Urban Rocker

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.