It is a cold day in Antwerp, and having spent the morning being photographed, Schoenaerts now sits in the studio kitchen, toying with a plate of salad. All morning he has been in and out of designerwear for the camera, but now he’s dressed down in black jeans and a checked woollen shirt, the appearance of a man who might be reaching for a look you would describe as New York beat poet, circa 1959, but who doesn’t much care whether he has arrived there or not.