JACOB ELORDI

There are those who dress well, and then there are those whose style is a byproduct of conviction. Jacob Elordi belongs to the latter camp.

His style is effortlessly assembled and inhabited. He understands proportion the way a chef understands salt. High-waisted and wide trousers, a pair of loafers, a shirt that suggests he was somewhere else before and has somewhere better to be now. Simple, but so hard to master.

The result is modern masculinity without the gym-mirror hysteria. Cinema rather than social media.

Jacob is an avid reader and, in many respects, a simple man. He carries himself like an introvert, content to let the work speak while the man remains at a measured distance. There’s a clear preference for restraint and thought over spectacle and noise.

That is why I would imagine him wearing the following.

For daylight, when the jacket is slung over the shoulder and he is moving through the city, I’d see him reach for Corfu Kumquat by Aedes de Venustas. It has the architecture of good tailoring; structured, refreshing and composed. A flash of Mediterranean citrus without slipping into postcard cliché. This scent suggests discernment, a man who knows that excess is easy and taste is work.

For nights, the sort where the wine runs out and espresso martinis are called upon, I would put him in Raw Gold by Thomas De Monaco. It has the density of a melting sun and the polish of good shoes on marble. There is heat in it, but it’s controlled, like a stare held half a second too long. It belongs in low light, against wool and cashmere, at events where names are exchanged but not remembered.

Style, like scent, is biography distilled. Elordi dresses like he has edited himself. The fragrances follow the same rule: nothing superfluous, nothing pleading. Just presence. Deliberate and measured

That is the kind of cool worth bottling.