to a BBC News Web forum on unisex toilets. Is it possible to maintain an air of glamour, mystery and intrigue while at the mercy of unpredictable bowel and bladder movements? Some believe not. "For a man, happy to live in the fantasy that all women secrete rose-perfumed pellets . . ." begins one enlightened contribution, "the reality is a harsh reminder that the fairer sex is just as fallible as their male counterparts. Why ruin the fantasy for all us men who aren't actually married yet?" The late Barbara Cartland wouldn't have put it better herself.
One worried female opines: "I don't think it's a good idea to have a man in the next cubicle knowing my physical condition and what I'm doing from the sound I make." While another strongly objects to sharing for hygiene reasons. "Men are notorious for bad targeting and if they also do not have the decency to lift the toilet seat, it will become a wet disaster for the ladies."
The jury is still out on whether we Irish have overcome our inhibitions sufficiently to embrace the unisex. Some of us are still getting over the heady era of open-plan, communal changing rooms - and they were single sex. There are only a few left in Dublin, the remainder of clothes stores having reverted to cubicles - perhaps prompted by the sight of one-too-many Irish women trying on skirts over their trousers and manoeuvring bikini tops under their jumpers.
But maybe we've moved on since then. After all, with the help of the Freedom of Information Act, a plethora of tribunals and Charlie Bird, we are supposed to have entered an age of openness and transparency. Unprecedented economic success has boosted confidence and we generally regard ourselves as a pretty cosmopolitan bunch.
Whether all of this is enough to make us throw off our natural reserve, it's hard to gauge. There are precious few communal toilets around. Fitzers restaurant in Temple Bar and Spy in South William Street are among the pioneers.
On a recent Friday night in Spy, it seemed the comfort level of patrons visiting the unisex directly correlated to the amount of alcohol consumed. Early in the night as I washed my hands in front of the mirror, I noticed a sheepish male slink into one of the cubicles. He appeared to have tunnel vision - when he entered the room he didn't look left or right but focused intently on his ultimate destination. A few hours later, the mood had changed. The din of lively banter between those waiting in line added a certain frisson. The lights were flatteringly low and the air was thick with the spray of complimentary Armani aftershave and Boss Woman. It could almost have been an extension of the bar. Only the occasional flush or passing male doing up his fly spoiled the illusion.
But there was none of the usual drama of the Ladies. There, you inevitably encounter the obligatory tragic woman who, while being propped upright by her two best friends, insists on telling anyone who'll listen about her low-life boyfriend. Such disclosures are not advisable in the unisex, as the self-same low-life could bluster in at any moment.
On that same night in Spy, one guy was overheard bitterly complaining about the inordinate length of the queue and the precarious state of his bladder. For someone who has wasted the best years of her life waiting in line for the Ladies, the unisex represents a kind of divine retribution.
ONE impatient male photographer in Japan didn't quite see it that way. He hit the headlines earlier this year when he stabbed a woman who took too long to emerge from a unisex cubicle.
The man behind Spy, John Reynolds, says the reaction to the communal toilet falls into two camps. "It's different and for that reason some people like them and some people don't. Some want their privacy. It's the one place where they can get solitude, where they can be with their own kind. With the unisex loos, you are on show all the time . . . Others think it is really cool. One girl said the unisex was `So Ally McBeal'."
Anyone who is a fan of the TV show will know the unisex at Cage Fish & Associates is a hub of high jinx. Eccentric senior partner John Cage has his own remote flusher and regularly peers over the top of adjacent stalls if he feels inclined to speak with the occupant. In earlier episodes, Ally and former boyfriend and co-worker Billy had some of their most heart-rending exchanges there and it's the place where the characters invariably overhear what their workmates really think of them.
Whether we will ever get a true flavour of that kind of workplace shenanigans is debatable. One of the few Irish workplaces to have a unisex is An Bord Altranais, the nursing board based on Fitzwilliam Square. On inquiry, I was informed it worked "very well but we have very few men here". The Equality Authority has a unisex on two floors but also provides separate facilities for male and female staff. According to Gerry Hickey of its communications section, "there is nothing in the legislation that precludes unisex toilets in the workplace, but some people might protest on the grounds of inconvenience. We don't have any objection in principle, but in ideal circumstances, there would be a choice of separate facilities simply for the sake of modesty".
Modesty was the reason a middle-aged woman stormed out of Fitzers in Temple Bar, says general manager Ronnie Carr. "She got up and left when she discovered we have a unisex. Another time we got a letter of complaint about the toilets which was signed by a few people saying they'd never come to our restaurant again. Ladies can be embarrassed to put on their make up there, but generally the biggest reaction is initial surprise."