I was in a cafe when I first noticed Ryan Gosling. Not the Ryan Gosling, you understand, but a weak simulacrum of the Canadian actor – a barista called Ben with three key Gosling markers: 1) a soft side parting; 2) a white T-shirt, its sleeves rolled twice; and 3) small, naive tattoos. Ben was preparing a flat white for another Gosling, who was in conversation with yet another. And so, I thought, the old adage is true: you’re never more than six feet from a Gosling. Once you get your eye in, he’s everywhere.

At some point in the past few years, Ryan Gosling went from indie actor to representative of a whole type of modern masculinity. And if you were under any doubt as to the pervasiveness of Gosling beyond the barista, further proof: Justin Trudeau in his slimline suit at the Juno awards; Barack Obama louche in an off-duty linen suit; Gary Lineker, punditing, in tight-fitting shirts; slim Dan Stevens on the red carpet; even Ed Sheeran, freshly inked. All modern men with good hair, all would-be Goslings.

Regardless of age and size, many men these days have the infamous Gosling hallmarks: side parting, tight shirt, a turbo cleanliness (not just Lineker, but the entire Match Of The Day pundit line-up attempt this look). The appeal is his wardrobe’s simplicity: it’s got a touch of the hipster, but without the irritation; a bit of metrosexual, but without the faff. Your archetypal Gosling man wears slim-cut suits, tight shirts and discreet jewellery. He mixes high street with designer, cares about trainers, but likely relaxes in Gap. He exists in a uniform of white T-shirts, black jeans and Redwing boots and probably spends £800 on a souvenir jacket but maintains his look is classic, with an edge, much like the man himself. If high fashion can feel alienating – and right now, with hyper-masculine streetwear and Russian-lad tracksuits at its cutting edge, it certainly can – then Gosling’s look is a balm.

Take the silk jacket Gosling wore in Drive (directed by Nicolas Winding Refn), which was then borrowed five years later by Louis Vuitton and Gucci. “Gosling became the pin-up boy for the bomber jacket,” says fashion writer Simon Chilvers, “and that look has become a symbol for the relaxed man.” Too studiedly insouciant to be edgy, too well dressed to wear a tracksuit, that’s Gosling: accessible, green, appealing to both men and women. As my hairdresser, who has Gosling hair, says, “It’s just easier to dress like him than not.”

It all started just over 10 years ago, when Gosling appeared as a benevolent addict teacher in Half Nelson. One Oscar nomination later (always the bridesmaid), he had shifted from Mickey Mouse child star and The Notebook pin-up to Hollywood A-list. Roles in Drive and Blue Valentine placed him in that modern canon of flawed Hollywood anti-heroes grappling with masculinity and human connection. In the following years, Gosling the brand was distilled and drunk with gay abandon by men between the age of 21 and 45 searching for a look, a role model and a way to pull. La La Land cemented the emotional pin-up status, except with added feeling and jazz, and his forthcoming role as a lovesick troubadour in Song To Song will do little to shift this perception.

Popular culture can’t get enough. People magazine tried to name Gosling their sexiest man of the year on four separate occasions, and he reportedly refused each time. And there’s plenty more where that came from: a Gosling-themed Easter egg hunt in New York, a Gosling weather app, Gosling colouring-in books. The Hey, Girl! memes, which place pithy feminist theory next to images of his face, were sparked by some feminist comments he made in interviews (such as: “I think women are better than men… stronger. More evolved”), and bred like knotweed on the internet.

Then there was the series of Vines created by a vlogger in which Gosling repeatedly turns his head away from an oncoming spoonful of cereal (“Ryan Gosling won’t eat his cereal”). Following the vlogger’s death two years later (aged 27), Gosling posted a tribute Vine in which he did, finally, eat his cereal. Some attempts to break the internet have been more successful than others: in February, a German prank duo sent a barely passable lookalike on stage posing as him to accept an award. In many ways we can blame social media for this bordeline hysterical interest. Gosling’s appeal grew in direct tandem with Tumblr: he is the pin-up of Generation Snapchat, boyfriend to the internet.

Sure, Gosling is well dressed, a decent actor and pretty enough, but here’s the rub: he’s not actually that good-looking. The components are there – 6ft tall, kempt hair, bright, puppy-dog eyes – but it’s not an intimidating beauty. Given the calibre of Hollywood pin-ups, generation by generation – Marlon Brando, James Dean (proto-Gosling, but hotter), Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio – how did we end up with someone so relatively bland on our bedroom walls?

“He seems to have been created in a laboratory,” says Samuel Muston, deputy editor of Mr Porter, “which is of course fine in an uncle or boss or whatever, but a bit crap in a cinematic icon.”

A casting agent based in LA, who wishes to remain anonymous because “you never know who might walk through the door”, describes Gosling as a Hollywood “John Doe” and “more than a blank canvas – he’s every canvas. Good-looking, but not too good-looking. The guy the girl thinks she can get, and that’s what we want from our leading men.” She adds: “He’s what we call a personality actor, which I suppose makes him more than a pin-up. It makes him ‘boyfriend material’.”

Another theory is psychological. “Our attraction to Gosling is as much about personality as it is about looks,” says Viren Swami, a professor of social psychology. “He represents an idealised version of masculinity: not too good-looking, approachable, a nice guy who is a little frayed around the edges.” He is a tender kook: manly but self-deprecating, fit but forgettable. It’s very hard to hate him because we don’t know what we hate.

The agent thinks Gosling’s bankability also comes down to what psychologists call “exposure”, or the power of suggestion. The more you see him, the more you fancy him. I ask my friend Josh, who is routinely compared to Gosling (some of his colleagues actually thought he was Ryan Gosling) about his experiences. He is a blue-eyed blond and has a similar build to the actor, but says he finds it baffling. “I think some people just have Ryan Gosling on the mind and therefore see vague resemblances in people like me.”

Back in the cafe, I order a flat white and ask Ben, the barista, whether he thinks he looks like Ryan Gosling. He smiles and says no, telling me that’s absurd. I look at the side-parted hair, the not-too-tight T-shirt, and realise he’s lying. He is constantly told that he does – which is why he looks, talks and acts the way he does. But then, no true Gosling would admit to that, would he?

How to spot a Gosling

Wears his hair in a smooth side parting.

Owns 12 identical white cotton T-shirts.

Rolls T-shirt sleeves twice, and shirt sleeves to the elbow (adding a slim-fit blazer for formal occasions).

Owns several pairs of identical relaxed jeans – slim, not skinny – always worn with a laced boot.

Rarely shaves “all the way”.

Has abs, but doesn’t talk about the gym.

Lists the word “feminist” in his Twitter profile.

Has a naive “stick and poke” tattoo – and regrets it.

Does not believe in capitalism, but spends more than £180 on a statement pair of trousers.

Only dates older women.

Wears everything a size too small.

Says: “If I ever mansplain, euthanise me.”

Ghosts the women he’s dating…

… yet lives to be objectified by them.