Jarvis Cocker’s 1970s Grandad Uniform Is A Masterclass In Holding Your Sartorial Nerve – Why You Should Follow Suit

 Post Hedi “talent borrows, genius steals” Slimane we’re all highly familiar with the revivalist rock uniform of biker jackets, scuffed Converse and skinny suits. That look is still with us today.

Back then, in the age of Soundgarden and Nirvana, The Strokes looked genuinely like they’d beamed down from another planet.

“I tell the band to dress each day as if we’ve got a show,’” Cassablancas told me. “Whether we have or not.”

In other words: despite the fact they looked like they got dressed from an Oxfam bin, The Strokes look was constructed. It was how they wanted to present themselves.

Given half the chance they’d probably have been just as happy wearing Superdry.

(Similarly, about 170 years ago, when I was a budding music reporter for the Leeds Student, I was dispatched to The Duchess of York pub to review The Tindersticks, where they were performing that evening. Known for their melancholic jazz-leaning rock, they favoured appropriately sharp suits and slicked-back hair for onstage and in media appearances. Arriving early at the venue, my 20-something eyes were appalled to see the band loading their gear in… in hoodies and trainers! I never thought of them in the same way again.)

Which brings us to Jarvis Cocker. Heroically back this week with a storming new Pulp album, called with trademark wit More, Jarvis appears dressed as Jarvis Cocker. No streetwear makeover nor bulked up boat shoes for El Jarv. Just clothes that we know and love him for, and have done so for the last four-and-a-half decades.

A distinctive blend of 1970s thrift, English eccentricity and intellectual charm. Cocker is best known for his lean silhouette – flared trousers, narrow blazers, oversized collared shirts, and his trademark NHS-style glasses – all often sourced from charity shops. During Pulp’s 1990s heyday, he made secondhand clothes feel deliberate and aspirational, embodying “charity shop chic”. His look combined the awkwardness of a geography teacher with the confidence of a frontman, always a little too tight, a little too vintage, and all the more magnetic for it.

Over time, his wardrobe evolved subtly without losing its essence. In later years, Cocker has embraced sharper tailoring and better fabrics—sometimes wearing custom-made APC jeans or structured coats—but still leans into that louche, off-kilter energy. His palette remains earthy and muted, favouring browns, olives and faded blues. Crucially, he’s never looked like he’s chasing trends; instead, he’s refined a uniform that suggests a man who lives in libraries, secondhand record shops, and smoky backstage rooms. It's a style that works because it feels worn-in, intelligent, and totally his own.

He joins a select group of men who have understood the personal brand of having a “unifom” – an intentional, consistent way of dressing that becomes part of their identity.

Steve Jobs is perhaps the most iconic example, with his black Issey Miyake turtlenecks, Levi’s 501 jeans, and New Balance sneakers, a look that projected focus and minimalism. Albert Einstein reportedly bought multiple versions of the same grey suit to avoid wasting energy on trivial decisions, reinforcing his image as a genius uninterested in superficiality. Authors like Tom Wolfe turned personal style into performance, rarely seen without his immaculate white three-piece suit, homburg hat and two-tone shoes, creating a persona that matched his sharp, observational prose. Similarly, Karl Lagerfeld crafted a cartoonishly elegant uniform of black suits, powdered ponytail, fingerless gloves, and dark sunglasses—a costume as distinctive as any collection he designed.

Thom Browne dresses in a sharply defined, instantly recognisable uniform that mirrors the aesthetic of his brand: shrunken grey suits, un-ironed white Oxford shirts, narrow ties, and polished black brogues, often paired with exposed ankles and no-show socks. His silhouette is deliberately off-kilter – cropped trousers, high-buttoned jackets and precise tailoring that skews traditional proportions to create a modern, almost architectural look.

Browne frequently accessorises with signature pieces like a four-bar armband, grosgrain trims, or a pebble-grain leather briefcase, reinforcing a sense of disciplined eccentricity. It's a style rooted in mid-century American businesswear but filtered through conceptual fashion, making him both a symbol of control and subtle rebellion.

According to legend, it was dressing like this – in the one and only suit he owened at the time – while sitting in the corner banquette in the Grill Room of the Four Seasons restaurant, where Julian Niccolini, the co-owner, recognized him and his distinctive style and helping his carer on its way.

In the tech world, Mark Zuckerberg adopted a uniform of grey T-shirts and hoodies, signalling Silicon Valley pragmatism and branding himself as the accessible billionaire. The subtext was he was simply too busy to distrct himself with the triviality of pikcing out clothes every day.

Meanwhile, Jared Leto in his Gucci era took a different approach, embracing a hyper-styled, maximalist uniform full of embroidery, ruffles, and theatricality, proving that personal style can be as flamboyant as it is fixed.

An outlier for this list, perhaps, but who among us couldn’t warm to Robert Smith? The Cure’s front man has stuck to the lipstick-applied-in turbulence-at-35,000ft and backcombed hair look since he was 17. In other words, 60 years.

That’s commitment.

The important thing with all of this is you be you – what all these uniforms have in common is a telegraphing something of that person’s real identity, or at least the identity that they want to be recognised for.

Jarvis Cocker dresses like himself – and always has. While trends come and go, he’s stayed true to his vintage 1970s tailoring, oversized specs and offbeat charm for decades.

That consistency is his superpower. In a world obsessed with reinvention, Cocker’s style is a masterclass in identity: distinctive, intelligent, and totally his own. Dressing the same isn’t lazy – it’s legacy.

“If people feel the need to make negative comments about my clothes, I wear them more,” Cocker said.

"It's never the good dressers that are making the comments.”