Either a celestial being or a man too brave for his own good, the white-trousered wizard wears his strides with gusto, as if barbecue sauce simply didn’t exist. Lesser mortals might think owning white trousers is a mug’s game, but this guy moves through the world with envious ease. He struts sockless along the streets of Florence or turns up to your summer wedding, his bottom half rudely reflecting the sunshine. He looks fantastic, naturally, but you can’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable around him. Someone’s kid is running around with a nosebleed and they’re heading towards him, but he’s quick off the mark, dodges expertly and is somehow left unscathed, his white trousers still pristine. How does he do it? Magic, of course.

Got enough pockets there? Never, says the Cargo Bro, whose shell cargo pants are festooned with hundreds of compartments in which he keeps trail mix, a sewing kit for emergencies and five types of hunting knife. He regales his companions with rich details about his And Wander outfit (complete with reflective stitching so he’s visible in the dark when out adventuring) and bought an Arc’teryx jacket for the express purpose of taking a fit pic in the rain. His only plan this weekend is watching the football in the pub, but he’ll inevitably be dressed like he’s about to climb Snowdon.

The man who wears slouchy wide-legged trousers has been following fashion. He knows that skinnier silhouettes have mostly become fodder for Love Island types and that the current mood in fashion demands something with a more capacious step. He also knows that Gucci, Bottega Veneta and S.S.Daley make some of the best wide trousers on the market. He places more importance on his trousers than he does on the rest of his outfit, safe in the knowledge that a big pair of wide-legged pants carry a gravitas that no shirt or jacket can match. He is confident and stylish and is a little bit too pleased with himself for knowing all of this. Ladies and gentlemen, he is Mr Harry Styles.

This waif of a lad clearly had his genetic code drawn by Mr Tim Burton. He’s so thin and tall, and the tautness of his black drainpipe jeans harks back to a time when people still listened to The Pigeon Detectives. Make no mistake, though; this man is less landfill indie and much more Parisian poet. Every night this skinny jean-clad legend prays to Mr Hedi Slimane, the originator of the skinny jean movement when at Dior Homme, and cares less about fashion and more about looking like an anthropic rock star with anaemia, which is exactly what he is.

The denim otaku knows more about denim than he does about his own kids. And he loves his kids, OK? It’s just that he loves denim more. The denim otaku takes a sustainable approach to getting dressed, partly because his jeans cost more than his monthly mortgage repayment (he buys them only from Kojima in Japan, the denim capital of the world) and because he never washes them. Preserving the stiff texture of the selvedge denim and that deep indigo hue brings him pure joy, and who are we to judge him?