The Unstoppables is a series about people whose ambition is undimmed by time. Below, Paul Smith explains, in his own words, what continues to motivate him.
As a teenager, I wanted to be a racing cyclist. But then at 17 I had a bad crash and was in the hospital for a long time. Eventually, when I found creativity, it was by chance — at a pub.
The Belle Inn in Nottingham, England, was where all the students from the University of Nottingham went. There were all of these 18- to 20-year-olds talking about Kandinsky and Kokoschka, and I had never even heard of the Bauhaus. I met some fashion students there, and one was opening a small boutique. Her father was going to sponsor the shop, and she said she needed help. I said, “OK.”
We found premises, I did window dressing, and then three years into that I met Pauline Denyer, who eventually became my wife.
She had studied couture at the Royal College of Art. She came to live with me and basically taught me my trade. At the time, there were a lot of really good, innovative designers in Britain, but a lot fell by the wayside because the quality was not good enough to export to stores in America or Japan. It’s because of Pauline’s background in couture, the standard she set, the training I got from her, that I’m in business.
From 1972 to 1980, as a young designer, I did lots of freelance work in order to support my tiny collection of clothes. For a time I was designing for a mill in Yorkshire, and a man I met there, a Mr. Hall, gave me one of the best pieces of advice. He said: “When somebody offers you an opportunity, always take a breath. Be enthusiastic about their request, but say: ‘That sounds really exciting. Can I come back to you tomorrow?’ Give yourself time not to be put on the spot.”
Another thing that resonates is a lecture I went to by Edward de Bono, who famously originated the term “lateral thinking.” He said, “The job always changes you, and you never change the job.” What that meant for me, especially in the early days, was the importance of keeping my tiny main collection pure and not compromising.
That’s why I did all the freelance work, so I would not have to compromise. If I’d had to make money from my tiny collection, I probably would not be talking to you now.
It’s not being swellheaded to understand your own character and trust your own instincts. My father was a very nice man with a very ordinary job. Yet a lesson I learned from him is how to communicate through humor and camaraderie and the timing of when to speak and when not to speak. I’ve never overanalyzed anything ever. I just go with the flow. It’s that love of life, that interest in what’s next that makes me feel like I’m still in my 30s or 40s.
I’ve just done a bicycle working with carbon fiber. I’m designing something with Leica cameras. I’m designing furniture with a company in Italy. The whole process scares the pants off me. But, as with all design, there is the satisfaction of taking a pair of scissors, cloth, cutting it, pinning it on a stand, and within a half-hour you have an idea or a shape.
The point is continuity. Of course, we’re all afraid of not being around anymore. And I certainly hope I don’t suddenly suffer some terrible memory-loss disease. As long as you have the energy and the enthusiasm, though, I see no reason to stop. If it gets to the point where I’m being silly, I have so many young people around me that someone will surely say, “Why not go and have a walk in the park?”
Recent and upcoming projects: Continues to mount and show at least two men’s wear collections annually in Paris. Recently collaborated with the Italian furniture company Boffi/De Padova on a line of furniture called Everyday Life; with Factor Bikes on the limited-edition Paul Smith Factor Ostro Vam bicycle; and with the designers Dylan Cao and Jin Kay of the New York label Commission on a 22-piece collection featuring interpretations of archival Paul Smith design.
This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
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