Like some kind of next-generation emo skateboarder who entered adulthood vaguely aware that his masculinity was missing, the Urban Woodsman is the resultant placebo effect - an ineffectual imitation of the real thing. While facial hair and plaid are great short-cuts, he may also pay lip service to the simple life - cafe talk about one day owning a farm or maybe getting a chicken - but no amount of faux-redneck homesteader-styled beard bands on ye olde iPod is going to change the fact that he wouldn't even know how to change a tire on a car, let alone build a super cool smokehouse.
Perhaps a distant, more now-baby cousin of the Mid-Afternoon Rambler, this city-dwelling play-actor now finds an entire world springing up around him to provide a stage and to support the illusion. Knick-knack shops sell branches and enamel camping ware, reclaimed barn wood and scratchy blankets. Bars, cafes and restaurants approximate rumpus rooms and log cabins, lifestyle magazines are encrusted with plywood and taxidermy, while the net slops over with all manner of preciously rustic how-to hominess, from pot pies to chicken coops. The Urban Woodsman probably digs that whole Amish scene - it's so DIY.
Now insert some palaver about a subconscious response to the opressively modern world here, some stuff about lost values, getting back to basics and all that bluegrass. In fact, there may have been some irony here at some point, but as with so many things, the winking simply becomes blinking.