British GQ - 09.2019

UP

Cori ‘Coco’ Gauff

Good Night Stories For

Rebel Girls, indeed.

Soutine

The new joint from Corbin & King.

Go. And then go again.

Trapstar

The only leisure logo worth reppin’.

Ella Balinska

Daughter of television chef

Lorraine Pascale, soon to be seen in

the Charlie’s Angels reboot and the

lit-est new face in town.

Aries

Leave Supreme to the kidults. This

is streetwear for the jet set.

Yungblud

Bastard child of Avril Lavigne and

Busted? Whatever. We dig you, bro.

Afterparties

For assistants only.

Facetune 2

Selfie-editing app that irons the

life out of your face. Resist.

Celery juice

If this is life, we don’t want any

part of it.

Getting your friends

to pay for your

birthday dinner

They showed up. They sang.

You pay. Capisce?

Putting ice in your

rosé at lunch

There’s basic... and then

there’s this.

Nick Kyrgios

The Australian tennis bad boy

is just too bratty to root for.

DOWN

BAROMETER

Story by Jonathan Heaf

And why going hypebeast is a must

if you do plan on hitting the greens

G House Rules

When will brands STOP TRYING to make

I remember, years ago, meeting

Justin Timberlake in what Chuck

Klosterman would describe as

an “unnecessarily expensive” London

hotel. (The bath robes were as soft

as freshly beaten egg whites – I

checked – and their turn-down

service, I was told, involved a lightly

seared wagyu beef patty held

gently between a perfectly toasted

brioche bun.)

I was a smartarse young gunslinger

back then – no giggling at the back

• and after our chat I enquired what JT
  was up to post-UK media commitments.
  Timberlake smiled, tapped the heel of his high-tops
  against the teal carpet, made the universal mime for
  thwacking a ball and said, “I’m off to play golf. You
  swing?” I what? I’ve always felt bad about how loudly
  I guffawed after hearing he was off for an afternoon
  of putting, although I could have sworn he was pulling
  my leg. Apparently not. The next thing Trousersnake
  said was “We’re done here,” to his publicist, before
  promptly moonwalking out of the door.
  Golf? Golf? WTF? And WTAF? Cool pop stars who
  have made the leap from the centre of the kiddie
  Disney sing-song universe to being bona fide sex
  symbols via an edgy fashion shoot or two and an
  album of Pharrell Williams bangers should not be
  playing golf. Golf should be kryptonite to anyone
  whose career rests on appealing to the young and
  the near-trendy, partly as it’s a game for the over-

sixties only and partly because of

the attire one is required to wear.

The usual garbs include polo shirts,

slacks (that’s an Americanism for

horrible, ill-fitting chinos made of

stiff cotton), white socks and a

baseball cap.

Of course, brands such as

J Lindeberg have been trying to up

golf’s street cred for years – remember

post-Loaded lad mag Golf Punk? – although

even when decked out in the sport’s latest high-tech

athleisurewear the player still resembles a cocktail

waiter on a cruise ship. Today, however, companies

such as Malbon Golf are taking a different route: don’t

design clothing for golfers to golf in, design clothing

for skaters to golf in.

Trainers with leopard-print details, baggy

hypebeast-friendly sweaters that come in dusty

pinks and pastel yellows; even their caps come

with a “Player” logo designed to look like “Slayer”,

the American thrash metal band. If a bricks-and-

mortar location still means something you can

find the Malbon store on Fairfax Avenue, LA, just

up the road from... Supreme. So, is the old white

dude’s favourite pastime finally getting its flex on?

Probably not. But we applaud the persistence. Nice

style birdie, Malbon. malbongolf.com

Malbon don’t

design clothing

for golfers, but for

skaters to golf in

GOLF COOL?

Sean Connery +

Justin Timberlake ÷

golf garms = still no

Sweatshirt by Malbon Golf, £78. malbongolf.com

Shoes by

Nike, £105. At

malbongolf.com

G House Rules

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