By Luce Martini
There is something both old and new about Jack Draper. You watch him move across the grass at Wimbledon as if he were born there, among those white lines that seem drawn with the chalk of his childhood. There is a natural elegance to his game, a fluidity that isn’t crafted but innate. And yet, he is only 23, this tall, lanky young man who looks like he has stepped straight out of a Salinger novel.
I would have loved to tell him in person, to sit across from him, look him in the eye, and ask him the questions I had in mind. But the meeting never happened. Draper didn’t grant the interview—perhaps out of privacy, or perhaps as one of those choices young talents are forced to make when the media pressure starts to build. Or maybe the request never even reached him through the LTA, or more likely, he was too busy preparing for Indian Wells. And maybe, that’s for the best—after all, he’s in the semi-finals!
But if I had been able to speak to him, if he had given me an hour of his time, I imagine it would have gone something like this.
An Unconventional Lefty. We are at the National Tennis Centre in London, on a day that feels like spring even though the calendar still says winter. The sky is a pale blue, and there’s that light breeze that seems to whisper across the courts, carrying the rhythmic sound of the ball bouncing off the racket. Draper is rallying with Cameron Norrie, another left-hander. I watch them trade shots with an almost hypnotic precision, as if they are following a secret choreography, a language only they understand.
If I had asked him what it means to be left-handed in a world of right-handers, he probably would have answered with a half-smile, as if the question amused him. “It’s just chance,” he would have said, shrugging. “I don’t think about it too much.” But if I had looked into his eyes as he said it, I would have seen something else. A flicker of awareness—the knowledge that his left hand isn’t just a detail, but a weapon. A signature mark in the landscape of modern tennis.
I would have asked him about his tattoo, that lightning bolt on his left arm. He would have shaken his head with an almost amused look. “It’s got nothing to do with tennis.” But I wouldn’t have believed him. Because that bolt seems to be the perfect symbol of what Draper is on the court—an unexpected strike, a surge of power and speed that leaves his opponent with no time to react.
And then there’s that particular quirk of his—he does everything with his right hand, except play tennis. He writes with his right hand, eats with his right hand, even tosses the ball for his serve with his right hand. If I had asked him why, he probably would have paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “It’s always been that way,” he would have eventually said. “I’ve never really thought about it.” But perhaps, deep down, he knows that this division between his two hands is what makes him unique.
For years, British tennis has been searching for Andy Murray’s heir, as if greatness could be passed down like a noble title. If I had asked him what he thinks of this comparison, he would have remembered his second passion—being a detective. He might have lowered his gaze for a moment, carefully choosing his words. Then, with his best poker face, he would have said: “Andy is a legend. But I just want to be Jack Draper.” A simple statement, yet full of meaning.
If I had pressed further, asked if he feels the weight of these expectations, perhaps he would have shrugged. “I don’t think about it too much.” But once again, if I had looked closely, I would have seen something more in his eyes. Because it’s impossible not to feel it, that weight. Murray’s shadow is long, and every young British talent knows that, sooner or later, they will be compared to him. But Draper doesn’t seem inclined to follow anyone else’s path. His game is different—more direct, more aggressive. Less about defence, more about taking the initiative. If I had said it out loud, he would have nodded. “Yeah, I like to take control of the point,” he would have admitted. He has more talent, I would have thought.
But there’s something different about Draper. Perhaps it’s the way he is both so English and yet not English at all. The way he plays left-handed in a right-handed world. The way he loves rap music and walks the runway for Burberry. If I had asked him about his passion for fashion, for grime music, perhaps he would have laughed. “I like expressing myself off the court too,” he would have said. “I don’t want to be just a tennis player.” And in today’s tennis, that is almost revolutionary.
Jack Draper Is Already Jack Draper.
As I would have watched him leave the court, headphones on, gaze lost in thought, it would have struck me that perhaps this missed interview is the best way to tell his story. Draper isn’t one for grand statements. He doesn’t seek the spotlight more than necessary. He lets his tennis do the talking.
And in the end, that’s all that matters. Tennis is changing. The old lions—Federer, Nadal, Murray—are leaving the stage, and a new generation is taking their place. Draper is part of this generation, but he is also something more. He is simply Jack Draper.
A few years from now, perhaps another young British player will be asked if he sees himself as Jack Draper’s heir. Maybe he will answer: “Jack is a legend. But I just want to be myself.”
Because in tennis, as in life, that’s how the greatest stories are born—like a sudden flash of lightning, a surge of talent.
Further Reading: Just Kids by Patti Smith
“Finding your voice, stepping outside expectations, and embracing individuality—these themes run through both Just Kids and Jack Draper’s story. Patti Smith’s memoir is a poetic and intimate account of youth, ambition, and creative self-discovery, chronicling her journey alongside Robert Mapplethorpe as they navigated the New York art scene. It’s about talent, but also about the courage to be different.”
“Much like Smith, Draper isn’t just following a set path—he’s crafting his own. Whether through his tennis, his love for music, or his presence in fashion, he moves through the world with an identity that refuses easy categorization. Some stories aren’t about fitting into expectations; they’re about rewriting them.”
📚 For those drawn to stories of self-expression and defying conventions, Just Kids is a must-read:
🔗 Just Kids on Goodreads
