Ur­ban Rocker

Esquire (UK) - - Style -

Win­ter is Ur­ban Rocker’s time to shine. The per­fect op­por­tu­nity to swish around in the drapey Saint Lau­rent cape coats and over-vo­lu­mi­nous scarves (they’re not pash­mi­nas, right?) he’s been itch­ing to wear all year, our man lives for lay­ers

— so long as they’re black. Though he thinks him­self a muse for the afore­men­tioned Parisian brand and that he may ac­tu­ally be a wizard, he’s teth­ered to earth by his two young kids (Martha and Betty), a wolfhound named Dave and the mort­gage on a Dal­ston fixer-up­per he bought “be­fore the area was trendy”. In ad­di­tion to a pen­chant for pointy-toed, black leather Chelsea boots and black jeans so tight they could be mis­taken at a glance for stock­ings, Ur­ban Rocker has a well-paid, com­pli­cated sound­ing job in the creative in­dus­tries, which he re­ally is ex­cel­lent at moan­ing about.

The garb: Over­sized coat, tight black jeans, brown Chelsea boots, stupid hat.

The habi­tat: Any bor­ough north­east of the Thames. Most prob­a­bly Hack­ney (Waltham For­est, at a push).

The ac­ces­sory: A moody frown.

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