Someone’s going to have to break it to One Direction: the days of the metrosexual are over. It’s not hot to look like a 12-year-old boy any more. Skinny jeans and baby faces framed by angelic curls have been replaced by a more rugged aesthetic: the age of the lumbersexual has dawned.
You’ll know the lumbersexual when you see him. You already have. He is the latest incarnation of the twentysomething hipster. He’s the one hanging around the pub, drinking craft beer in a plaid flannel cowboy-cut shirt, stroking his oversized Edwardian beard. He’s the one wearing worn work boots, distressed jeans and an aged leather satchel, all bought in Topshop already looking like that. (He is also, incongruously, wearing Ray-Bans.)
The lumbersexual looks like he’s been auditioning for Of Mice and Men. He has slouched around Shoreditch listening to Mumford & Sons for years. Russell Brand was an early adopter; Jeremy Paxman’s beard brushed the trend.
The lumbersexual drinks weak whisky (probably David Beckham’s Haig Club) and appreciates sleeve tattoos. He probably has a blue swallow tattooed on his hand, like a 1950s jailbird or Harry Styles. He probably works in a bar. He’s probably in a band. You probably met him on Tinder, where he posted a vintage-feel Instagram picture of him smoking a roll-up.
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