Fate has some uncanny ways of working. Were it not for a cycling accident in his teenage years, resulting in a compound fracture to his femur and several other broken bones, would we even have Paul Smith? (The brand that is, the man himself may be even more intact.) Smith certainly believes it’s this event that nudged, or rather flung, him into the creative industry (more on that later), leading him to an altogether more serendipitous turn of fate: meeting his wife Pauline.
He was 21 and had a passion for music and photography, while Pauline was a fashion graduate from the London’s Royal College of Art, who had taken up a teaching position at the art school in Smith’s hometown of Nottingham. “It was through her that I discovered a world that I didn’t know existed — the world of visual art, cinema, architecture and design,” Smith writes in a dedication in the opening pages of his new eponymous monograph. “She was able to show me what clothes were really all about: the structure, the proportions, the attention to detail, and quality… Her common sense and her lack of interest in the glitzy, superficial side of the fashion business have kept me grounded.”
Fifty years ago, Pauline persuaded Smith that he could open a shop that “would be different from every other shop around.” He soon became known as purveyor of classical tailoring with contemporary twists — relaxed cuts and ultra-supple fabrics — favoured by everyone from the late David Bowie to Daniel Day-Lewis. Now Smith is to fashion what Leica (a collaborator) is to image-making or what Land Rover (another collaborator) is to automobiles, whose influence is felt in product design, graphics, interiors, and beyond.
While, as of last year, Smith had an annual turnover of £215 million, he has never lost sight of the joy that can be found in the smaller things — books, photographs, matchboxes and other knickknacks. Paul Smith brings together 50 objects from the past five decades that encapsulate his unique ability to find inspiration in everything. This is the story of 10 of those prized possessions, as told by Smith himself.
‘Wrapped Reichstag’ by Christo and Jeanne-Claude
“This is a photograph of me in front of the Reichstag building in 1995 when it was wrapped by the artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude. I had specifically organised a trip to Berlin around seeing the artwork and asked a member of the public to take the photo, with an actual camera rather than a mobile phone.
“I’m so fascinated by the work of Christo and Jeanne-Claude, not necessarily because of the finished pieces, but more all the organisation it takes to get there — the authorisation, materials, labour, logistics, health and safety. It’s very much in parallel with the business I have been running for the past 50 years. The final result being a creative product, whether it’s an actual piece of clothing, a fashion show or a shop.”
Le Smoking tuxedo by Yves Saint Laurent
“In this photograph, you can see my wife Pauline wearing her Le Smoking at the Ritz hotel in Paris. When I was in my early twenties, Pauline and I were privileged enough to go to the Yves Saint Laurent couture show where Le Smoking was shown for the first time.
“When Yves Saint Laurent said that he was closing his couture atelier, I told Pauline that I’d love her to have a Le Smoking. Yves kindly agreed and made her one from the year we saw the original. One time Pauline wore her suit to a very special dinner we were invited to with Yves himself as well as Pierre Bergé and many of his muses including Alice Springs, Catherine Deneuve and Betty Catroux.
“To date, the smoking suit still fits Pauline perfectly and is occasionally taken out for special events. Unfortunately not recently, as we haven’t had anything special to go to given the current circumstances.”
Painting of the Paul Smith Melrose Avenue shop by John Tierney
“John [Tierney]’s son Ben, who used to work for us, has an office diagonally across from our now quite famous bright-pink shoebox-shaped shop on Melrose Avenue in LA. John fell in love with the building after visiting Ben’s office and he’s included it in many of his paintings. So many, in fact, we held an exhibition of his work.
“When we were designing the shop, which previously was pointed and wooden, we figured we needed something very distinctive in order to stand out on such a long road. I love the work of Mexican architect Luis Barragán and so we decided to [adopt] his love of colour. The bright pink works brilliantly against the bright blue LA sky. The Paul Smith Melrose Avenue shop is now the most Instagrammed building in the whole of California.”
Original drawings of 44 Floral Street
“These are the original plans, now faded and water-marked, of 44 Floral street — my first London shop — which we opened in the winter of 1979. As I was told by Deyan Sudjic, the former director of the Design Museum, London, Floral Street was the first minimalist shop in the city and there was nothing like it in England.
“I bought the building in 1976 without ever having entered it. I’m very inspired by all things Bauhaus and, when I was searching for a shop in London, I looked through the building’s shuttered facade and noticed that it was made from concrete, whereas all other shops in the area were made with raw brick. At the time, Covent Garden was empty, so it was not a logical place to open a shop, but it was the only place I could afford.”
Matchbox collection
“I have enormous collections of ‘things’, from beautiful photos and artworks to suitcase stickers from famous hotels around the world and postage stamps. Matchboxes fit in perfectly within these odd finds and this particular collection is from a street market in Japan. I think matchboxes are a real achievement for graphic designers — they [manage to] talk about the bar or cafe it’s from on something so small.”
Bauhaus book
“I purchased this book when the Royal Academy [of Arts] in London had a Bauhaus exhibition in 1968. It’s in such poor condition because, for many years, I carried it around everywhere with me — on a Greek backpacking holiday and on my journeys between Nottingham and London. The lateral thinking of some of the Bauhaus students is something I can really identify with; the way they would create chairs inspired by the handlebars of a bicycle or the use of raw materials to build luxury houses.”
Paul Smith skirt
“I’ve always carried a pen and notepad with me. I often find myself in a hotel room waking up in the middle of the night because I travel so much, that’s when anecdotes and ideas congregate [on a page]. This note however is not by me, it’s a list I found in a cafe that amused me. One of my favourite things is a good cup of British tea with scones, clotted cream and jam; maybe that’s what attracted me to it. I like the idea, the contradiction of printing the down-to-earth handwriting from a list on a luxury garment such as a beautiful skirt.”
Paul Smith devoré velvet shirt
“Devoré is a method of creating a pattern on velvet. In the ’60s, the way men were dressing — especially in the music industry — was changing massively, and these teenage memories have influenced many of my designs. My early collections were very rock’n’roll — think Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones — with floral shirts for men using crushed velvet and corduroy. This particular jacket is special because the pattern is engineered to fit the jacket, the bottom is intensely patterned and then it becomes more of a solid colour on top.”
Crashed bicycle
“This bike is probably the reason why we are doing this interview. From the age of 12 until 18 my whole life revolved around becoming a professional racing cyclist, which in hindsight I was never good enough to do. When I was 17, I had a crash on the bike pictured and ended up in hospital with lots of broken bones. After I was released, unable to return to race cycling, I discovered the worlds of photography, art, architecture and fashion through meeting other hospital patients at the pub in my hometown of Nottingham. From there, I helped a friend open a boutique and the rest is history.”
Wax plate of spaghetti
“On one of my trips to Japan, I discovered an area where they make plates of food from wax, which are then displayed in restaurant windows. In this case, it’s a plate of spaghetti with a fork sticking out; it reminds me of Salvador Dalí’s surrealist work. I took a photo of the wax plate of spaghetti and turned it into a print. I’ve been told I’m the pioneer of photographic prints on fabric — a method I discovered in the ’80s when I found a textile printer in Como, Italy, who could do it. When it comes to my collections, I’ve always been very tongue-in-cheek and I don’t take myself too seriously.”
