I’m knotted in style but never in rope, I sit at your collar, a symbol of hope. Split in two wings, yet I never can fly, I dress up your front when formal days are nearby.

Add me an R and I be delicious, Keep me as is, and I'm just expendable.

My first four are a boy who has a lasting effect on others. My last two are an alien. Put them together when you want to shop in the open air.

My symbol is a baby, pure of heart and soul. Free of guilt and of wrong, unaware of what happens in the world.

An Aptronym - or euonym - is a name which uncannily suits the owner's occupation. Think Tiger 'Woods,' golfer, or Usain 'Bolt,' sprinter. By this logic, what is the trade of my Irish friend, Philip McAvety?