My mate Paul
We all have our favourites, Jane likes Ralph and I like Paul, and that’s ok, but this week I got to meet Paul, and it was every bit as special as I’d hoped it would be.
Let’s rewind a bit first. Back in 2006 I got married in a sand Paul Smith suit under a cloudless Aegean sky, surrounded by the searing white painted stucco surfaces of Santorini, reflecting an unfiltered sun back into the the breathless air of an early September evening. It is fair to say, given the idyllic inferno in which our vows were being exchanged, I would have given pretty much anything to feel as cool as I looked. As it turned out, the suit lasted longer than the marriage, and that’s also ok, because my relationship with Paul Smith’s designs, and his unique vision of what eccentric, playful ‘Britishness’ could be, turned out to be far more sustaining than the relationship I had with my new bride.
Throughout the subsequent years Paul’s clothes have been a constant, comforting presence in my wardrobe. Be it the russet hued tones of Autumn, or the vibrant citric explosion of early summer, there always seems to be something in his collections which just nails the way I’m feeling, or more importantly, illustrates to me the way I want to feel. There is no doubt that art and fashion have a symbiotic relationship, and in my opinion nowhere is this more clearly evident than in the house that Paul built.
For a start, the iconic ‘artists stripe’, which is the closest thing the brand has to a logo, was inspired by the colours of an Auerbach painting, but that would never be apparent without Paul letting you into his head, because he doesn’t plagiarise, but rather, in the true spirit of a creative mind, he re-imagines. Consider also the breathtaking number of collaborations the brand has participated in over the years, from Swiss stationers Caran D’ache, Mini, Braun, Native Union, the list goes on.. and on.
This is indicative of the restless innovation Paul instills in his company, a constantly questioning drive to see how the brand can move laterally across disparate fields, all united by one common theme, a design led philosophy. If design matters to you, let’s work together.
Over the hour or so I spent in Paul’s company in the honeyed light of an early spring Mayfair evening he was generous and forthcoming with his conversation. He talked of the Hockney exhibition print he purchased when the artist first exhibited at the Whitechapel gallery around 1972, joking how it was either the print or the gas bill (they just put extra jumpers on that month), and how his wife, Pauline, years later, found a note reading “I had a little Hockney, nothing did it bear, except a 10% increase in value every year”. I think we can safely say Paul’s gas bill could be covered for the foreseeable were he to sell that print now!
Paul also asked about our thoughts on the various pieces collected in the basement at Albemarle St and I remarked that I’d seen the tailors patterns for the likes of Harrison Ford and Spielberg down there, at which point he started laughing, and recalled how Harrison Ford had somehow gotten hold of the number of one of his designers, and chose to call her one evening while she was cooking, whereupon her shell shocked boyfriend, on answering the phone, had to interrupt her stirring of the passata to announce that it was Harrison on the line!
As our hour or so drew to a close, Paul continued to take great delight in pointing out some of the idiosyncrasies of the flag ship building at Albemarle Street, such as the cat, bird and boot etchings made on the exterior of the store, and as a couple wondered past Paul buoyantly offered up a “Hello”, only to be met with a sheepish reciprocation, at which point I found myself wanting to ask them if they knew who this man was! But I didn’t, I got back in my lane, after all we don’t drop names, do we.
