WHEN Britain’s hot Britons aren’t, because the inhabitants of this island have zero clue what styles to stretch over sunburn. Spray these on:
Unbuttoned shirt
Short on body confidence but long on sweat? Let it flap, baby. Throw on a short-sleeved short from Primark and neglect to button. In this burning breeze it’ll be fluttering like a cape, providing tantalising glimpses of your crimson sweat-slick torso. By the end of the day? No more than sexy post climate-apocalypse rags.
Cargo shorts
A wardrobe staple for every man balancing the lessened masculinity of exposed flesh with a surfeit of bulky pockets: all the dick-swinging charisma of Batman’s utility belt on your thighs. Cool? Hell no. Keep you cool? Hell-hot. So chunky they don’t show up your sweating bollocks? Yes yes yes. Go FatFace for a cut that’s exquisitely dickless.
Plastic sliders
Woven? Leather? Made by someone paid a living wage? Not when you’re only wearing them three weeks a year, dudebro. Instead slide into a slab of foam and an arch of artificial fabric cranked out by machine, and skate across the pavement like you’re in slippers and are just realising how tough it is to cover serious ground in joke shoes.
Bucket hat
The 90s never ended, the bucket hat never went out of fashion, the Stone Roses never let anyone down with a second album. The Second Summer of Love is still on so dress for it. Wedge your head into one of these and there’s no need to apply sunblock like children and girls do. You’ve settled the issue, man-style.
Sunglasses from Superdrug
Ray-Bans? In this climate stroke economy? Spunking hundreds on tinted glass isn’t reading the room. Go native and blend in with the dadboderati with a pair of snatched-up £6 sunglasses from the rotating display by Superdrug’s tills. Break them by sitting on them? Switch up your look by buying more.
Accessorise with beer
Only mad dogs and Englishmen get twatted in the midday sun, and you’re both. Keep hydrated and make your drip look on fleek by swigging a can of Amstel at all times. For the full look, dangle the three cans you’re not drinking in a blue translucent off-licence bag. Discard on the pavement: it’s a heatwave, not a neatwave, you can’t be expected to use a fucking bin.
